“Yes sir?” he enquired, seeing first of all Monk's civilian clothes. Then he looked more closely at his face, and recognition came flooding back. “Why, it's Mr. Monk.” The eagerness was tempered. There was admiration in his eyes, but caution as well. “ 'Ow are you, sir? Got another case?” The interest was well modified with other emotions less sanguine.

“No, the same as before.” Monk wondered whether to smile, or if it would be so uncharacteristic as to be ridiculous. The decision was quickly made; it was false and it would freeze on his face. “I've forgotten some of the details and for reasons I can't explain, I need to remind myself, or to be exact, I need your help to remind me. You still have the records?”

“Yes sir.” Markham was obviously surprised, and there was acceptance in his expression as habit. He was used to I obeying Monk and it was instinctive, but there was no com prehension.

“I'm not on the force anymore.” He dared not deceive Markham.

Now Markham was totally incredulous.

“Not on the force.” His whole being registered his amazement. “Not-not-on the force?” He looked as if he did not understand the words themselves.

“Gone private,” Monk explained, meeting his eyes.”I 've got to be back in the Old Bailey on Monday, for the Carlyon case, but I want to get these details today, if I can.”

“What for, sir?” Markham had a great respect for Monk, but he had also learned from him, and knew enough to accept no one's word without substantiation, or to take an order from a man with no authority. Monk would have criticized him unmercifully for it in the past.

“My own private satisfaction,” Monk replied as calmly as he could. “I want to be sure I did all I could, and that I was right. And I want to find the woman again, if I can.” Too late he realized how he had betrayed himself. Markham would think him witless, or making an obscure joke. He felt hot all over, sweat breaking out on his body and then turning cold.

“Mrs. Ward?” Markham asked with surprise. “Yes, Mrs. Ward!” Monk gulped hard. She must be alive, or Markham would not have phrased it that way. He could still find her!

“You didn't keep in touch, sir?” Markham frowned. Monk was so overwhelmed with relief his voice caught in his throat. “No.” He swallowed and coughed. “No-did you expect me to?”

“Well, sir.” Markham colored faintly. “I know you worked on the case so hard as a matter of justice, of course, but I couldn't help but see as you were very fond of the lady too-and she of you, it looked like. I 'alf thought, we aU thought…” His color deepened. “Well, no matter. Beg-gin' your pardon, sir. It don't do to get ideas about people and what they feel or don't feel. Like as not you'll be wrong. I can't show you the files, sir; seein' as you're not on the force any longer. But I ain't forgot much. I can tell you just about all of it. I'm on duty right now. But I get an hour for luncheon, leastways I can take an hour, and I 'm sure the duty sergeant'll come for me. An' if you like to meet me at the Three Feathers I'll tell you all I can remember.”

“Thank you, Markham, that's very obliging of you. I hope you'll let me stand you to a meal?”

“Yes, sir, that's handsome of you.”

And so midday saw Monk and Sergeant Markham sitting at a small round table in the clink and chatter of the Three Feathers, each with a plate piled full of hot boiled mutton and horseradish sauce, potatoes, spring cabbage, mashed turnips and butter; a glass of cider at the elbow; and steamed treacle pudding to follow.

Markham was as good as his word, meticulously so. He had brought no papers with him, but his memory was excellent. Perhaps he had refreshed it discreetly for the occasion, or maybe it was sufficiently sharp he had no need. He began as soon as he had taken the edge off his appetite with half a dozen mouthfuls.

“The first thing you did, after reading the evidence, was go back over the ground as we'd already done ourselves.” He left out the “sir” he would have used last time and Monk noted it with harsh amusement.

“That was, go to the scene o' the crime and see the broken window,” Markham went on. “O' course the glass was all cleaned up, like, but we showed you where it 'ad lain. Then we questioned the servants again, and Mrs. Ward 'erself. Do you want to know what I can remember o' that?”

“Only roughly,” Monk replied. “If there was anything of note? Not otherwise.”

Markham continued, outlining a very routine and thorough investigation, at the end of which any competent policeman would have been obliged to arrest Hermione Ward. The evidence was very heavy against her. The great difference between her and Alexandra Carlyon was that she had everything to gain from the crime: freedom from a domineering husband and the daughters of a previous wife, and the inheritance of at least half of his very considerable wealth. Whereas, on the surface at least, Alexandra had everything to lose: social position, a devoted father for her son, and all but a small interest in his money. And yet Alexandra had confessed very early on, and Hermione had never wavered in protesting her total innocence.

“Go on!” Monk urged.

Markham continued, after only a few more mouthfuls. Monk knew he was being unfair to the man in not allowing him to eat, and he did not stop himself.

“You wouldn't let it rest at that,” Markham said with admiration still in his voice at the memory of it. “I don't know why, but you believed 'er. I suppose that's the difference between a good policeman and a really great one. The great ones 'ave an instinct for innocence and guilt that goes beyond what the eye can see. Anyway, you worked night and day; I never saw anyone work so 'ard. I don't know when you ever slept, an' that's the truth. An' you drove us till we didn't know whether we was comin' or goin'.”

“Was I unreasonable?” Monk asked, then instantly wished he had not. It was an idiotic question. What could this man answer? And yet he heard his own voice going on. “WasI… offensive?”

Markham hesitated, looking first at his plate, then up at Monk, trying to judge from his eyes whether he wanted a candid answer or flattery. Monk knew what the decision would have to be; he liked flattery, but he had never in his life sought it. His pride would not have permitted him. And Markham was a man of some courage. He liked him now. He hoped he had had the honesty and the good judgment to like him before, and to show it.

“Yes,” Markham said at last. “Although I wouldn't 'ave said so much offensive. Offense depends on who takes it. I don't take it. Can't say as I always liked you-too 'ard on some people because they didn't meet your standards, when they couldn't 'elp it. Different men 'as different strengths, and you weren't always prepared to see that.”

Monk smiled to himself, a trifle bitterly. Now that he was no longer on the force, Markham had shown a considerable temerity and put tongue to thoughts he would not have dared entertain even as ideas in his mind a year ago. But he was honest. That he would not have dared say such things before was no credit to Monk, rather the reverse.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Monk.” Markham saw his face. “But you did drive us terrible 'ard, and tore strips off them as couldn't match your quickness.” He took another mouthful and ate it before adding, “But then you was right. It took us a long time, and tore to shreds a few folk on the way, as was lying for one reason or another; but in the end you proved as it weren't Mrs. Ward at all. It was 'er ladies' maid and the butler together. They were 'avin' an affair, the two o' them, and 'ad planned to rob their master, but 'e came down in the night and found them, so they 'ad to kill 'im or face a life in gaol. And personally I'd rather 'ang than spend forty years in the Coldbath Fields or the like-an' so would most folk.”