Monk took the opportunity to find the domestic staff and question them about the day Hester had been in the house.

It was a difficult task. Their memories were clouded and distorted by their knowledge of Mary’s death and their conviction that Hester was to blame. Impressions were useless, only facts had any hope of representing truth, and even they were suspect. Hindsight blurred previous certainties and lent conviction to others which had been only thoughts at the time.

No one argued as to when she had arrived or left, or that she had taken breakfast in the kitchen, then Oonagh had taken her to meet Mary Farraline. The women had had both elevenses and luncheon together. Presumably what Hester had done between was uncertain. One maid recalled seeing her in the library; someone else thought she might have gone upstairs, but she would not swear to it. Undoubtedly she had taken a rest upstairs in the afternoon, and yes of course she could have been in Mary’s dressing room and done all manner of things.

Yes, the lady’s maid had shown her Mary’s clothes, her cases and most particularly the medicine chest. That was her job, wasn’t it? She was employed to give Mrs. Farraline her medicine. How could she do it if she were not shown where it was?

No one blamed her for that.

Didn’t they indeed? Just look at the expressions on their faces, if that was what you thought. Listen to what they whispered to one another when they thought she wasn’t listening.

By five o’clock, as it was getting dusk, Monk gave up. It was extremely dispiriting. There was very little that he could prove, or disprove, and in view of what Oonagh had said about the jewel case being with Mary on the train, it was hardly of any importance anyway.

He was bitterly discouraged. All he had learned in three days was nebulous, nothing was certain except that Hester had had the opportunity, the means were to hand and she had the knowledge to use them more than almost anyone else, and the motive was apparent-the pearl brooch- hardly a motive for any member of the family.

He returned to the withdrawing room angry and fighting despair.

“Did you learn anything?” Eilish asked as he came in.

He had already decided what he would say, and he composed himself with an effort.

“Only what I expected,” he replied, forcing a smile that was a matter of lips bared over his teeth.

“I see.”

“Well, what did you think?” Quinlan looked up from his newspaper. “You don’t imagine one of us did it, do you?”

“Why not?” Baud snapped. “If I were defending Miss Latterly, that is exactly what I would think.”

“Indeed?” Quinlan swung around to face him. “And why would you have murdered Mother-in-law, Baird? Did you quarrel with her? Did she know something about you that the rest of us don’t? Or was it for Oonagh’s inheritance? Or was Mary going to make you keep your eyes off my wife?”

Baird shot out of his chair and lunged towards Quinlan, but Oonagh was there before him, standing between them, her face white.

He stopped abruptly, almost knocking into her.

Quinlan sat perfectly still, the sneer frozen on his face, his eyes wide.

“Stop it!” Oonagh said between her teeth. “This is indecent and quite ridiculous.” She took a deep, shaking breath. “Baird, please… we are all upset with what has happened. Quin is behaving very badly, but you are only making it worse.” She smiled at him, staring into his angry face, and very slowly he relaxed and took a step backwards.

“I’m sorry…” he apologized, not to Quin but to his wife.

Oonagh’s smile became a little more certain. “I know you were defending me, as well as yourself, but there is no need. Quin has always been jealous. It happens to men with such beautiful wives. Although, heaven knows, there is no need.” She swung around to Quinlan, smiling at him also. “Eilish is yours, my dear, and has been for years. But she is part of the whole family, and everyone with eyes will admire her beauty. You shouldn’t resent that. It is a compliment to you also. Eilish, dear…”

Eilish looked at her sister, her face scarlet.

“Please assure Quin of your undivided loyalty. I’m sure you do so often… but once again? For peace?”

Very slowly Eilish obeyed, turning to her husband, then back towards Baird, and forcing herself to look into her husband’s face and curve her lips into a smile.

“Of course,” she said softly. “I wish you wouldn’t say such things, Quin. I have never done anything to give you cause, I swear.”

Quinlan looked at Eilish, then at Oonagh. For a second no one moved, then slowly he relaxed and smiled as well.

“Naturally,” he agreed. “Of course you haven’t. You are quite right, Oonagh. A man with a wife as beautiful as mine must expect the world to look at her and envy him. Isn’t that right, Baird?”

Baird said nothing. His face was unreadable.

Oonagh turned to Monk.

“Is there anything further we could do to assist you, Mr. Monk?” she asked, leaving Baird and coming towards him. “Perhaps you may think of something in a day or two… that is, if you will still be in Edinburgh?”

“Thank you,” he accepted quickly. “I shall certainly remain a little longer. There are other things to look into, proof I might find that would place it beyond question.”

She did not ask him what he had in mind, but walked gracefully towards the door. Accepting the gesture of parting, he followed her, bidding good-night to the others and thanking them for their hospitality.

Outside in the hall Oonagh stopped and faced him, her expression grave. Her voice when she spoke was low.

“Mr. Monk, do you intend to continue investigating this family?”

He was uncertain how to answer. He searched for fear or anger in her face, for resentment, but what he saw was that same curious interest and sense of challenge, not unlike the emotion she stirred in him.

“Because if you do,” she continued, “I have something to ask of you.”

He seized the chance.

“Of course,” he said quickly. “What is it?”

She looked down, masking her thoughts. “If-if in your… discoveries, you learn where my sister-in-law manages to spend so much money, I would… we would all be much obliged if you would advise us… at least advise me.” She looked up at him suddenly, and yet there was neither candor nor anxiety in her eyes. “I may be able to speak to her privately and forestall a great deal of unpleasantness. Could you do that? Would it be unethical?”

“Certainly I can do it, Mrs. Mclvor,” he said without hesitation. It was a gauntlet thrown down, whether she cared for the answer in the slightest, and it was precisely the excuse he needed. He liked Deirdra, but he would sacrifice her in an instant if it would help him find the truth.

She smiled, humor and challenge under the cool tones of her voice and behind the composure of her features. “Thank you. Perhaps in two or three days you will return and dine with us again?”

“I shall look forward to it,” he accepted, and as McTeer appeared and handed him his hat and coat, he took his leave.

It was quite by chance as he was hesitating on the footpath, deciding whether to walk the entire distance to the Grassmarket or go east and down to Princes Street to look for a hansom, that he glanced back towards the Farraline house and saw a small, neat figure in wide skirts emerge from near the side entrance and run down to the carriageway. He knew it must be Deirdra; no maid would have such a sweeping crinoline, and it was too small to be either Eilish or Oonagh.

The next moment he saw the other figure, coming across the road. As he passed underneath the gas lamp the light fell on him and Monk saw his rough clothes and dirty face. He was intent on the silhouette of Deirdra, going towards her eagerly.

Then he saw Monk. He froze, turned on the spot, hesitated a moment, then loped off up the way he had come. Monk waited nearly fifteen minutes, but he did not come back again, and at last Deirdra returned alone into the house.