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"You are a gentleman of similar social standing"—he winced inwardly at his own hypocrisy—"and an immediate neighbor of Major Grey's; you must be able to tell me something about him personally. I know nothing."
Scarsdale was happy enough to change the subject, and in spite of his irritation, flattered.
"Yes, of course," he agreed quickly. "Nothing at all?"
"Nothing at all," Monk conceded.
"He was a younger brother of Lord Shelburne, you know?" Scarsdale's eyes widened, and at last he walked
to the center of the room and sat down on a hard-backed, carved chair. He waved his arm vaguely, giving Monk permission to do so too.
"Indeed?" Monk chose another hard-backed chair so as not to be below Scarsdale.
"Oh yes, a very old family," Scarsdale said with relish. "The Dowager Lady Shelburne, his mother, of course, was the eldest daughter of the Duke of Ruthven, at least I think it was he; certainly the duke of somewhere."
"Joscelin Grey," Monk reminded him.
"Oh. Very pleasant fellow; officer in the Crimea, forgotten which regiment, but a very distinguished record." He nodded vigorously. "Wounded at Sebastopol, I think he said, then invalided out. Walked with a limp, poor devil. Not that it was disfiguring. Very good-looking fellow, great charm, very well liked, you know."
"A wealthy family?"
"Shelburne?" Scarsdale was faintly amused by Monk's ignorance and his confidence was beginning to return. "Of course. But I suppose you know, or perhaps you don't." He looked Monk up and down disparagingly. "But naturally all the money went to the eldest son, the present Lord Shelburne. Always happens that way, everything to the eldest, along with the title. Keeps the estates whole, otherwise everything would be in bits and pieces, d'you understand? All the power of the land gone!"
Monk controlled his sense of being patronized; he was perfectly aware of the laws of primogeniture.
"Yes, thank you. Where did Joscelin Grey's money come from?"
Scarsdale waved his hands, which were small, with wide knuckles and very short nails. "Oh business interests, I presume. I don't believe he had a great deal, but he didn't appear in any want. Always dressed well. Tell a lot from a fellow's clothes, you know." Again he looked at Monk with a faint curl of his lip, then saw the quality of Monk's jacket and the portion of his shirt that was visible, and changed his mind, his eyes registering confusion.
"And as far as you know he was neither married nor betrothed?'' Monk kept a stiff face and hid at least most of his satisfaction.
Scarsdale was surprised at his inefficiency.
"Surely you know that?"
"Yes, we know
there was no official arrangement," Monk said, hastening to cover his mistake. "But you are in a position to know if there was any other relationship, anyone in whom he—had an interest?"
Scarsdale's rather full mouth turned down at the corners.
"If you mean an arrangement of convenience, not that I am aware of. But then a man of breeding does not inquire into the personal tastes—or accommodations—of another gentleman."
"No, I didn't mean a financial matter," Monk answered with the shadow of a sneer. "I meant some lady he might have—admired—or even been courting."
Scarsdale colored angrily. "Not as far as I know."
"Was he a gambler?"
"I have no idea. I don't gamble myself, except with friends, of course, and Grey was not among them. I haven't heard anything, if that's what you mean."
Monk realized he would get no more this evening, and he was tired. His own mystery was heavy at the back of his mind. Odd, how emptiness could be so intrusive. He rose to his feet.
"Thank you, Mr. Scarsdale. If you should hear anything to throw light on Major Grey's last few days, or who might have wished him harm, I am sure you will let us know. The sooner we apprehend this man, the safer it will be for everyone."
Scarsdale rose also, his face tightening at the subtle and unpleasant reminder that it had happened just across the hall from his own flat, threatening his security even as he stood there.
"Yes, naturally," he said a little sharply. "Now if you
