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Monk looked around also. Several things on the dressing table were crooked, but it was hard to tell what would have been the natural design. However a cut glass dish was broken, and there were dried rose leaves scattered over the carpet underneath it. He had not noticed them before in the pattern of the flowers woven in.
Evan walked towards the window.
“It’s unlatched,” he said, moving it experimentally.
“I closed it,” the doctor put in. “It was open when I came, and damned cold. Took it into account for the rigor, though, so don’t bother to ask me. Maid said it was open when she came with Mrs. Haslett’s morning tray, but she didn’t sleep with it open normally. I asked that too.”
“Thank you,” Monk said dryly.
Evan pushed the window all the way up and looked outside.
“There’s creeper of some sort here, sir; and it’s broken in several places where it looks as if someone put his weight on it, some pieces crushed and leaves gone.” He leaned out a little farther. “And there’s a good ledge goes along as far as the drainpipe down. An agile man could climb it without too much difficulty.”
Monk went over and stood beside him. “Wonder why not the next room?” he said aloud. “That’s closer to the drainpipe, easier, and less chance of being seen.”
“Maybe it’s a man’s room?” Evan suggested. “No jewelry—or at least not much—a few silver-backed brushes, maybe, and studs, but nothing like a woman’s.”
Monk was annoyed with himself for not having thought of the same thing. He pulled his head back in and turned to the doctor.
“Is there anything else you can tell us?”
“Not a thing, sorry.” He looked harassed and unhappy. “I’ll write it out for you, if you want. But now I’ve got live patients to see. Must be going. Good day to you.”
“Good day.” Monk came back to the landing door with him. “Evan, go and see the maid that found her, and get her ladies’ maid and go over the room to see if anything’s missing, jewelry in particular. We can try the pawnbrokers and fences. I’m going to speak to some of the family who sleep on this floor.”
The next room turned out to be that of Cyprian Moidore, the dead woman’s elder brother, and Monk saw him in the morning room. It was overfurnished, but agreeably warm; presumably the downstairs maids had cleaned the grate, sanded and swept the carpets and lit the fires long before quarter to eight, when the upstairs maids had gone to waken the family.
Cyprian Moidore resembled his father in build and stance. His features were similar—the short, powerful nose, the broad mouth with the extraordinary mobility which might so easily become loose in a weaker man. His eyes were softer and his hair still dark.
Now he looked profoundly shaken.
“Good morning, sir,” Monk said as he came into the room and closed the door.
Cyprian did not reply.
“May I ask you, sir, is it correct that you occupy the bedroom next to Mrs. Haslett’s?”
“Yes.” Cyprian met his eyes squarely; there was no belligerence in them, only shock.
“What time did you retire, Mr. Moidore?”
Cyprian frowned. “About eleven, or a few minutes after. I didn’t hear anything, if that is what you are going to ask.”
“And were you in your room all night, sir?” Monk tried to phrase it without being offensive, but it was impossible.
Cyprian smiled very faintly.
“I was last night. My wife’s room is next to mine, the first as you leave the stair head.” He put his hands into his pockets. “My son has the room opposite, and my daughters the one next to that. But I thought we had established that whoever it was broke into Octavia’s room through the window.”
“It looks most likely, sir,” Monk agreed. “But it may not be the only room they tried. And of course it is possible they came in elsewhere and went out through her window. We know only that the creeper was broken. Was Mrs. Haslett a light sleeper?”
“No—” At first he was absolutely certain, then doubt flickered in his face. He took his hands out of his pockets. “At least I think not. But what difference does it make now? Isn’t this really rather a waste of time?” He moved a step closer to the fire. “It is indisputable someone broke in and she discovered him, and instead of simply running, the wretch stabbed her.” His face darkened. “You should be out there looking for him, not in here asking irrelevant questions! Perhaps she was awake anyway. People do sometimes waken in the night.”
Monk bit back the reply that rose instinctively.
“I was hoping to establish the time,” he continued levelly. “It would help when we come to question the closest constable on the beat, and any other people who might have been around at that hour. And of course it would help when we catch anyone, if he could prove he was elsewhere.”
“If he was elsewhere, then you wouldn’t have the right person, would you!” Cyprian said acidly.
