AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Good morning, Mr. Monk,” she said, coming in and closing the door behind her. She was dressed in pale blue-gray and it became her delicate coloring, even though it was a very ordinary day dress with a high neck and the barest of trimmings. “You will be circumspect, won’t you?” she said anxiously. “I don’t know how you can possibly make inquiries without either telling people what you are seeking or arousing their suspicions. It would be disastrous if they were to learn the truth, or even to imagine it!” She stared up at him with puckered brows and a flush in her cheeks. “Even Audley, Mr. Penrose, was curious yesterday as to why you called. He is not especially fond of cousin Albert, and had not thought that I was either. Which is true, I am not; he was just the most suitable excuse that came to my mind.”
“There is no need to be concerned, Mrs. Penrose,” he said gravely. “I shall be very discreet.”
“But how?” she pressed urgently, her voice sharpening. “What could you possibly say to explain away such questions? Servants talk, you know.” She shook her head sharply. “Even the best of them. And what would my neighbors think? What imaginable reason does a respectable person have for employing a private inquiry agent?”
“Do you wish to cease the inquiry, ma’am?” he asked quite quietly. He would understand it very well if she did; indeed, he still did not know what use she would make of the information he sought, even if he found it for her, since no prosecution was planned.
“No,” she said fiercely, gritting her teeth. “No I do not. It’s just that I must think very clearly before I allow you to proceed. It would be reckless to go ahead and do more damage simply because I feel strongly about the matter.”
“I had planned to say there had been a small unpleasantness of damage in the garden,” Monk told her. “A few broken plants, and if you have them, glass frames. I will ask if the gardeners or servants have seen any boys playing who might have trespassed and done the harm. That will hardly be a cause for scandal or unseemly speculation.”
Her face flickered with amazement, then relief. “Oh, what an excellent idea,” she said eagerly. “I should never have thought of that. It sounds so simple and everyday a thing. Thank you, Mr. Monk, my mind is quite at ease.”
He smiled in spite of himself. “I’m glad you are satisfied. But your own gardener will not be quite so easy.”
“Why not?”
“Because he is perfectly aware that no one has broken your cold frames,” he replied. “I had better make it someone else’s, and hope they do not compare notes all along the road.”
“Oh!” But she gave a little laugh, and the thought of it seemed to amuse her rather than trouble her. “Would you like to see Rodwell today? He is in the back garden now.”
“Yes, thank you. This would seem a good opportunity.” And without further discussion she led him to the side door into the arbor and left him to find the gardener, who was bent to his knees pulling weeds from the border.
“Good morning, Rodwell,” Monk said pleasantly, stopping beside him.
“Mornin’ sir,” Rodwell answered without looking up.
“Mrs. Penrose gave me permission to speak to you about some breakages locally, in case you happened to have seen any strangers in the area,” Monk continued.
“Oh?” Rodwell sat back on his haunches and regarded Monk curiously. “Breakages o’ what, sir?”
“Cold frames, beading plants, that sort of thing.”
Rodwell pursed his lips. “No, I can’t say as I’ve seen anyone strange ’round ’ere. Sounds like boys to me, that does—playing, like as not.” He grunted. “Throwin’ balls, cricket, and that sort o’ thing. Mischief, more’n like, not downright wickedness.”
“Probably,” Monk agreed, nodding. “But it is not a pleasant thought that some stranger might be hanging around, doing malicious damage, even if it’s only slight.”
“Mrs. Penrose never said nothing about it.” Rodwell screwed up his face and peered at Monk doubtfully.
“She wouldn’t.” Monk shook his head. “Nothing broken in your garden, I daresay.”
“No—nothing at all—well … no but a few flowers, like, against the west wall. But that could ’a bin anything.”
“You haven’t seen anyone you don’t know hanging around in the last two weeks or so? You are sure?”
“No one at all,” Rodwell said with absolute certainty. “I’d ’a chased them orf smart if I ’ad. Don’t ’old wi’ strangers in gardens. Things get broke, just like you said.”
“Oh well, thank you for your time, Rodwell.”
“You’re welcome, sir.” And with that the gardener adjusted his cap to a slightly different angle and resumed his weeding.
Next Monk called at number sixteen, explained his purpose, and asked if he might speak to the lady of the house. The maid took the message and returned within ten minutes to admit him to a small but extremely pleasant writing room where a very elderly lady with many ropes of pearls around her neck and across her bosom was sitting at a rosewood bureau. She turned and looked at Monk with curiosity, and then as she regarded his face more closely, with considerable interest. Monk guessed she must be at least ninety years old.
“Well,” she said with satisfaction. “You are an odd-looking young man to be inquiring about broken glass in the garden.” She looked him up and down, from his discreet polished boots up his immaculate trouser legs to his elegant jacket, and lastly to his hard, lean face with its penetrating eyes and sardonic mouth. “You don’t look to me as if you would know a spade or a hoe if you tripped over one,” she went on. “And you certainly don’t earn your living with your hands.”
His own interest was piqued. She had an amiable face, deeply lined, full of humor and curiosity, and there was nothing critical in her remarks. The anomaly appeared to please her.
“You had better explain yourself.” She turned away from the bureau completely as if he interested her far more than the letters she had been writing.
