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“Yes, without question.”
“Can we get the company books audited?” Monk leaned forward.
“I doubt it, unless you have evidence of embezzlement, and that it is likely to be connected with Mrs. Farraline’s murder. Have you?”
“No … one can hardly count old Hector’s ramblings.”
Argyll’s expression sharpened. “Tell me more about old Hector, Mr. Monk.”
In precise detail and without interruption, Monk recounted what Hector had said to him.
Argyll listened intently.
“Will you put him in the box?” Monk finished.
“Aye … I think I may,” Argyll said thoughtfully. “If I can manage to do it without warning.”
“Then he may be too drunk to be any use,” Rathbone protested, sitting upright.
“And if I warn the family, they may make sure he is too drunk to stand up at all,” Argyll pointed out. “No, surprise is our only weapon. Not good, I grant you, but all we have.”
“What will you do?” Rathbone asked. “Elicit something which will necessitate your calling him as if by chance?”
Argyll’s mobile mouth curved upward in appreciation. “Precisely. And I gather you have also obtained another Crimean colleague to appear for Miss Latterly?”
“Yes. A doctor who will speak very highly of her.”
Monk stood up impatiently and swung away from the chair to pace the floor.
“None of that is any use if we cannot suggest who else killed Mrs. Farraline. She didn’t die by accident, nor did she kill herself. Someone gave her a lethal dose, and someone put that pearl brooch in Hester’s baggage, certainly to implicate her. You can’t create doubt it was Hester unless you can point to someone else.”
“I am aware of that, Mr. Monk,” Argyll said quietly. “That is where we still look to you. I think we may safely assume it was one of the family. You have effectively ruled out the servants, so Mr. Rathbone has told me.”
“Yes, they can all account for their time in each other’s company,” Monk agreed. “And more importantly, there seems no earthly reason for any of them to have harmed her.” He drove his hands into his pockets savagely. “It was one of the family, but I have no more idea now of which one than I had when I stepped off the train, except I don’t believe it was Eilish. I think our best chance is Kenneth. He has a mistress the family doesn’t approve of, and he is the company bookkeeper. He is also one of the weaker ones. You ought to be able to rattle him in the witness-box, if you are any good at your job.”
Rathbone winced at Monk’s abruptness, but he shared his emotion. He would tie Kenneth into a knot he’d never undo, if only he had the chance. Damn the differences between English and Scots law. Frustration churned inside him so violently he found it hard to keep still. He did not blame Monk for his restlessness or his manner.
Argyll leaned back in his chair, resting his fingertips together and staring at Monk without anger. “I’ll be better at it, Mr. Monk, if you can find me cause to have those company books examined. I think young Mr. Kenneth may very well have embezzled a bawbee here and there to keep his mistress … but we’ll need more than a suggestion if we are to say that to the High Court of Justiciary in Edinburgh.”
“I’D get it for you,” Monk said grimly.
Argyll raised his black eyebrows. “Legally, if you please. It will be no use to us otherwise.”
“I know that,” Monk said between his teeth. “There won’t be a mark on him, nor will he have cause for a complaint of any sort. Just do your part.”
Rathbone winced again.
Monk shot another glance at Argyll, then without speaking again opened the door and went out.
Hester had passed the journey from London to Edinburgh in the guard’s van, in a state which was certainly not sleep, or anything like the rest that sleep should bring, and yet it had all the qualities of a dream. There was no sense of direction, she could as easily have been traveling south as north, and this time there was no footwarmer. She was manacled to the wardress, who sat rigid with anxiety, her face set like iron. Every time Hester closed her eyes she expected to see Mary Farraline when she opened them again, and hear her soft, cultured Highland voice with the Edinburgh intonation recounting some memory from the past, filled with humor and enjoyment.
She was the last to disembark from the train, and by the time she and the wardress stepped out onto the platform, most of the other passengers were moving towards the gates up into the street.
The police escort was there, four large constables holding truncheons and looking nervously from left to right.
“Come on, Latterly,” the wardress said sharply, yanking at Hester’s manacled hands. “No dithering around, now!”
“I’m not going to escape!” Hester said with wry contempt.
