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Robb glanced at him quickly. "And a scandal wouldn’t help. I understand. But if this is your man, I’m afraid it can’t be avoided." He frowned. "Doesn’t throw any light on who killed him, though, does it? What was he doing here? Why didn’t whoever killed him take the coach? It’s a good one, and the horses are beauties."
"No idea," Monk admitted. "Every new fact only makes it harder to understand."
Robb nodded, then turned back to his grandfather. He made sure the old man was comfortable and could reach everything he would need before Robb could come home again, then he touched him gently, smiled, and took his leave.
The old man said nothing, but his gratitude was in his face. He seemed better now that he had had his meal and whatever medicine Robb had given him.
They walked the three quarters of a mile or so to the stable where the horses and the carriage were being housed. Robb explained to the groom in charge who Monk was.
Monk needed only to glance at the carriage to remove any doubt in his own mind that it was the Stourbridges’. He examined it to see if there were any marks on it, or anything left in the inside which might tell him of its last journey, but there was nothing. It was a very well kept, cleaned, polished and oiled family coach. It had slight marks of wear and was about ten years old. The manufacturer was the one whose name Henry Stourbridge had given him. The description answered exactly.
The horses were also precisely as described.
"Where exactly were they found?" Monk asked again.
"Cannon Hall Road," Robb replied. "It’s yours, isn’t it?" That was barely a question. He knew the answer from Monk’s face.
"And the body?"
"On the path to number five, Green Man Hill. It’s a row of small houses close onto the Heath."
"And, of course, you’ve asked them about it." That, too, was a statement, not a question.
Robb shrugged. "Of course. No one is saying anything."
Monk was not surprised. Whether they did or not, few people admitted to knowing anything about a murder.
"I’ll need the body identified formally," Robb said. "And I’ll have to speak to Major Stourbridge, of course. Ask him all I can about Treadwell." He did not even bother to add "if it is him."
"I’ll go to Cleveland Square and bring someone," Monk offered. He wanted to be the one to tell Harry and Lucius, and preferably to do it without Robb present. He could not avoid the sergeant’s being there when they identified the body.
"Thank you," Robb accepted. "I’ll be at the morgue at four."
Monk took a hansom back to Bayswater, and when the footman admitted him, he asked if he could speak to Major Stourbridge. He would prefer, if possible, to tell the major without Lucius’s having to know until it was necessary. Perhaps it was also cowardice. He did not want to be the one to tell Lucius.
He was shown into the withdrawing room with French doors wide open onto the sunlit lawn. Harry Stourbridge was standing just inside, but Monk could see the figure of his wife in the garden beyond, her pale dress outlined against the vivid colors of the herbaceous border.
"You have news, Mr. Monk?" Stourbridge said almost before the footman had closed the door from the hall. He looked anxious. His face was drawn, and there were dark smudges under his eyes as if he had slept little. It would be cruel to stretch out the suspense. It was hard enough to have to kill the hope struggling in him as it was.
"I am sorry, it is not good," Monk said bluntly. He saw Harry Stourbridge’s body stiffen and the last, faint touch of color drain from his skin. "I believe I have found your coach and horses," he continued. "And the body of a man I am almost certain is Treadwell. There is no sign whatever of Mrs. Gardiner."
"No sign of Miriam?" Stourbridge looked confused. He swallowed painfully. "Where was this, Mr. Monk? Do you know what happened to Treadwell, if it is he?"
"Hampstead, just off the Heath. I’m very sorry; it seems Treadwell was murdered."
Stourbridge’s eyes widened. "Robbery?"
"Perhaps, but if so, what for? He wouldn’t be carrying money, would he? Have you missed anything from the house?"
"No! No, of course not, or I should have told you. But why else would anyone attack and kill the poor man?"
"We don’t know..."
"We?"
"The police at Hampstead. I traced the carriage that far, then went to ask them," Monk explained. "A young sergeant called Robb. He told me he was working on a murder and I realized from his description that it could be Treadwell. Also, the carriage and horses were found half a mile away, quite undamaged. I have looked at them, and from what you told me, they appear to be yours. I am afraid you will need to send someone to identify them—and the body—to be certain."
"Of course," Stourbridge agreed. "I will come myself." He took a step forward across the bright, sunlit carpet. "But you have no idea about Miriam?"
