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The morgue attendant drew the sheet back from the body, showing only the head.
Lucius drew in his breath sharply and seemed to sway a little on his feet.
Stourbridge let out a soft sigh. He was a soldier, and he must have seen death many times before, and usually of men he had known to a greater or lesser extent, but this was a man of his own household, and murder was different from war. War was not an individual evil. Soldiers expected to kill and be killed. Frequently, they even respected their enemies. There was no hatred involved. The violence was huge and impersonal. It did not make the pain less, or the death or the bereavement less final, but death in war was mischance. This was different, a close, intended and covert evil, meant for this man alone.
"Is it your coachman, sir?" Robb asked, but he could not help being aware that the question was unnecessary. The recognition was in both their faces.
"Yes, it is," Stourbridge said quietly. "This is James Treadwell. Where did you find him?"
The morgue attendant drew back the sheet to cover the face.
"In the street, sir," Robb replied, leading them away from the table and back towards the door. "On the path to one of a row of houses on Green Man Hill, about half a mile or so from here." Robb was sympathetic, but the detective in him was paramount. "Are you aware of his knowing anyone in this area?"
"What?" Stourbridge looked up. "Oh ... no, I don’t think so. He is a nephew of our cook. I can ask her. I have no idea where he went on his days off."
"Was it one of his days off when he disappeared, sir?"
"No..."
"Did he have your permission to use your coach, sir?"
Stourbridge hesitated a moment before replying. He looked across at Lucius, then away again.
"No, he did not. I am afraid the circumstances of his leaving the house are somewhat mysterious, and not understood by any of us, Sergeant. We know when he left, but nothing more than that."
"You knew he had taken your coach," Robb pointed out. "But you did not report it to the police. It is a very handsome coach, sir, and exceptionally well matched horses. Worth a considerable amount."
"Major Stourbridge has already mentioned that Treadwell was related to his cook," Monk interrupted, "who is a longstanding servant of the family. He wished to avoid scandal, if possible. He hoped Treadwell would come to his senses and return ... even with a reasonable explanation."
Lucius could bear it no longer. "My fiancée was with him!" he burst out. "Mrs. Miriam Gardiner. It was to find her that we employed Mr. Monk’s services. Treadwell is beyond our help, poor soul, but where is Miriam? We should be turning all our skill and attention to searching for her! She may be hurt ... in danger ..." His voice was rising out of control as his imagination tortured him.
Robb looked startled for a moment, then his jaw hardened. He did not even glance at Monk. "Do I understand Mrs. Gardiner left your house in the carriage with Treadwell driving?" he demanded.
"We believe so," Stourbridge answered before Lucius could speak. "No one saw them go." He seemed to have appreciated something of the situation in spite of Monk’s silence. "But we have not heard from her since, nor do we know what has happened to her. We are at our wits’ end with worry."
"We must look for her!" Lucius cut across them. "Treadwell is dead and Miriam may be in danger. At the very least she must be in fear and distress. You must deploy every man you can to search for her!"
Robb stood still for a moment, surprise taking the words from him. Then slowly he turned to Monk, his eyes narrow and hard. "You omitted to mention that a young woman was a passenge
r in the carriage when Treadwell was murdered and that she has since disappeared. Why is that, Mr. Monk?"
Monk had foreseen the question, though there was no excuse that was satisfactory, and Robb would know that as well as he did.
"Mrs. Gardiner left with Treadwell," he replied with as honest a bearing as he could. "We have no idea when she left him...."
Lucius was staring at him, his eyes wide and horrified.
"Sophistry!" Robb snapped.
"Reality!" Monk returned with equal harshness. "This was five days ago. If anything happened to Mrs. Gardiner we are far too late to affect it now, except by careful thought and consideration before we act." He was acutely conscious of Lucius and of Harry Stourbridge. Their emotions filled the air. "If she met with violence as well, she would have been found long before now." He did not glance at either of them but kept his eyes level on Robb. "If she was kidnapped, then a ransom will be asked for, and it has not so far. If she witnessed the murder, then she may well have run away, for her own safety, and we must be careful how we look for her, in case we bring upon her the very harm she fears." He drew in his breath. "And until Major Stourbridge identified the body as that of Treadwell, we did not know that it was anything more than a domestic misunderstanding between Mr. Stourbridge and Mrs. Gardiner."
Lucius stood appalled.
Stourbridge looked from one to the other of them. "We know now," he said grimly. "The question is what we are to do next."
"Discover all the facts that we can," Monk answered him. "And then deduce what we can from them."
Robb bit his lip, his face pale. He turned to Lucius. "You have no idea why Mrs. Gardiner left your home?"
