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The front door opened before Casbolt could touch the bell. The butler, pale-faced, ushered them in.
“Mrs. Alberton is in the withdrawing room, sir,” he said to Casbolt, barely acknowledging Monk’s presence. He must have seen from Casbolt’s face the nature of the news he brought. “Shall I fetch her maid, sir?”
“Yes, please.” Casbolt’s voice was little above a whisper. “I am afraid the news is … terrible. You might also send word for Dr. Gray.”
“Yes, sir. Is there anything else I can do?”
“I could use a brandy, and I daresay Mr. Monk could also. It has been the worst morning of my life.”
“Did you find Mr. Alberton, sir?”
“Yes, I am afraid he is dead.”
The butler drew in his breath and swayed for a moment, then regained his self-control. “Was it the American gentleman, sir, over the guns?”
“It looks lik
e it, but say nothing to anyone yet. Now I must go and-”
He got no further. Judith opened the withdrawing room door and stood staring at them. She read in Casbolt’s agonized face what she must already have dreaded.
He stepped forward as if to catch her should she fall, but with an effort so intense it was plain to see, she steadied herself and remained upright.
“Is he … dead?”
Casbolt seemed to be beyond words. He merely nodded.
She breathed out very slowly, her face ashen. “And Merrit?” Her voice cracked.
“No sign of her.” He took her by the arm, gently, but almost supporting her weight. “There is no reason to suppose any harm has come to her,” he said clearly. “That is why I brought Monk. He may be able to help us. Come in and sit down. Hallows will send for Dr. Gray and bring us some brandy. Please … come in.…” He turned her as he spoke, half leading her into the room, and Monk followed after, closing the door. He felt like an intruder in an intensely private grief. Casbolt was family, perhaps all she had left now. They had known each other since childhood. Monk was an outsider.
Judith stood in the middle of the floor, and it was not until Casbolt guided her to a chair that she finally sank into it. She looked devastated, hollow-eyed, her skin bloodless, but she did not weep.
“What happened?” she asked, looking at Casbolt as if to lose sight of him would somehow be to abandon all help or hope.
“We don’t know,” he answered. “Daniel and the two guards at the warehouse were shot. It was probably very quick. There will have been no pain.” He did not say anything about the extraordinary positions they had been in, or the T-shaped cuts in their flesh. Monk was glad. He would not have told her either. If she did not ever have to know, so much the better. If it became public, it would be later, when she was stronger.
“And the guns and ammunition were all gone,” Casbolt added.
“Breeland?” she whispered, searching his face. He was sitting close to her and she reached toward him instinctively.
“It looks like it,” he replied. “We went to his rooms first, looking for him,” he went on. “For Merrit, really, and he was gone, all his belongings, everything. He received a message and packed and left within a matter of minutes, according to the doorman.”
“And Merrit?” There was terror in her voice, in her eyes, the slender hands clenched in her lap.
He reached out and rested his fingers over hers. “We don’t know. She was at his rooms and left with him.”
Judith started to rock sideways, shaking her head in denial. “She wouldn’t! She can’t have known! She would never …”
“Of course not,” he said softly, tightening his hand on hers. “She won’t have had the faintest idea of what he intended to do, and it may be he will never tell her. Don’t think the worst; there is no occasion to. Merrit is young, full of hotheaded ideals, and she was certainly swept off her feet by Breeland, but she is still at heart the girl you know, and she loved her father, in spite of the stupid quarrel.”
“What will he do to her?” There was agony in her eyes. “She’ll ask him how he got the guns. She knows her father refused to sell them to him.”
“He’ll lie,” Casbolt said simply. “He’ll say Daniel changed his mind after all, or that he stole them … she wouldn’t mind that because she believes the cause is above ordinary morality. But she wouldn’t ever countenance violence.” His voice rang with conviction, and for a moment there was a flicker of hope in Judith’s face. For the first time she turned to Monk.
“He obviously had allies,” Monk said to her. “Someone came to his rooms with a message. He could not have moved the guns by himself. There must have been at least two of them, more likely three.” He did not mention the forced help at gunpoint he believed had been the case. “Merrit may have been looked after by someone else during that time.”
“Could …” She swallowed and took a moment to regain her composure. “Could she just have eloped with Breeland, and neither of them had anything to do with the … the guns?” She could not bring herself to say “murder.” “Could that have been the blackmailer?”
