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“Poor devil is genuinely ill,” he said, sitting opposite her in his private room, leaning forward in his chair. “It’s what’s called myasthenia gravis. Gets the muscles all through the body. Comes and goes. One day he’ll be pretty good, the next thoroughly weak and ill and looks like hell. That’s why they think he’s putting it on half the time.”
“I’ve seen it before,” Hester replied. “Not often. How far on is he?”
“Long way, I’d judge. But he’s good for a few years yet, if no one kills him,” he said wryly. “And that’s not something I’d bet on.”
“Did you get a chance to speak to him?”
?
??Briefly. Surly bastard. But I think he’s scared. Knows he’s not likely to get out, and even if he does, he’ll be lucky to last long. Someone’s out to get him.”
“Does he know who?”
“I think he does, but he certainly isn’t saying so. They’ve got him sorted, as far as telling anyone is concerned.”
“Is anybody else trying to find out who attacked him?”
“That’s the funny thing; it doesn’t seem as if anyone is.” He screwed up his face. “The governor doesn’t seem to care. In fact I’d say he would definitely prefer not to know. Which makes me wonder if actually he does, and values his ignorance all the more for that reason. Sometimes it isn’t what you know that matters so much as what other people think you know. Keeps his nose down, does Mr. Fortridge-Smith, and his eyes closed.”
“Cowardice?” she asked grimly. “Or well-rewarded self-interest?”
“From the little I saw of him, I’d guess both,” Crow said with disgust. “But Beshara’s scared for his life, that’s pretty clear. You know he wasn’t the main person who sunk the Princess Mary, but I’ll bet he knows who was. And they know he knows … which is a death sentence a damn sight more certain than the official hangman’s noose. Poor sod just doesn’t know when, or by whom.”
“There’s no pity in your voice,” she observed.
“There wouldn’t be much in yours either, if you’d met him,” Crow said with a grimace. “He may not have been the one who put the dynamite in the Princess Mary, or lit the fuse, but he knew what was going to happen, and he chose to let it. If he’s scared to hell of someone silencing him on the chance he might testify to it, I, for one, have little grief for him.”
“Is it someone in the prison already, there with him?” It was a question to which he might have no answer, but she had to ask.
“I think so, although they may be getting their orders from outside.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Because he’s locked away in the infirmary, but he’s still scared.”
“Was he frightened of you?”
He thought for a moment. “No,” he said with slight surprise.
“Then he knows who it is,” she deduced. “Or at least he knows something about them. How interesting.” She smiled. “Thank you very much.”
IT WAS ONLY FOUR days since the ramming of the ferry, but Monk was increasingly restless. His ribs still ached, but the wounds on his arms were practically healed. As long as he moved carefully, the pain was far more bearable than even the day before. It was time he went back to Wapping and started doing more himself than listening to reports from Orme and Hooper, and giving directions. They were closing in, but it seemed desperately slow.
He received Hester’s news from Crow with considerable interest. He drew in breath to tell her never to dare take such a risk again, but saw the foreboding in her eyes, and realized it would hurt her, without making any difference to what she would do. It would drive a wedge of distrust between them, not of lies but of lack of confidence. That was too high a price.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “It all points the way to the same answer. Beshara was not guilty, but he knows who was, or has a pretty good idea. And whoever it is will quite willingly kill him to keep his silence.”
“And ramming the ferry?” she pressed. “It wasn’t an accident, was it?”
“No …”
“Be careful …” Her voice was hoarse, the words forced between her lips. This was real fear now, not for her own safety, but for the loss that she could not bear.
He stood up awkwardly, and, ignoring the stab of pain in his chest, took her in his arms. Neither of them noticed Scuff come into the room with the tea, then turn around and go out again, to wait for a better moment.
CHAPTER
13
