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“What? What did you say?” he asked.
Hyde looked more closely at Monk. “God, man! You look awful. And your trousers and boots are sodden. Where the hell have you been? It’s not that wet outside.” He led the way toward his office and opened the door for Monk to go in. As always, every shelf was crammed with books and there were piles of papers stacked on every surface. But there was a brisk fire burning in the hearth and the air was blessedly warm.
“Sit down,” Hyde ordered. “You look worse than some of my corpses. What’s happened?”
“Just had an escaped prisoner and the customs man chasing him fall into the river,” Monk said miserably, moving some papers and sitting down.
“So of course you naturally jumped in after them,” Hyde concluded with a bleak, twisted smile. “I hope they’re suitably appreciative.” He walked over to a small wall cupboard and opened it with a key on his watch chain. He took out two glasses and a bottle of excellent brandy. He poured a generous helping into each glass and handed one across to Monk.
Monk was glad of it; he was beginning to feel a little queasy. He took a large mouthful and swallowed it. Its fire burned into his stomach immediately, and then seemed to leak into his blood.
“Grateful?” Monk examined the word. “Well, the prisoner damn well is. He got clean away. The customs man rather less so. I’m afraid he’s dead. He’s your problem for the time being.”
Hyde took a deep breath. “Really? What happened? Prisoner kill him?”
“No. Either the river did, or I did.”
Hyde took a long, luxurious mouthful of the brandy, rolled it around his mouth, then swallowed it.
“Stop being so cryptic and explain yourself,” he ordered.
“He fell into the river and panicked. I had to hit him fairly hard to stop him drowning us both. We got him out onto the wharf, but he died. You know Crow?”
Hyde’s eyebrows rose. “Of course I know Crow. Lunatic, but he’s actually a more than half-decent doctor. Your lad’s with him, isn’t he?”
“Yes…”
“Good decision. Why? Did Crow see this panicky customs man?”
“Yes. Came just after we got him out of the water.”
“What did he say?”
“Not much. Just that he couldn’t save him.”
“Was he dead when you got him out?”
“I don’t think so. I saw his eyelids flutter, and it looked as if he coughed up a bit of water. Could be I just wanted him to live.”
“Got useful information for you?” Hyde asked curiously.
&
nbsp; “No! I just didn’t bloody well want to be responsible for his death!” Monk took another mouthful of the brandy and swallowed it, steadying himself. “I’m sorry. I thought he was the prisoner, but I still did everything I could to save him.”
“And he turned out to be the customs officer?” Hyde shook his head. “Not your day, was it? I’ll look at him carefully when he gets here. One of McNab’s men, was he?”
“Of course…”
“Not doing well, is he, our McNab?” Hyde said it with relish. “His men who lost Blount, wasn’t it? Well, I’ve got more news for you on that. Poor sod was well dead by the time he was shot. An hour or two at the very least. Now why would anyone shoot in the back some poor devil who was already thoroughly dead? A little exercise for you, Monk.”
Monk realized that Hyde was watching him with far more interest than his casual air would suggest. What was he looking for?
“You’re sure? He couldn’t have been unconscious in the water, from the shot, but still breathing, so he drowned?”
“How the hell long do you think it takes an unconscious man to drown, Monk? Minutes. Three or four at most. He was shot long after that.”
“How do you know?” Monk persisted.
