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“Ah…?” McNab was watching him closely now. “That ties in with what I was going to say to you. No trace of Owen for certain, but a few rumors…You haven’t heard? Then a good thing you came. Damned good explosives man just turned up in Calais, on the way back here.” He looked at Monk unblinkingly. “And then there’s Applewood….”
“Applewood?” Monk resented being made to ask.
“Another expert,” McNab said with relish. “A chemist. Can mix all sorts of gases, among other things.”
Monk waited.
“All known associates,” McNab added.
There was a moment’s silence. Footsteps in the passage outside were audible, then faded away.
“I see.” Monk let out his breath. “Associates in what?”
McNab oozed satisfaction. “A major robbery. Gold bullion. Got caught, but more by mischance than any skill on the part of the police.”
“Police. So nothing to do with Customs, or the river, that time,” Monk said, his mind racing. McNab was enjoying this, but why? Had that any relevance to its truth?
“What do they need a chemist, an explosives expert, a forger, and a safecracker for?” Monk asked. “Or don’t you know?”
“I have some ideas,” McNab said slowly, his eyes never leaving Monk’s. “But we need to know what they’re after. And they have to replace Blount with somebody of equal skill. That would be where we start.” He smiled. “Unless Blount had already done the work, and they killed him because they didn’t need him anymore?”
“Then we should keep an eye open for any bodies that could be one of the others,” Monk added. “How did Pettifer know that Owen was going upriver, instead of down to the Isle of Dogs, and the sea?”
McNab froze.
Monk tried very hard to keep the emotion out of his face. This might be his chance to learn more about Pettifer, and possibly about the plot too big for McNab to deal with without Monk’s men. McNab would undoubtedly cooperate until the capture was sure, then turn on Monk at the last moment and, if he could, make a fool of him. It was all in the timing.
McNab relaxed, letting his breath out in a sigh. “Pity we can’t ask him,” he said with an edge to his voice that was unmistakable in its implication.
“Perhaps he spoke to someone?” Monk said as if he believed it likely. He needed to know more about all of it, but especially about Pettifer.
McNab sat absolutely motionless for several seconds. Then a slow satisfaction seeped through him and he met Monk’s eyes with a candor unusual for him.
“Skelmer’s Wharf is pretty near Aaron Clive’s big warehouses, isn’t it.” It was not a question, rather a reminder, something for Monk to take hold of. “Big importer and exporter. Lot of very valuable stuff would pass through his hands. Some of it small enough to b
e stolen relatively easily, wouldn’t you say?”
It would be ridiculous to deny it.
“Yes…” Monk agreed guardedly.
“And there was the schooner lying inshore on the south bank,” McNab went on, still looking at Monk. “Seagoing, do you think?”
“No doubt at all,” Monk conceded.
“And Owen swam for it.” McNab was enjoying himself now. “And the captain helped him aboard. Told you that he took Owen downriver and put him ashore. Did you believe that?”
Monk hesitated. Either answer tripped him up. If he believed Gillander, then he sounded naïve. If he did not, then he should have questioned him further. Honesty was the only thing that would not catch him later.
“I believed Gillander at the time,” he admitted.
McNab pursed his lips, but it was a pretense at regret. His eyes were shining. “Pity. Too late now. The bird has flown. Maybe you should learn a little more about this Aaron Clive, and his business? I can give you copies of what we have about him. Very rich man…indeed.” His smile widened. “Seems he made a king’s ransom of money in the goldfields in California. Decided to come and taste the good life in London. He’s American. Don’t know much about him before a couple of years ago.” He sat back a little in his chair. “If you find anything interesting, Customs would regard it as a nice piece of cooperation if you would let us know.” His eyes met Monk’s and they gleamed with satisfaction. It was not an expression that Monk enjoyed.
“Naturally,” he agreed. “If you’ll send us copies of the most recent cargo manifests of Clive’s business, that would be a nice piece of cooperation, too.” He stood up. “Good day, Mr. McNab.”
“Good day, Commander Monk. So glad you came.”
—
