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r or so.
He was given a rather bare room to sit in. He had the feeling it was not so much for his comfort as to keep customers of the bank from seeing him. He was certainly respectable enough in appearance, even rather elegant, which was a harder thing to be in the River Police than when he was a detective in the regular Metropolitan Police. He had always favored good tailors. He remembered with a twisted smile going to his rooms when he first recovered from the accident, knowing nothing of his previous life, to find the tailor’s bills. Thank heaven they were all marked as paid!
Working on the river was different. It was far more physical and frequently dirtier, because docks, by their nature, were places of salt, dust, dubious old timber, and packing materials. He was dressed in a better suit than he would normally wear. With his strong-boned face, slate-gray eyes, and grace of movement, he was a dangerous-looking man.
He did not blend in with the city-clothed businessmen who had come to the bank on financial affairs in their frock coats and pin-striped trousers.
Eventually a clerk came to fetch him to Doyle’s office and opened the door for him to enter. Doyle was sitting at his desk. He did not rise. Monk was in his domain, and he was not a potential client.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Monk.” Doyle inclined his head politely but did not use Monk’s professional title. “What may I do for you?”
Monk sat down uninvited. “Good afternoon, Mr. Doyle. I’m afraid I’m here regarding the tragic kidnap and murder of Mrs. Exeter.”
A shadow passed over Doyle’s face. His back stiffened a little. “I am afraid I can tell you nothing, Mr. Monk.”
Monk felt his body tighten. The man was clearly being obstructive, and the reason for it was becoming clearer every moment. “I have Mr. Exeter’s permission to see all his records that you have, Mr. Doyle. I am aware of your assistance to him in getting hold of a very large ransom amount. It was a very good service you rendered him. Although I cannot imagine him leaving his considerable amount of money in your bank, had you declined.”
“That is a disgraceful suggestion!” Doyle said furiously. “And totally without foundation. I cannot think of any honorable reason why you would make such a suggestion.”
“And since I have Mr. Exeter’s permission, I cannot think of any honorable reason why you would refuse to show me the accounts.”
“Because they would show not Mr. Exeter’s money, but amounts he paid to others that have nothing to do with this matter, and of course payments made to him. They concern other people who have not given you their permission, Mr. Monk!” Doyle snapped back.
“Do you not think it probable, Mr. Doyle, that all demands for so huge a ransom were made by someone who had knowledge of Mr. Exeter’s financial position? And that such money was lodged all in one place with you? And then, with a little maneuvering, you were able to lay your hands on it, at short notice? That is not public knowledge. In fact, if it were widely shared, it would hardly be worth your taking so much risk in keeping it from the police.”
Doyle’s face, which had been red with temper a few moments ago, now was drained of all color. “Are you accusing me of something, sir?”
“Nothing more than being pompous and obstructive,” Monk replied. “So far!”
Doyle pushed his chair back from the desk and stood up, banging his knee on the high side of the drawer and wincing with pain. “I shall have to get them from the safe and choose those that will serve your purpose, without revealing other men’s private affairs.”
“I’ll wait.” Monk sat back in his chair.
“Indeed, sir,” Doyle agreed. “But you will not do it in my private office!” Walking with a slight limp to the door, he held it open for Monk to leave.
Monk went out; he had no reasonable alternative. He would not have looked at any of Doyle’s other papers, but another man might have. And perhaps, if he thought that the key to Kate’s murder lay there, he might have also. But he would not have the time or the financial skill to have known that at a glance. It was Doyle’s job to keep them safe, and he would have thought less of him if he had not done so.
He waited on a seat in a hallway outside Doyle’s office. It was comfortable enough. He had been there only a few moments when Bella Franken walked past him, dressed in black and carrying a pile of ledgers. One slipped from her grasp and landed on the floor, almost at his feet.
He bent to pick it up for her.
She looked a little flustered. “Thank you, sir. I’m so sorry.” She lowered her voice even more. “Please meet me at the south side of the river, by the Greenwich Stairs, at half-past seven this evening. I’ll have the true papers for you then.” And before he could ask her anything further, she straightened up the files in her arms and hurried on. She disappeared around the corner without looking back.
Doyle returned with a few sheets of paper and opened his office door. “Please,” he said sharply, ushering Monk inside. “These are the papers you will need in order to see how the money was obtained so rapidly. They are exact copies. We cannot let the originals out of our keeping. Anyway, if you do bring a case against someone, you may need them. I don’t see why or how, but I presume you know your job. Or you employ someone who does!”
He gave the papers to Monk, who took them with an expression of thanks. Five minutes later he was outside in the street again, the papers tucked in his inside pocket, his head down against the rising wind.
* * *
—
AT THE POLICE STATION Monk studied the figures Doyle had given him, but he had to admit they meant little to him. He was familiar with ordinary accounting, but some of these on one sheet of paper and some on another did not mean anything to him but simple arithmetic and sums. All of them, as far as he could see, were correct.
Of course, Katherine’s inheritance was not included among these papers. It was a quite separate matter, and Exeter had no access to it. That had been a very specific part of the bequest. He imagined Exeter had found that insulting but not of any financial consequence to him. The amounts he dealt with were huge, and he was more than comfortably off. That, at least, was obvious.
* * *
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