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Monk agreed as tactfully as he could.
—
IT WAS AFTER FOUR and the sun set low on the horizon, sending shadows across the water, when Monk left Wapping again and decided to walk the relatively short distance to the Customs House on Thames Street. It was little more than a mile and he wanted the air, cold as it was, and the solitude to order in his mind exactly what he would say. How he approached the customs men from whom Blount had escaped would determine what he would learn.
Monk wanted information from them. It was not his place to discipline them, were they at fault, and that was not certain.
The walk took him a little longer than he expected; traffic was heavy and the sidewalks crowded. But by the time he reached the magnificent customs buildings facing the river, completely restored since the fire of 1825, he was ready to deal with the men patiently and win what he could not command.
He was received guardedly and shown to a small private room someone had obligingly made available to him. It was not one of those with a view over the river.
A young man was brought in within moments and introduced as Edward Worth. The other customs officer who had interviewed Blount, Logan, had been badly injured in Blount’s escape and was recovering in the hospital.
“Sit down, Worth.” Monk gestured to the chair on the other side of the desk. “Blount’s dead, and it’s not much loss, except if he was going to testify against Haskell. Was he?” Monk said.
Worth sat down on the edge of the chair. He looked no more than twenty-five, and considerably embarrassed by the fact that he and his colleague had somehow managed to let a prisoner escape, and worse than that, be killed. He still looked shocked.
Monk could not remember being so young. That age was part of his lost years. Had he ever looked so vulnerable to his seniors? The impressions he had gathered had been that he had always seemed a little arrogant, perhaps appearing more sure of himself than he was.
“No, sir, not that I could see,” Worth answered. “The whole thing was a waste of time, actually.” Then he colored uncomfortably. “Sorry, sir.”
“Who told you to question him?” Monk asked.
“Orders, sir.”
“I don’t doubt that, Worth. From whom?”
“Mr. Gillies, sir. I answer to him but he must have had his orders from higher up.” Worth looked unhappy, like a schoolboy who has been forced to snitch on one of his fellows.
“I see. Expressly to get Blount to tell you about Haskell, or on a general fishing expedition?”
“As to who paid him, sir. And there was a whole box of forging equipment, and special papers as he could identify, if he would.”
“And did he? Identify them, I mean.”
“No, sir, not really…Just said it was the right sort for bills of trading, some from foreign parts, like.”
Monk knew that if he embarrassed Worth too deeply, or seemed to be finding fault with the Customs service in general, he would get nothing from the young man. It would be harsh, but above and beyond that, it would also be pointless. If Worth had made errors, or done less than his best, he would be keener than anyone to make amends. Good leadership would allow him to. Monk was learning these lessons slowly. But as he did so, he pitied more and more the officers who had had to deal with him as a young, clever, and smart-mouthed man. Such young men were the bane of a commander’s existence, in part because they were the ones most likely
to be of use, if taught well, and if their respect were earned. They would also be the most badly broken, and then the most dangerous if they became the victims of their commanding officers’ own weaknesses.
“Describe to me exactly what happened, as far as you can recall it,” he directed.
Worth obediently told him about Blount’s arrival, and the two prison guards with him.
“Did they come into the interrogation room with Blount?” Monk interrupted.
“No, sir. They waited outside. There was only the one door, sir, and there was just the two of us, as well as them waiting in the next room.”
“Sounds safe enough,” Monk agreed. “Was Blount manacled during this time?”
“Left wrist to the chair, sir. Rather cold day. Got him a hot cup of tea.” Worth looked embarrassed, as if his small act of kindness were a fault in him.
“And then you questioned him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me,” Monk began, choosing his words carefully, “did you form the impression that Blount was expecting these questions? Was he prepared for them?”
