and not with pleasure. He felt himself harden inside, but he could not justify himself because he had no memory of what he had done. It was a stranger with his face who had been here four years before.
"Well, Mr. Monk, I'm sure I don't know," the desk sergeant said to his enquiry. "That case is all over and done with. We thought as she was guilty, but you proved as she weren't! It's not for us to say, but it don't do for a woman to go murderin"er 'usband because she takes it into 'er 'ead as to refuse 'im what's 'is by right. Puts ideas of all sorts in women's 'eads. We'll have them murderin' their 'usbands all over the place!"
"You're quite right," Monk said tartly.
The desk sergeant looked surprised, and pleased.
"It's not for you to say," Monk finished.
The sergeant's face tightened and his skin flushed red.
"Well I don't know what you'll be wanting from us. If you'd be so good as to tell me, I'll mebbe see what I can do for you."
"Do you know where Phyllis Dexter is now?" Monk asked.
The sergeant's eyes lit with satisfaction.
"Yes I do. She left these parts right after the trial. Acquitted, she was; walked out o' the courtroom and packed 'er things that night."
"Do you know where she went?" Monk kept his temper with difficulty. He would like to wipe the smug smile off the man's face.
The man's satisfaction wavered. He met Monk's eyes and his courage drained away.
"Yes sir. I heard as it were somewhere in France. I don't rightly know where, but there's them in the town as can tell you, I expect. At least where she went to from 'ere. As to where she is now, I expect being the detective you are, you'll be able to learn that when you get there."
There was nothing more to be learned here, so Monk duly thanked him and took his leave.
He spent the evening at the Bull Inn and in the morning went to find the doctor who had been concerned in the case. He went with some trepidation. Apparently he had made himself unpopular here; the desk sergeant's aggression had been born of those weeks of fear and probably some humiliation as well. Monk knew his own behavior at his station in London under Runcorn, his sarcastic tongue, his impatience with men of less ability than himself. He was not proud of it.
He walked down the street where the doctor's house was and found with a sharp sense of satisfaction that he knew it. The particular pattern of beams and plastering was familiar. There was no need to look for the name or a number; he could'remember being here before.
With excitement catching in his throat he knocked on the door. It seemed an age before it was answered by an aged man with a game leg. Monk could hear it dragging on the floor. His white hair was thinly plastered across his skull and his teeth were broken, but his face lit with pleasure as soon as his eyes focused on Monk.
"My, if it in't Mr. Monk back again!" he said in a cracked falsetto voice. "Well bless my soul! What brings you back to these parts? We in't 'ad no more murders! Least, not that I knows of. 'Ave we?"
"No Mr. Wraggs, I don't think so." Monk was elated to an absurd degree that the old man was so pleased to see him, and that he in turn could recall his name. "I'm here on a private matter, to see the doctor, if I may?"
"Ah no, sir." Wraggs's face fell. "You're never poorly, are you, sir? Come in and set yourself down, then. I'll get you a drop o' summink!"
"No, no, Mr. Wraggs, I'm very well, thank you," Monk said hastily. "I just want to see him as a friend, not professionally."
"Ah, well." The old man breathed a sigh of relief. "That's all right then! Still, come on in just the same. Doctor's out on a call right now, but 'e'll be back by an' by. Now what can I get you, Mr. Monk? You just name it, and if we got it, it's yours."
It would have been churlish to refuse so generous an offer.
"Well, I'll have a glass of cider, and a slice of bread and cheese, if you've got it," he accepted.
" 'Course we got it!" Wraggs said delightedly, and led the way in, hobbling lopsidedly ahead of Monk into the parlor.