replied with considerable acerbity. "She is a clear-sighted widow of considerable good sense. She thinks it far more likely Sabella Pole, the general's daughter, is the one who killed him."
"Not unreasonable," he conceded. "I have just met Sabella, and she is very highly emotional, if not outright hysterical."
"Is she?" Hester said quickly, turning to look at him, interest dismissing all her irritation. "What was your judgment of her? Might she have killed her father? I know from Damaris Erskine, who was at the party, that she had the opportunity."
They were at the corner of Market Street and Oxford Street, and turned into the thoroughfare, walking side by side along the footpath. He took her arm, largely to make sure they remained together and were not divided by passersby bustling in the opposite direction.
"I have no idea," he replied after a moment or two. "I form my opinions on evidence, not intuition."
"No you don't," she contradicted. "You cannot possibly be so stupid, or so pompous, as to disregard your intuitive judgment. Whatever you have forgotten, you remember enough of past experiences with people to know something of them merely by their faces and the way they behave to each other, and when you speak to them."
He smiled dryly. "Then I think Fenton Pole believes she could have done it," he replied. "And that is indicative."
"Then perhaps there is some hope?" Unconsciously she straightened up and lifted her chin a little.
"Hope of what? Is that any better an answer?"
She stopped so abruptly a gentleman behind bumped into her and growled under his breath, tripping over his cane and going around her with ill grace.
"I beg your pardon, sir?" Monk said loudly. "I did not catch your remark. I presume you apologized to the lady for jostling her?"
The man colored and shot him a furious glance.
"Of course I did!" he snapped, then glowered at Hester. "I beg your pardon, ma'am!" Then he turned on his heel and strode off.
"Clumsy fool," Monk said between his teeth.
"He was only a trifle awkward-footed," she said reasonably.
"Not him - you." He took her by the arm and moved her forward again. "Now attend to what we are doing, before you cause another accident. It can hardly be better that Sabella Pole should be guilty - but if it is the truth, then we must discover it. Do you wish for a cup of coffee?"
* * * * *
Monk entered the prison with a sharp stab of memory, not from the time before his accident, although surely he must have been in places like this on countless occasions, probably even this prison itself. The emotion that was so powerful now was from only a few months back, the case which had caused him to leave the police force, throw away all the long years of learning and labor, and the sacrifices to ambition.
He followed the turnkey along the grim passages, a chill on his skin. He still had little idea what he would say to Alexandra Carlyon, or indeed what kind of woman she would be - presumably something like Sabella.
They came to the cell and the turnkey opened the door.
"Call w'en yer want ter come aht," she said laconically. Making no further comment, she turned around without interest, and as soon as Monk was inside, slammed the door shut and locked it.
The cell was bare but for a single cot with straw pallet and gray blankets. On it was sitting a slender woman, pale-skinned, with fair hair tied loosely and pinned in a knot at the back of her head. As she turned to look at him he saw her face. It was not at all what he had expected; the features were nothing like Sabella's, far from being ordinarily pretty. She had a short, aquiline nose, very blue eyes and a mouth far too wide, too generous and full of sensuality and humor. Now she gazed at him almost expressionlessly and he knew in that single moment that she had no hope of reprieve of any sort. He did not bother with civilities, which could serve no purpose. He too had been mortally afraid and he knew its taste too well.
"I am William Monk. I expect Mr. Rathbone told you I would come."
"Yes," she said tonelessly. "But there is nothing you can do. Nothing you could discover would make any difference."
"Confessions alone are not sufficient evidence, Mrs. Carlyon." He remained standing in the center of the floor looking down at her. She did not bother to