guessed how little he knew of himself, and that he fought to keep his job because to lose it would be to lose not just his means of livelihood but the only certainty he possessed. Even at the very worst times, when Monk had doubted himself, not merely his competence but even his honor and his morality, Evan had never once betrayed him, to Runcorn or to anyone else. Evan and Hester Latterly had saved him when he himself had given it up as impossible.
John Evan was an unusual policeman, the son of a country parson, not quite a gentleman but certainly not a laborer or an artisan. Consequently Evan had an ease of manner that Monk admired and that irritated Runcorn, since both of them in their very different ways had aspirations to social advancement.
Monk did not wish to return to the police station to see Evan. It held too many memories of his own prowess and authority, and his final leaving, when juniors of all sorts had gathered, spellbound and awestruck, ears to the keyhole, to hear that last blazing quarrel, and then had scattered like rabbits when Monk threw open the door and strode out, leaving Runcorn scarlet-faced but victorious.
Instead he chose to seek him in the public house where Evan most frequently took his luncheon, if time and opportunity afforded. It was a small place, crowded with the good-natured chatter of street sellers, newsmen, petty clerks and the entrepreneurs on the edge of the underworld. The smells of ale and cider, sawdust, hot food and jostling bodies were pervasive and not unpleasant. Monk took a position where he could see the door, and nursed a pint of cider until Evan came in. Then he forced his way to the counter and pushed till he was beside him.
Evan swung around with surprise, and pleasure lit his face immediately. He was a lean young man with a long, aquiline nose, hazel eyes and an expression of gentle, lugubrious humor. Now he was quite openly delighted.
"Mr. Monk!" He had never lost the sense that Monk was his superior and must be treated with a certain dignity."How are you? Are you looking forme?" There was a definite note of hope in his voice.
"I am," Monk confessed, more pleased at Evan's eagerness than he would willingly have expected, or conceded.
Evan ordered a pint of cider and a thick mutton-and-pickle sandwich, made with two crusty slices, and another pint for Monk, then made his way over to a corner where they could be relatively private.
"Yes?" he said as soon as they were seated. "Have you a case?"
Monk half hid his smile. "I'm not sure. But you have."
Evan's eyebrows shot up. "I have?"
"General Carlyon."
Evan's disappointment was apparent. "Oh - not much of a case there, I'm afraid. Poor woman did it. Jealousy is a cruel thing. Ruined a good many lives." His face puckered. "But how are you involved in it? " He took a large bite from his sandwich.
"Rathbone is defending her," Monk answered."He hired me to try and find out if there are any mitigating circumstances - and even if it is possible that it was not she who killed him but someone else."
"She confessed," Evan said, holding his sandwich in both hands to keep the pickle from sliding out.
"Could be to protect the daughter," Monk suggested. "Wouldn't be the first time a person confessed in order to take the blame for someone they loved very deeply."
"No." Evan spoke with his mouth full, but even so his doubt was obyious. He swallowed and took a sip of his cider, his eyes still on Monk. "But it doesn't look like it in this case. We found no one who saw the daughter come downstairs."
"But could she have?"
"Can't prove that she didn't - just no cause to think she did. Anyway, why should she kill her father? It couldn't possibly gain her anything, as far as she was concerned; the harm was already done. She is married and had a child - she couldn't go back to being a nun now. If she'd killed him, then . . ."
"She'd have very little chance indeed of becoming a nun," Monk said dryly. "Not at all a good start to a life of holy contemplation."
"It was your idea, not mine." Evan defended himself, but mere was an answering flick of humor in his eyes. "And as for anyone else - who? I can't see Mrs. Carlyon confessing to save Louisa Furnival from the gallows, can