but he knew he had seen it before. It could not be Joscelin Grey's, because Imogen had said quite distinctly that Grey had not been back to the Latterlys' house since her father-in-law's death, and of course Monk had never been to the house before then.
Then whose was it?
Not Shelburne's.
Without realizing it his feet had taken him not towards his own rooms but to Mecklenburg Square.
Grimwade was in the hallway.
"Evenin', Mr. Monk. Bad night, sir. I dunno wot summer's comin' ter-an' that's the truth. 'Ailstones an' all! Lay like snow, it did, in July. An' now this. Cruel to be out in, sir." He regarded Monk's soaking clothes with sympathy. "Can I 'elp yer wif summink, sir?"
"The man who came to see Mr. Yeats-"
"The murderer?" Grimwade shivered but there was a certain melodramatic savoring in his thin face.
"It would seem so," Monk conceded. "Describe him again, will you?"
Grimwade screwed up his eyes and ran his tongue around his lips.
"Well that's 'ard, sir. It's a fair while ago now, an' the more I tries to remember 'im, the fainter 'e gets. 'E were tallish, I know vat, but not outsize, as you might say. 'Aid ter say w'en somebody's away from yer a bit. W'en 'e came in 'e seemed a good couple o' hinches less than you are, although 'e seemed bigger w'en 'e left. Can be de-ceivin', sir."
"Well that's something. What sort of coloring had he: fresh, sallow, pale, swarthy?"
"Kind o' fresh, sir. But then that could 'a' bin the cold. Proper wicked night it were, somethin' cruel for July. Shockin' unseasonal. Rainin' 'ard, an' east wind like a knife."
"And you cannot remember whether he had a beard or not?"
"I think as 'e 'adn't, leastways if 'e 'ad, it were one o' vem very small ones wot can be 'idden by a muffler."
"And dark hair? Or could it have been brown, or even fair?"
"No sir, it couldn't 'a' bin fair, not yeller, like; but it could 'a' bin brahn. But I do remember as 'e 'ad very gray eyes. I noticed that as 'e were goin' out, very piercin' eyes 'e 'ad, like one o' vem fellers wot puts people inter a trance."
"Piercing eyes? You're sure?" Monk said dubiously, skeptical of Grimwade's sense of melodrama in hindsight.
"Yes sir, more I fink of it, more I'm sure. Don't remember 'is face, but I do remember 'is eyes w'en 'e looked at me. Not w'en 'e was comin' in, but w'en 'e was a-goin' out. Funny thing, that. Yer'd fink I'd a noticed vem w'en 'e spoke ter me, but sure as I'm standin' 'ere, I didn't." He looked at Monk ingenuously.
"Thank you, Mr. Grimwade. Now I'll see Mr. Yeats, if he's in. If he isn't then I'll wait for him."
"Oh 'e's in, sir. Bin in a little while. Shall I take you up, or do you remember the way?"
"I remember the way, thank you." Monk smiled grimly and started up the stairs. The place was becoming wretchedly familiar to him. He passed Grey's entrance quickly, still conscious of the horror inside, and knocked sharply at Yeats's door, and a moment later it opened and Yeats's worried little face looked up at him.
"Oh!" he said in some alarm. "I-I was going to speak to you. I-I, er-I suppose I should have done it before." He wrung his hands nervously, twisting them in front of him, red knuckled. "But I heard all about the-er-the burglar-from Mr. Grimwade, you know-and I rather thought you'd, er-found the murderer-so-"
"May I come in, Mr. Yeats?" Monk interrupted. It was natural Grimwade should have mentioned the burglar, if only to warn the other tenants, and because one could hardly expect a garrulous and lonely old man to keep to himself such a thrilling and scandalous event, but Monk was irritated by the reminder of its uselessness.
"I'm-I'm sorry," Yeats stammered as Monk moved past him. "I-I do realize I should have said something to you before."
"About what, Mr. Yeats?" Monk exercised his patience with an effort. The poor little man was obviously much upset.
"Why, about my visitor, of course. I was quite sure you knew, when you came to the door." Yeats's voice rose to a squeak in amazement.
"What about him, Mr. Yeats? Have you recalled something further?" Suddenly hope shot up inside him. Could this be the beginning of proof at last?
"Why sir, I discovered who he was."
"What?" Monk did not dare to believe. The room was singing around him, bubbling with excitement. In an instant this