and dedication. He asked of his personal moral reputation and they spoke equally plainly that he was beyond reproach.
Lovat-Smith did not bother to pursue them. He made something of a show of boredom, looking at the ceiling while Rathbone was speaking, and when it was his own turn, waiting several seconds before he began. He did not exactly say that their loyalty was totally predictable-and meaningless-but he implied it. It was a ploy to bore the jury and make them forget this impression of Sir Herbert, and Rathbone knew it. He could see from the jurors' faces that they were still completely in sympathy with Sir Herbert, and further laboring of the point risked insulting their intelligence and losing their attention. He thanked the doctor at that moment on the stand and excused him, sending a message that no further colleagues would be required- except Kristian Beck.
It would have been a startling omission had he not called him, but apart from that, he wished to sow in the jurors' minds the strong possibility that it had been Beck himself who had murdered Prudence.
Kristian took the stand without the slightest idea of what awaited him. Rathbone had told him only that he would be called to witness to Sir Herbert's character.
"Dr. Beck, you are a physician and surgeon, are you not?"
"I am." Kristian looked faintly surprised. It was hardly necessary for the validity of his testimony.
"And you have practiced in several places, including your native Bohemia?" He wanted to establish in the jurors' minds Beck's foreignness, his very differentness from the essentially English, familiar Sir Herbert. It was a task he disliked, but the shadow of the noose forms strange patterns on the mind.
"Yes," Kristian agreed again.
"But you have worked with Sir Herbert Stanhope for more than ten or eleven years, is that correct?"
"About that," Kristian agreed. His accent was almost indiscernible, merely a pleasant clarity to certain vowels. "Of course we seldom actually work together, since we are in the same field, but I know his reputation, both personal and professional, and I see him frequently." His expression was open and candid, his intention to help obvious.
"I understand," Rathbone conceded. "I did not mean to imply that you worked side by side. What is Sir Herbert's personal reputation, Dr. Beck?"
A flash of amusement crossed Kristian's face, but there was no malice in it.
"He is regarded as pompous, a little overbearing, justifiably proud of his abilities and his achievements, an excellent teacher, and a man of total moral integrity." He smiled at Rathbone. "Naturally he is joked about by his juniors, and guyed occasionally-I think that is the wok!-as we all are. But I have never heard even the most irresponsible suggest his behavior toward women was other than totally correct."
"It has been suggested that he was somewhat naive concerning women." Rathbone lifted his voice questioningly. "Especially young women. Is that your observation, Dr. Beck?"
"I would have chosen the word uninterested" Kristian replied. "But I suppose naive would do. It is not something to which I previously gave any thought. But if you wish me to say that I find it extremely difficult to believe that he had any romantic interest in Nurse Barrymore, or that he would be unaware of any such feeling she might have had for him, then I can do so very easily. I find it harder to believe that Nurse Barrymore cherished a secret passion for Sir Herbert." A pucker of doubt crossed his face, and he stared at Rathbone very directly.
"You find that hard to believe, Dr. Beck?" Rathbone said very clearly.
"I do."
"Do you consider yourself a naive or unworldly man?"
Kristian's mouth curled into faint self-mockery. "No-no, I don't."
"Then if you find it surprising and hard to accept, is it hard to believe that Sir Herbert was also quite unaware of it?" Rathbone could not keep the ring of triumph out of his voice, although he tried.
Kristian looked rueful, and in spite of what Rathbone had said, surprised.
"No-no, that would seem to follow inevitably."
Rathbone thought of all the suspicions of Kristian Beck that Monk had raised to him: the quarrel overheard with Prudence, the possibilities of blackmail, the fact that Kristian Beck had been in the hospital all the night of Prudence's death, that his own patient had died when he had been expected to recover-but it was all suspicion, dark thoughts, no more. There was no proof, no hard evidence of anything. If he raised it now he might direct the jury's thoughts toward