woman, given that she had used the right weapon. And Treadwell had not died straightaway but crawled from wherever it had happened, presumably looking for help. Neither Robb nor the police surgeon had offered any suggestion as to where the crime had taken place, but it could not have been far away.
Had Miriam struck him once and then fled? Had she taken the coach, driving it herself? If so, why had she abandoned it in the street so close by?
Perhaps she had panicked and simply run, as the blind, instinctive thing to do. Possibly she was unused to horses and did not know how to drive.
Or had there been a third person there? Had Miriam witnessed the murder and fled, perhaps for her own survival? Or had she not been there at all?
He would learn nothing standing in the sun while the world woke up and busied itself around him. He walked forward and up the step to the nearest door. He knocked on it and the maid answered, looking startled and ready to tell any errant tradesman where his appropriate entrance was and not to be so impertinent as to come to the front. Then she saw Monk's face, and her eyes traveled down his smart coat to his polished boots, and she changed her mind.
"Yes sir?" she said curiously, absentmindedly pushing her hand through her hair to tidy it out of her eyes. "Master's not up yet, I'm afraid." Then she realized that was a little too revealing. "I mean, 'e in't 'ad 'is breakfast yet."
Monk made himself smile at the girl. "I'm sure you can help me without disturbing the household. I'm afraid I am lost. I don't know the area very well. I am looking for a Mrs. Miriam Gardiner. I believe she lives somewhere near here." He knew perfectly well that she lived about five houses along, but he wanted to learn all he could from someone who almost certainly would have noticed her and heard all the below-stairs gossip. If indeed there had been some relationship between her and Treadwell, then they might have been less guarded here, away from Cleveland Square.
"Mrs. Gardiner? Oh, yeah," she said cheerfully. She came farther out onto the step and swung around, pointing. "Four doors up that way she lives. Or mebbe it's five, number eight. Just along there, any'ow. Yer can't miss it."
"Would you know if she is at home now?" he asked without moving.
"Cor luv yer, no I wouldn't. I in't seen 'er fer a week ner more. I 'eard as she were gettin' married again, an' good for 'er, I says."
"Would that be an elderly gentleman who lives about a mile from here?" Monk assumed an ingenuous air.
"Dunno, I'm sure," the girl replied. "Shouldn't 'a thought so, though. Comes in a right smart carriage, 'e does. Matched pair like nobody's business. Step fer step they goes, like they was machines."
"Same color?" Monk asked with interest.
"Color don't matter," she replied with ill-concealed impatience. "Size an' pace is wot makes 'em ride well."
"Know something about horses?" he observed.
"Me pa were a coachman," she said. "None better, if I says so as shouldn't."
He smiled at her quite genuinely. Something in her pride in her father pleased him. It was simple and without self-consciousness. "Seen them about quite often, I suppose? Was that coachman much good?"
"Fair," she replied with careful judgment. "Not near as good as me pa. Too 'eavy-'anded."
"Have you seen him lately? I'd like a word with him." He thought he had better give some reason for all the questions.
"I in't seen 'im fer a few days now." She shook her head as if it puzzled her. "But 'e's around 'ere often enough. I seen 'im in the High Street. I recognize them 'orses. Goin' towards the 'Earn."
"You mean not to Mrs. Gardiner's house?" he said with surprise. "To a public house, perhaps?"
"In't none up that way," she replied. " 'E must 'a know'd someone."
"Thank you! Thank you very much." He stepped back. "Good day."
She stood on the path smiling as he walked away, then went back into the house to continue with her far less interesting duties.
He was speaking to a gardener busy pulling weeds when he saw Robb turn the corner of the street and come towards him, frowning, deep in thought. His hands were in his pockets, and from the concentration in his face, Monk surmised he was mulling over something that caused him concern.
It was as well for Monk that he was, otherwise