A Sudden, Fearful Death

He has it in his power to make me the happiest woman in the world. I know it sounds absurd, impossible, and I do understand what you tell me, all the cautions and warnings, and that you have only my happiness ^Jn mind. But if it all comes true… And he could make it happen, Faith-he could! It is not impossible after all. I have searched and thought, but I know of no law which cannot be fought or circumvented. Pray for me, my dear sister. Pray for me!

And then the tone changed, quite suddenly, only a week before her death.

Sir Herbert has betrayed me totally! At first I could hardly believe it. I went to him, full of hope-and, fool that I was, of confidence. He laughed at me and told me it was totally impossible and always would be.

I realized, like a hard slap in the face, that he had been using me, and what I could give him. He never intended to keep his word.

But I have a way of keeping him to it. I will not permit him the choice. I hate force-I abhor it. But what else is left me? I will not give up-I will not! I have the weapons, and I will use them!

Was that what had happened? She had gone to him with her threat and he had retaliated with his own weapon- murder?

Faith Barker was right. The letters were enough to bring Sir Herbert Stanhope to trial-and very possibly enough to hang him.

In the morning he would take them to Runcorn.

* * * * *

It was barely eight o'clock when Monk put the letters into his pocket and rode in a hansom to the police station. He alighted, paid the driver, and went up the steps savoring every moment, the bright air already warm. The sounds of shouting, the clatter of hooves, and the rattle of cart wheels over the stones, even the smells of vegetables, fish, rubbish, and old horse manure were inoffensive te him today.

"Good morning," he said cheerfully to the desk sergeant, and saw the man's look of surprise, and then alarm.

"Mornin' sir," he said warily, his eyes narrowing. "What can we do for you, Mr. Monk?"

Monk smiled, showing his teeth. "I should like to see Mr. Runcorn, if you please? I have important evidence in connection with the murder of Prudence Barrymore."

"Yes sir. And what would that be?"

"That would be confidential, Sergeant, and concerns a very important person. Will you tell Mr. Runcorn, please?"

The sergeant thought about it for a moment, regarding Monk's face. A flood of memories came back to him, transparent in his expression, and all the old fears of a quick and savage tongue. He decided he was still more afraid of Monk than he was of Runcorn.

"Yes, Mr. Monk. I'll go and ask him." Then he remembered that Monk no longer had any status. He smiled tentatively. "But I can't say as he'll see you."

"Tell him it's enough for an arrest," Monk added with acute satisfaction. "I'll take it elsewhere if he'd rather?"

"No-no sir. I'll ask him." And carefully, so as not to show any deferential haste, still less anything that could be taken for obedience, he left the desk and walked across the floor to the stairs.

He was gone for several minutes, and returned with an almost expressionless face.

"Yes sir, if you like to go up, Mr. Runcorn will see you now."

"Thank you," Monk said with elaborate graciousness. Then he went up the stairs and knocked on Runcorn's door. Now there were a host of memories crowding him too, countless times he had stood here with all manner of news, or none at all.

He wondered what Runcorn was thinking, if there was a flicker of nervousness in him, recollection of their past clashes, victories and defeats. Or was he now so sure of himself, with Monk out of office, that he could win any confrontation?

"Come." Runcorn's voice was strong and full of anticipation.

Monk opened the door and strode in, smiling.

Runcorn leaned a little back in his chair and gazed at Monk with bland confidence.

"Good morning," Monk said casually, hands in his pockets, his fingers closing over Prudence's letters.

For several seconds they stared at each other. Slowly Runcorn's smile faded a little. His eyes narrowed.

"Well?" he said testily. "Don't stand there grinning. Have you got something to give the police, or not?"

Monk felt all the old confidence rushing back to him, the knowledge of his superiority over Runcorn, his quicker mind, his harder tongue, and above all the power of his will. He could not recall specific victories, but he knew the flavor of them as surely as if it were a heat in the room, indefinable, but immediate.

"Yes, I have something," he replied. He pulled the letters out and held them where Runcorn could see them.

Runcorn waited, refusing to ask what they were. He stared at Monk, but the certainty was ebbing away. Old recollections were overpowering.