Part 22 (2/2)
”I don't know! Anyone else on the landing in the night-”
”How would he explain his presence-with or without a knife?” Monk demanded.
”I don't know!” Evan shook his head. ”What do footmen do? Maybe he'd say he heard a noise-intruders-the front door-I don't know. But it would be better if he didn't have a knife in his hands-especially a bloodstained one.”
”Better still if he had left it there in her room,” Monk argued.
”Perhaps he took it out without thinking.” He looked up and met Monk's eyes. ”Just had it in his hand and kept hold of it? Panicked? Then when he got outside and halfway along the corridor he didn't dare go back?''
”Then why the peignoir?” Monk said. ”He wrapped it in that to take it, by the look of it. That's not the kind of panic you're talking about. Now why on earth should he want the knife? It doesn't make sense.''
”Not to us,” Evan agreed slowly, staring at the crumpled silk in his hand. ”But it must have to him-there it is!”
”And he never had the opportunity to get rid of it between then and now?” Monk screwed up his face. ”He couldn't possibly have forgotten it!”
”What other explanation is there?” Evan looked helpless. ”It's here!”
”Yes-but was Percival the one who put it here? And why didn't we find it when we looked for the jewelry?”
Evan blushed. ”Well I didn't pull out drawers and look under them for anything. I daresay the constable didn't either. Honestly I was pretty sure we wouldn't find it anyway-and the silver vase wouldn't have fitted.” He looked uncomfortable.
Monk pulled a face. ”Even if we had, it might not have been there then-I suppose. I don't know, Evan. It just seems so ... stupid! And Percival is arrogant, abrasive, contemptuous of other people, especially women, and he's got a h.e.l.l of a lot of money from somewhere, to judge from his wardrobe, but he's not stupid. Why should he leave something as d.a.m.ning as this hidden in his room?”
”Arrogance?” Evan suggested tentatively. ”Maybe he just thinks we are not efficient enough for him to be afraid of? Up until today he was right.”
”But he was afraid,” Monk insisted, remembering Perci-val's white face and the sweat on his skin. ”I had him in the housekeeper's room and I could see the fear in him, smell it! He fought to get out of it, spreading blame everywhere else he could-on the laundrymaid, and Kellard-even Araminta.”
”I don't know!” Evan shook his head, his eyes puzzled. ”But Mrs. Boden will tell us if this is her knife-and Mrs. Kellard will tell us if that is her sister's-what did you call it?”
”Peignoir,” Monk replied. ”Dressing robe.”
”Right-peignoir. I suppose we had better tell Sir Basil we've found it!”
”Yes.” Monk picked up the knife, folding the silk over the blade, and carried it out of the room, Evan coming after him.
”Are you going to arrest him?” Evan asked, coming down the stairs a step behind.
Monk hesitated. ”I'm not happy it's enough,” he said thoughtfully. ”Anyone could have put these in his room-and only a fool would leave them there.”
”They were feirly well hidden.”
”But why keep them?” Monk insisted. ”It's stupid- Percival's far too sly for that.”
”Then what?” Evan was not argumentative so much as puzzled and disturbed by a series of ugly discoveries in which he saw no sense. ”The laundrymaid? Is she really jealous enough to murder Octavia and hide the weapon and the gown in Percival's room?”
They had reached the main landing, where Maggie and Annie were standing together, wide-eyed, staring at them.
”All right girls, you've done a good job. Thank you,” Monk said to them with a tight smile. ”You can go about your own duties now.''
”You've got something!” Annie stared at the silk in his hand, her face pale, and she looked frightened. Maggie stood very close to her, equal fear in her features.
There was no point in lying; they would find out soon enough.
”Yes,” he admitted. ”We've got the knife. Now get about your duties, or you'll have Mrs. Willis after you.”
Mrs. Willis's name was enough to break the spell. They scuttled off to fetch carpet beaters and brushes, and he saw their long gray skirts whisk around the corner into the broom cupboard in a huddle together, whispering breathlessly.
Basil was waiting for the two police in his study, sitting at his desk. He admitted them immediately and looked up from the papers he had been writing on, his face angry, his brow dark.
”Yes?”
Monk closed the door behind him.
”We found a knife, sir; and a silk garment which I believe is a peignoir. Both are stained with blood.”
Basil let out his breath slowly, his face barely changed, just a shadow as if some final reality had come home.
”I see. And where did you find these things?”
”Behind a drawer in the dresser in Percival 's room,” Monk answered, watching him closely.
If Basil was surprised it did not show in his expression. His heavy face with its short, broad nose and mouth wreathed in lines remained careful and tired. Perhaps one could not expect it of him. His family had endured bereavement and suspicion for weeks. That it should finally be ended and the burden lifted from his immediate family must be an overwhelming relief. He could not be blamed if that were paramount. However repugnant the thought, he cannot have helped wondering if his son-in-law might be responsible, and Monk had already seen that he and Araminta had a deeper affection than many a father and child. She was the only one who had his inner strength, his command and determination, his dignity and almost total self-control. Although that might be an unfair judgment, since Monk had never seen Octavia alive; but she had apparently been flawed by the weakness of drink and the vulnerability of loving her husband too much to recover from his death-if indeed that were a flaw. Perhaps it was to Basil and Araminta, who had disapproved of Harry Haslett in the first place.
”I a.s.sume you are going to arrest him.” It was barely a question.
”Not yet,” Monk said slowly. ”The fact that they were found in his room does not prove it was he who put them there.”
”What?” Basil's face darkened with angry color and he leaned forward over the desk. Another man might have risen to his feet, but he did not stand to servants, or police, who were in his mind the same. ”For G.o.d's sake, man, what more do you want? The very knife that stabbed her, and her clothes found in his possession!”
”Found in his room, sir,” Monk corrected. ”The door was not locked; anyone in the house could have put them there.”
”Don't be absurd!'' Basil said savagely.”Who in the devil's name would put such things there?”
”Anyone wis.h.i.+ng to implicate him-and thus remove suspicion from themselves,” Monk replied. ”A natural act of self-preservation.''
”Who, for example?” Basil said with a sneer. ”You have every evidence that it was Percival. He had the motive, heaven help us. Poor Octavia was weak in her choice of men. I was her father, but I can admit that. Percival is an arrogant and presumptuous creature. When she rebuffed him and threatened to have him thrown out, he panicked. He had gone too far.” His voice was shaking, and deeply as he disliked him, Monk had a moment's pity for him. Octavia had been his daughter, whatever he had thought of her marriage, or tried to deny her; the thought of her violation must have wounded him inwardly more than he could show, especially in front of an inferior like Monk.
He mastered himself with difficulty and continued. ”Or perhaps she took the knife with her,'' he said quietly,”fearing he might come, and when he did, she tried to defend herself, poor child.” He swallowed. ”And he overpowered her and it was she who was stabbed.” At last he turned, leaving his back towards Monk. ”He panicked,” he went on. ”And left, taking the knife with him, and then hid it because he had no opportunity to dispose of it.” He moved away towards the window, hiding his face. He breathed in deeply and let it out in a sigh. ”What an abominable tragedy. You will arrest him immediately and get him out of my house. I will tell my family that you have solved the crime of Octavia's death. I thank you for your diligence-and your discretion.''
”No sir,” Monk said levelly, part of him wis.h.i.+ng he could agree. ”I cannot arrest him on this evidence. It is not sufficient-unless he confesses. If he denies it, and says someone else put these things in his room-”
Basil swung around, his eyes hard and very black. ”Who?”
”Possibly Rose,” Monk replied.
Basil stared at him. ”What?''
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