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“Have you something to report?” he said rather abruptly. He was dressed in dark city trousers and a frock coat seamed at the waist as was the latest cut. His top hat was tall and straight sided, and worn elegantly a little to one side on his head.

“Not yet, sir,” Monk answered, wondering what he had expected so soon. “I have a few questions to ask.”

Basil frowned. “That could not have waited until I was at home? I do not appreciate being accosted in the street, Inspector.”

Monk made no apology. “Some information about the servants which I cannot obtain from the butler.”

“There is none,” Basil said frostily. “It is the butler’s job to employ the servants and to interview them and evaluate their references. If I did not believe he was competent to do it, I should replace him.”

“Indeed.” Already Monk was stung by his tone of voice and the sharp, chilly look in his eyes, as if Monk’s ignorance were no more than he expected. “But were there any disciplining to do, would you not be made aware of it?”

“I doubt it, unless it concerned a member of the family—which, I presume, is what you are suggesting?” Basil replied. “Mere impertinences or tardiness would be dealt with by Phillips, or in the female servants’ case, by the housekeeper, or the cook. Dishonesty or moral laxity would incur dismissal, and Phillips would engage a replacement. I would know about that. But surely you did not follow me to Westminster to ask me such paltry things, which you could have asked the butler—or anyone else in the house!”

“I cannot expect the same degree of truth from anyone else in the house, sir,” Monk snapped back tartly. “Since one of them is responsible for Mrs. Haslett’s death, they may be somewhat partisan in the matter.”

Basil glared at him, the wind catching at the tails of his jacket and sending them flapping. He took his high hat off to save the indignity of having it blown askew.

“What do you imagine they would lie about to you and have the remotest chance of getting by with it?” he said with an edge of sarcasm.

Monk ignored the question.

“Any personal relationships between your staff, sir?” he asked instead. “Footmen and maids, for example? The butler and one of the ladies’ maids—bootboy and scullery maid?”

Basil’s black eyes widened in disbelief.

“Good God! Do you imagine I have the slightest idea—or any interest in the romantic daydreams of my servants, Inspector? You seem to live in a quite different world from the one I inhabit—or men like me.”

Monk was furious and he did not even attempt to curb his tongue.

“Do I take it, Sir Basil, that you would have no concern if your male and female servants have liaisons with each other,” he said sarcastically. “In twos—or threes—or whatever? You are quite right—it is a different world. The middle classes are obsessed with preventing such a thing.”

The insolence was palpable, and for a moment Sir Basil’s temper flashed close to violence, but he was apparently aware that he had invited such a comment, because he moderated his reply uncharacteristically. It was merely contemptuous.

“I find it hard to believe you can maintain your position, such as it is, and be as stupid as you pretend. Of course I should forbid anything of the sort, and dismiss any staff so involved instantly and without reference.”

“And if there were such an involvement, presumably it is possible Mrs. Haslett might have become aware of it?” Monk asked blandly, aware of their mutual dislike and both their reasons for masking it.

He was surprised how quickly Basil’s expression lightened, something almost like a smile coming to his lips.

“I suppose she might,” he agreed, grasping the idea. “Yes, women are observant of such things. They notice inflections we are inclined to miss. Romance and its intrigue form a much greater part in their lives than they do of ours. It would be natural.”

Monk appeared as innocent as he was capable.

“What do you suppose she might have discovered on her trip in the afternoon that affected her so deeply she