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Monk wanted to ask him about his duty toward Martha Rivett, but knew that such an affront would very probably cause him just the sort of complaint that Runcorn would delight in, and would give Runcorn an excuse for censure, perhaps even removal from the case.

“You did not believe her, sir?” He was civil with difficulty. “Mr. Kellard denied having any relationship with her?”

“No he didn’t,” Basil said sharply. “He said she had led him on and was perfectly willing; it was only later when she discovered she was with child she made this charge to protect herself—and I daresay to try and force us to care for her, to stop her spreading about such a story. The girl was obviously of loose character and out to take a chance to profit from it if she could.”

“So you put an end to it. I assume you believed Mr. Kellard’s account?”

Basil looked at him coldly. “No, as a matter of fact I did not. I think it very probable he forced his attentions on the girl, but that is hardly important now. Men have natural appetites, always have had. I daresay she flirted with him and he mistook her. Are you suggesting he tried the same with my daughter Octavia?”

“It seems possible.”

Basil frowned. “And if he did, why should that lead to murder, which is what you seem to be suggesting? If she had struck at him, that would be understandable, but why should he kill her?”

“If she intended telling people,” Monk replied. “To rape a maid is apparently acceptable, but would you have viewed it with the same leniency had he raped your daughter? And would Mrs. Kellard, if she knew?”

Basil’s face was scored with deep lines, now all dragged downward with distaste and anxiety.

“She does not know,” he said slowly, meeting Monk’s eyes. “I trust I make myself plain, Inspector? For her to be aware of Myles’s indiscretion would distress her, and serve no purpose. He is her husband and will remain so. I don’t know what women do in your walk of life, but in ours they bear their difficulties with dignity and silence. Do you understand me?”

“Of course I do,” Monk said tartly. “If she does not know now, I shall not tell her unless it becomes necessary—by which time I imagine it will be common knowledge. Similarly may I ask you, sir, not to forewarn Mr. Kellard of my knowledge in the matter. I can hardly expect him to confess to anything, but I may learn quite a lot from his first reaction when I speak to him about it.”

“You expect me to …” Basil began indignantly, then his voice faded away as he realized what he was saying.

“I do,” Monk agreed with a downward turn of his mouth. “Apart from the ends of justice towards Mrs. Haslett, you and I both know that it was someone in this house. If you protect Mr. Kellard to save scandal—and Mrs. Kellard’s feelings—you only prolong the investigation, the suspicion, Lady Moidore’s distress—and it will still come down to someone in the house in the end.”

For a moment their eyes met, and there was intense dislike—and complete understanding.

“If Mrs. Kellard needs to know, I will be the one to tell her,” Basil stated.

“If you wish,” Monk agreed. “Although I would not leave it too long. If I can learn of it, so may she—”

Basil jerked upward. “Who told you? It damned well wasn’t Myles! Was it Lady Moidore?”

“No, I have not spoken to Lady Moidore.”

“Well, don’t stand there, man! Who was it?”

“I prefer not to say, sir.”

“I don’t give a damn what you prefer! Who was it?”

“If you force me, sir—I decline to say.”

“You—you what?” He tried to outstare Monk, and then realized he could not intimidate him without a specific threat and that he was not prepared at this point to make one. He looked down again; he was not used to being defied, and he had no ready reaction. “Well pursue your investigation for the moment, but I will know in the end, I promise you.”

Monk did not force his victory; it was too tenuous and the temper between them too volatile.

“Yes sir, very possibly. Since she is the only other person you are aware of having known of this, may I speak with Lady Moidore, please?”

“I doubt