who was killed in Number Six in the square."
The boy took the twopence.
"Yeah guv, I dunno anyfink what I din't tell ve ovver rozzer as asked me." He sniffed and looked up hopefully. A man with twopence to spend was worth pleasing.
"Maybe not," Monk conceded, "but I'd like to talk to you anyway." A tradesman's cart clattered by them towards Grey's Inn Road, splashing them with mud and leaving a couple of cabbage leaves almost at their feet. "Can we go to the footpath?" Monk inquired, hiding his distaste. His good boots were getting soiled and his trou-ser legs were wet.
The boy nodded, then acknowledging their lack of skill in dodging wheels and hooves with the professional's condescension for the amateur, he steered them to the curb again.
"Yers guv?" he asked hopefully, pocketing the twopence somewhere inside the folds of his several jackets and sniffing hard. He refrained from wiping his hand across his face in deference to their superior status.
"You saw Major Grey come home the day he was killed?" Monk asked with appropriate gravity.
"Yers guv, and vere weren't nob'dy followin' 'im, as fer as I could see."
"Was the street busy?"
"No, wicked night, it were, for July, raining summink 'orrible. Nob'dy much abaht, an' everyone goin' as fast as veir legs'd carry 'em."
"How long have you been at this crossing?"
"Couple o' years." His faint fair eyebrows rose with surprise; obviously it was a question he had not expected.
"So you must know most of the people who live around here?" Monk pursued.
"Yers, reckon as I do." His eyes sparked with sudden sharp comprehension. "Yer means did I see anyone as don't belong?"
Monk nodded in appreciation of his sagacity. "Precisely. ''
" 'E were bashed ter deaf, weren't 'e?"
"Yes." Monk winced inwardly at the appropriateness of the phrase.
"Ven yer in't lookin' fer a woman?"
"No," Monk agreed. Then it flashed through his mind that a man might dress as a woman, if perhaps it were not some stranger who had murdered Grey, but a person known to him, someone who had built up over the years the kind of hatred that had seemed to linger in that room. "Unless it were a large woman," he added, "and very strong, perhaps."
The boy hid a smirk. “Woman as I saw was on the little side. Most women as makes veir way vat fashion gotta look fetchin' like, or leastways summink as a woman oughter. Don't see no great big scrubbers 'round 'ere, an' no dollymops." He sniffed again and pulled his mouth down fiercely to express his disapproval. "Only the class for gennelmen as 'as money like wot vey got 'ere." He gestured towards the elaborate house fronts behind him towards the square.
"I see." Monk hid a brief amusement. "And you saw some woman of that type going into Number Six that evening?" It was probably not worth anything, but every clue must be followed at this stage.
"No one as don't go vere reg'lar, guv."
"What time?"
"Jus' as I were goin' 'ome."
“About half past seven?''
"S' right."
"How about earlier?"
"Only wot goes inter Number Six, like?"
"Yes."
He shut his eyes in deep concentration, trying to be obliging; there might be another twopence. "One of ve gennelmen wot lives hi Number Six came 'ome wiv another gent, little feller wiv one o' vem collars wot looks like fur, but all curly."
"Astrakhan?" Monk offered.
"I dunno wot yer calls it. Anyway, 'e went in abaht six, an' I never sawed 'im come aht. Vat any 'elp to yer, guv?"
"It might be. Thank you very much." Monk spoke to him with all seriousness, gave him another penny, to Evan's surprise, and watched him step blithely off into the thoroughfare, dodging in between traffic, and take up his duties again.
Evan's face was brooding, thoughtful, but whether on the boy's answers or his means of livelihood, Monk did not ask.
"The ribbon seller's not here today." Evan looked up and down the Guilford Street footpath. "Who do you want to try next?"
Monk thought for a moment. "How do we find the cabby? I presume we have an
The boy took the twopence.
"Yeah guv, I dunno anyfink what I din't tell ve ovver rozzer as asked me." He sniffed and looked up hopefully. A man with twopence to spend was worth pleasing.
"Maybe not," Monk conceded, "but I'd like to talk to you anyway." A tradesman's cart clattered by them towards Grey's Inn Road, splashing them with mud and leaving a couple of cabbage leaves almost at their feet. "Can we go to the footpath?" Monk inquired, hiding his distaste. His good boots were getting soiled and his trou-ser legs were wet.
The boy nodded, then acknowledging their lack of skill in dodging wheels and hooves with the professional's condescension for the amateur, he steered them to the curb again.
"Yers guv?" he asked hopefully, pocketing the twopence somewhere inside the folds of his several jackets and sniffing hard. He refrained from wiping his hand across his face in deference to their superior status.
"You saw Major Grey come home the day he was killed?" Monk asked with appropriate gravity.
"Yers guv, and vere weren't nob'dy followin' 'im, as fer as I could see."
"Was the street busy?"
"No, wicked night, it were, for July, raining summink 'orrible. Nob'dy much abaht, an' everyone goin' as fast as veir legs'd carry 'em."
"How long have you been at this crossing?"
"Couple o' years." His faint fair eyebrows rose with surprise; obviously it was a question he had not expected.
"So you must know most of the people who live around here?" Monk pursued.
"Yers, reckon as I do." His eyes sparked with sudden sharp comprehension. "Yer means did I see anyone as don't belong?"
Monk nodded in appreciation of his sagacity. "Precisely. ''
" 'E were bashed ter deaf, weren't 'e?"
"Yes." Monk winced inwardly at the appropriateness of the phrase.
"Ven yer in't lookin' fer a woman?"
"No," Monk agreed. Then it flashed through his mind that a man might dress as a woman, if perhaps it were not some stranger who had murdered Grey, but a person known to him, someone who had built up over the years the kind of hatred that had seemed to linger in that room. "Unless it were a large woman," he added, "and very strong, perhaps."
The boy hid a smirk. “Woman as I saw was on the little side. Most women as makes veir way vat fashion gotta look fetchin' like, or leastways summink as a woman oughter. Don't see no great big scrubbers 'round 'ere, an' no dollymops." He sniffed again and pulled his mouth down fiercely to express his disapproval. "Only the class for gennelmen as 'as money like wot vey got 'ere." He gestured towards the elaborate house fronts behind him towards the square.
"I see." Monk hid a brief amusement. "And you saw some woman of that type going into Number Six that evening?" It was probably not worth anything, but every clue must be followed at this stage.
"No one as don't go vere reg'lar, guv."
"What time?"
"Jus' as I were goin' 'ome."
“About half past seven?''
"S' right."
"How about earlier?"
"Only wot goes inter Number Six, like?"
"Yes."
He shut his eyes in deep concentration, trying to be obliging; there might be another twopence. "One of ve gennelmen wot lives hi Number Six came 'ome wiv another gent, little feller wiv one o' vem collars wot looks like fur, but all curly."
"Astrakhan?" Monk offered.
"I dunno wot yer calls it. Anyway, 'e went in abaht six, an' I never sawed 'im come aht. Vat any 'elp to yer, guv?"
"It might be. Thank you very much." Monk spoke to him with all seriousness, gave him another penny, to Evan's surprise, and watched him step blithely off into the thoroughfare, dodging in between traffic, and take up his duties again.
Evan's face was brooding, thoughtful, but whether on the boy's answers or his means of livelihood, Monk did not ask.
"The ribbon seller's not here today." Evan looked up and down the Guilford Street footpath. "Who do you want to try next?"
Monk thought for a moment. "How do we find the cabby? I presume we have an
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