The Dark Assassin Read Online Free PDF

voice cold. "Yes, but I would be obliged if you did not press
the matter further. It was thoroughly investigated at the time. No one else was
in the least at fault. How could anyone have realized that his madness had
progressed so far? Now it appears that poor Mary was also far more unstable
than we knew, and it had preyed upon her to the point where she herself could
not exercise her human or Christian judgment anymore."
    Jenny turned to
look at him, frowning. "Christian?" she challenged him. "If
anyone is so sunk in despair that they feel death is the only answer for them,
can't we have a little ... pity?" There was anger in her eyes.
    "I'm
sorry!" Argyll said quickly, but without looking at her. "I did not
mean to imply blasphemy against your father. We shall never know what demons
drove him to such a resort. Even Mary I could forgive, if she had not taken
Toby with her! That. .. that is . .." He was unable to continue. The tears
spilled over his cheeks and he turned away, shadowing his face.
    Jenny stood up,
stiff and unsteady. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Monk. I think there is
little of any use that we can tell you. Perhaps you would excuse us. Pendle
will see you to the door." She went to the bell rope and pulled it. The
butler appeared almost immediately and Monk and Orme took their leave, after
having given Mr. Argyll a card and requested that he formally identify the
bodies the following day, when he was a little more recovered.
    "Poor
devil," Orme said with feeling when they were outside on the icy footpath
again. Mist was veiling the streetlamps as if in gauze. A frail sickle-shaped
moon sailed between the stars, high above the rooftops. "Both of 'em lost
family in the one night. Funny 'ow an instant can change everything. D'you
think she meant to?"
    "Go over
herself, or take him?" Monk asked, beginning to walk down towards the
Westminster Bridge, where they would be more likely to find a hansom. He was
still hoping it had been an accident.
    "Not sure
as I know," Orme replied, keeping step with him. "Din't look to me as
if she were trying to jump. Facing the wrong way, for a start. Jumpers usually
face the water."
    Monk felt a rush
of warmth even though the slick of moisture on the footpath was turning to ice
under his feet. He was not going to let go of hope, not yet.
    Monk reached
home before nine o'clock. His return was far later than it would have been on a
more usual day, but there was little that was routine in his new job. Even his
best effort might not be enough; second best certainly would not. Every day he
learned more of the skills, the knowledge, and the respect that Durban had had.
He admired the qualities that had earned that respect, and they awed him. He
felt continually a step behind Durban. No, that was absurd. He was yards behind
him.
    He knew people
and crime; he knew how to smell fear, how to probe lies, when to be
confronting, and when to be oblique. However, he had never known how to inspire
the love and loyalty of men under his command. They'd admired his intelligence,
his knowledge, and his strength, and they'd been frightened of his tongue, but they
did not like him. There'd been none of the fierce honor and friendship he had
sensed from the beginning between Durban and his men.
    He had crossed
the river by ferry-there were no bridges this far down-and he was on the south
bank now, where he and Hester had moved after accepting the new job. They could
hardly live in Grafton Street anymore. It was miles from police headquarters in
Wapping.
    He walked up
Paradise Street. The lamps misted and he could smell the river and hear the
occasional foghorn as the mist drifted across the water. There was ice on the
thin puddles in the street. It was still strange to him, nothing familiar.
    He put his key
into the lock in the door and pushed it open.
    "Hester!"
    She appeared
immediately, apron tied around her waist, her hair pinned hastily and