William Monk 15 - Dark Assassin Read Online Free PDF

at all on this job, in fact, but it did not calm his fears.”
    “Reason does not calm irrational fears,” Argyll said quietly, his voice hoarse with his own emotion, unable to reach towards hers. Perhaps he feared that if he did, they might both lose what control they had. “Don’t harrow yourself up anymore,” he went on. “There was nothing you could have done then, or now. His terrors finally overtook him. Who knows what another man sees in the dark hours of the night?”
    “He took his life at night?” Monk asked.
    It was Argyll who answered, his 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