William Monk 05 - The Sins of the Wolf

far end of the building, packing or loading books.
    Hector looked puzzled, his emotions veering between disappointment and relief. He wanted the last battle, but he was too tired to relish it and too unsure of its outcome.
    Monk had no such misgivings. His face was set like a steel mask, through which his eyes glittered hard and bright, and he strode up the iron steps.
    “Come on,” he ordered, without waiting to see if they obeyed. At the top he took the passage in three strides and flung open the door to Baird’s office.
    Three people were present—Alastair, Oonagh, and Quinlan Fyffe. Alastair looked surprised and angry at the intrusion, Quinlan merely startled, and Oonagh’s usual calm was intensified into an icy chill. She stared at Monk, not even seeing Hester behind him, or Hector not yet in the doorway.
    “What in God’s name do you want now?” Alastair demanded. He looked harassed and weary, but not noticeably alarmed, and certainly not guilty to see Monk still alive.
    Monk looked at Quinlan, who looked back with a halfsmile of ironical humor, and Oonagh, as so often, was unreadable.
    “I’ve come to make my last report,” Monk replied with something approaching irony himself.
    “You already did, Mr. Monk,” Oonagh said coldly. “And we have thanked you for your efforts. We shall tell the police what we choose in the affair of Mother’s croft. It is no longer your concern. If the matter troubles your conscience, you will have to act as you think best. There is nothing we can do about it.”
    “Not, for example, lock me in the secret room in your warehouse and leave me to suffocate to death?” he said with raised eyebrows, glancing quickly at Quinlan and seeing the blood drain from his cheeks, his eyes turned to Oonagh.
    So she at least knew!
    “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Oonagh said levelly. She still had not even noticed Hester and Hector. “But if you were locked in the warehouse, you have only yourself to blame, Mr. Monk. You were trespassing to be there, and I cannot think of any honest purpose you could have had in the middle of a Sunday night. Still, you obviously managed to effect an exit, and you seem none the worse for it.”
    “I did not effect an exit. I was released by Major Farraline.”
    “Bloody Hector!” Quinlan said between his teeth. “Trust the drunken old sot to interfere!”
    “Hold your tongue,” Oonagh said without looking at him. She spoke to Monk. “What were you doing in our warehouse, Mr. Monk? How do you explain yourself?”
    “I went to look for the secret room that Major Farraline mentioned at dinner,” he replied, watching her as closely as she watched him. For each of them, there might have been no one else present. “I found it.”
    Her fair brows rose. “Did you? I was not aware of such a place.”
    He knew she was lying; he had seen it in Quinlan’s face.
    “It was full of equipment with which to forge bank notes,” he replied. “All denominations, and for several banks.”
    There was still nothing in her face to betray her.
    “Good heavens! Are you sure?”
    “Quite.”
    “I wonder how long it has been there. Since my father’s time, I imagine, if Uncle Hector says it was his secret room.”
    Alastair shifted his weight with an almost imperceptible sound.
    Monk glanced at him for an instant, and then back at Oonagh.
    “Almost certainly,” he agreed. “But it is also in present use. Some of the plates are as recent as last year.”
    “How can you tell?” A flash of amusement lit Oonagh’s eyes. “Was the ink still wet?”
    “Bank notes change, Mrs. McIvor. There are new designs brought in.”
    “I see. You are saying someone is still using the room to forge money?”
    “Yes. You should be pleased.” There was a black laughter underlying his voice now. “It will remove some of the burden from your husband. It makes another excellent motive for murder.”
    “Does it, Mr. Monk? I fail to see how.”
    “If your mother discovered it—”
    This time it was she who laughed.
    “Don’t be absurd, Mr. Monk! Do you imagine Mother didn’t know?”
    Hector made a strangled noise, but he did not move.
    “You affected not to,” Monk pointed out.
    “Certainly, but only before I realized that you are aware it is still in use.” Her face was cold and implacable now. She no longer concealed her enmity.
    Alastair stood rooted to the spot. Quinlan’s hand hadclosed around a bright paper knife on the desk and he was