Execution Dock by Anne Perry Page A

is comfortable to him.” Her eyes were bright, and there was warm color in her skin.
    It gave Rathbone pleasure that she admired him so genuinely, but it was the guilty pleasure of stolen fruit, or at least of that obtained dishonestly. He struggled for words to explain it to her, but it was too complicated to frame, and he knew from her smile that she was not really listening. He ended up saying nothing, and was ashamed of himself.
     
    Rathbone began the next day's proceedings with what he intended to be his coup de grâce. He had no choice now but to go ahead with it. It was inconceivable that he would do less than his best, because even in the defense of a man like Jericho Phillips, that would be to betray every principle that he believed in. Above the political battles, the good or bad governments, the judiciary at its most brilliant, corrupt, or incompetent, the impartiality of the law-and its power to deal with all people without fear or favor-was the bedrock upon which every civilized nation depended.
    When lawyers made judgments the jury of the common man was betrayed, and in the end would become extinct. The law itself would pass from the people to the few who held power. There would no longer be a check on their prejudices, or in time, on their ability to remain above the tides of corruption, bribery, the threat of loss, or the hope of gain.
    He now found himself in a position in which he must call William Monk to the stand, and force him to testify against the man to whom he owed the best opportunity of his life.
    They faced each other in a silent court. This might well prove to be the last day of a trial that had begun as a mere formality but was now a very real battle in which it was even possible that Jericho Phillips's fight for his life could end in victory. People in the gallery were straining to look at him. He had assumed a sudden public stature that was both frightening and fascinating.
    Monk had already been identified. Both the jury and the spectators had heard of him from earlier witnesses. Now they stared in sharp interest as the questions began.
    “I did not call you earlier, Commander Monk,” Rathbone began, “because you are familiar with only part of this case, and Mr. Orme was involved from the beginning, when Mr. Durban was first called to the discovery of the boy's body.” He walked elegantly across the open space, as if he were very much at ease. Only someone who knew him as well as Monk did would see that his shoulders were stiff, and he did not carry his hands quite naturally. “However,” he continued, turning to face the witness stand, “certain facts have come to our attention that suggest unusual elements with which you could help us.” He waited, for dramatic effect, not because there was any question in his words.
    Tremayne shifted in his seat as though he could not find a comfortable position.
    “This case had been dropped, Mr. Monk.” Rathbone's voice was suddenly challenging. “Why did you choose to reopen it?”
    Monk had expected exactly this question. “Because I came across a record of it in Mr. Durban's papers, and the fact that it was still unsolved bothered me,” he replied.
    Rathbone's eyebrows rose. “Indeed? Then I assume you pursued all of Mr. Durban's other unsolved cases with equal zeal?”
    “I would like to solve them all,” Monk replied. “There were not many: a few minor thefts, one to do with the smuggling of half a dozen kegs of brandy; the fencing of stolen china and ornaments; a couple of incidents of public drunkenness that ended in fights; a few broken windows. The murder of children comes before all those.” He too paused for effect, and smiled very slightly. “I'll attend to the rest, if I have time.”
    Rathbone's face changed slightly, acknowledging that he had an adversary not to be trifled with. “Of course that takes priority,” he agreed, changing his angle of attack with barely a trace of awkwardness. “It seems from what we have