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table.
    "Could he have pawned it?" he asked. "Did anyone see him
with a watch?" It was an intelligent question, and
    it came to him instinctively. Even well-to-do men sometimes ran short
of ready money, or dressed and dined beyond their means and were temporarily
embarrassed. How had he known to ask that? Perhaps his skill was so deep it was
not dependent on memory?
    Evan flushed faintly and his hazel eyes looked suddenly awkward.
    "I'm afraid we didn't find out, sir. I mean, the people we asked
didn't seem to recall clearly; some said they remembered something about a
watch, others that they didn't. We couldn't get a description of one. We
wondered if he might have pawned it too; but we didn't find a ticket, and we
tried the local pawnshops."
    "Nothing?"
    Evan shook his head. "Nothing at all, sir."
    "So we wouldn't know it, even if it turned up?" Monk said
disappointedly, jerking his hand at the door. "Some miserable devil could
walk in here sporting it, and we should be none the wiser. Still, I daresay if
the killer took it, he will have thrown it into the river when the hue and cry
went up anyway. If he didn't he's too daft to be out on his own." He
twisted around to look at the pile of papers again and riffled through them
untidily. "What else is there?"
    The next was the account of the neighbor opposite, one Albert SCarsdale,
very bare and prickly. Obviously he had resented the inconsideration, the
appalling bad taste of Grey in getting himself murdered in Mecklenburg Square,
and felt the less he said about it himself the sooner it would be forgotten,
and the sooner he might dissociate himself from the whole sordid affair.
    He admitted he thought he had heard someone in the hallway between his
apartment and that of Grey at about eight o'clock, and possibly again at about
quarter to ten. He could not possibly say whether it was two separate visitors
or one arriving and then later leaving; in fact he was not sure beyond doubt
that it had not been a stray animal, a cat, or the porter making a round—from
his
    choice of words he regarded the two as roughly equal. It might even have
been an errand boy who had lost his way, or any of a dozen other things. He had
been occupied with his own interests, and had seen and heard nothing of remark.
The statement was signed and affirmed as being true with an ornate and
ill-natured signature.
    Monk looked across at Evan, still waiting by the window.
    "Mr. Scarsdale sounds like an officious and unhelpful little
beggar," he observed dryly.
    "Very, sir," Evan agreed, his eyes shining but no smile
touching his lips. "I imagine it's the scandal in the buildings; attracts
notice from the wrong kind of people, and very bad for the social
reputation."
    "Something less than a gentleman." Monk made an immediate and
cruel judgment.
    Evan pretended not to understand him, although it was a patent lie.
    "Less than a gentleman, sir?" His face puckered.
    Monk spoke before he had time to think, or wonder why he was so sure.
    "Certainly. Someone secure in his social status would not be
affected by a scandal whose proximity was only a geographical accident, and
nothing to do with him personally. Unless, of course, he knew Grey well?"
    "No sir," Evan said, but his eyes showed his total comprehension.
Obviously Scarsdale still smarted under Grey's contempt, and Monk could imagine
it vividly. "No, he disclaimed all personal acquaintance with him. And
either that's a lie or else it's very odd. If he were the gentleman he pretends
to be, he would surely know Grey, at least to speak to. They were immediate neighbors,
after all."
    Monk did not want to court disappointment.
    "It may be no more than social pretension, but worth inquiring
into." He looked at the papers again. "What else is there?" He
glanced up at Evan. "Who found him, by the way?"
     
    Evan came over and sorted out two more reports from the bottom of the
pile. He handed them to Monk.
    "Cleaning woman and