"Quite so," he agreed. "But this happened on the river, and I am afraid it is bad personal news for Mr. Argyll. He needs to be informed as soon as possible."

"Oh, dear," the butler said quietly. "How very terrible. Yes, sir." He took a deep breath and let it out silently. "If you will come to the morning room, I shall bring Mr. Argyll to you."

The morning room was very somber, in shades of browns and golds. The fire had been allowed to go out, but it was now well into the evening, and presumably the room would not normally be used at this hour. Monk and Orme stood in the center of the Aubusson carpet, waiting. Neither of them spoke. Monk noted the picture of Highland scenery over the mantelshelf and the small stuffed rodent in a glass case on the table by the wall. They were self-conscious suggestions that Argyll's wealth was old money, which brought to his mind that therefore it was probably not.

The door swung open and Alan Argyll stood in the entrance, pale-faced, his eyes dark in the lamplight. He was of more than average height, and lean with a suggestion of physical as well as mental power. His features were well-proportioned, but there was a coldness in them as if he did not laugh easily.

Monk took a step forward. "My name is William Monk, of the Thames River Police, sir. This is Sergeant Orme. I am deeply sorry to tell you that your brother, Mr. Toby Argyll, fell off the Westminster Bridge earlier this evening, and although we reached him within a few minutes, he was already dead."

Argyll stared at him, swaying a little as if he had been struck. "You were there? Why in God's name didn't you…" He gasped, finding it difficult to catch his breath. He looked as if he was on the edge of collapse.

"We were in a boat on patrol on the river," Monk answered. "I'm sorry, sir; there was nothing anyone could have done. In such circumstances, a man drowns very quickly. I think he probably felt nothing at all. I know that is little comfort, but it may help in time."