Still gripping her shawl about her shoulders, the woman sat down on the very edge of the chair, her back ramrod straight, her fair face tense with anxiety. Her narrow, beautiful hazel eyes never left his.

"How may I help you?" He sat on the chair opposite her, leaning back and crossing his legs comfortably. He had been in the police force until a violent difference of opinion had precipitated his departure. Brilliant, acerbic, and at times ruthless, Monk was not used to setting people at their ease or courting their custom. It was an art he was learning with great difficulty, and only necessity had made him seek it at all.

She bit her lip and took a deep breath before plunging in.

"My name is Julia Penrose, or I should say more correctly, Mrs. Audley Penrose. I live with my husband and my younger sister just south of the Euston Road…" She stopped, as if his knowledge of the area might matter and she had to assure herself of it.

"A very pleasant neighborhood." He nodded. It meant she probably had a house of moderate size, a garden of some sort, and kept at least two or three servants. No doubt it was a domestic theft, or a suitor for the sister about whom she entertained doubts.

She looked down at her hands, small and strong in their neat gloves. For several seconds she struggled for words.

His patience broke.

"What is it that concerns you, Mrs. Penrose? Unless you tell me, I cannot help."

"Yes, yes I know that," she said very quietly. "It is not easy for me, Mr. Monk. I realize I am wasting your time, and I apologize…"

"Not at all," he said grudgingly.

She looked up, her face pale but a flash of humor in her eyes. She made a tremendous effort. "My sister has been… molested, Mr. Monk. I wish to know who was responsible."

So it was not a petty matter after all.