“There's never been a whisper against him anywhere! Not in the City, not on the Exchange.”

“The Stock Exchange?” Monk asked.

“Oh no, sir, the Corn Exchange.”

He should have asked before he spoke.

“These rivals of Mr. Stonefield's,” he said quickly, his voice harder.

“Whose business in particular has he taken lately, or whose does he threaten?”

“Well…” The clerk hesitated unhappily.

For a moment there was no sound but the scratching of pens and someone shifting his feet.

“I don't like to speak ill…” the clerk resumed.

“If there is a possibility Mr. Stonefield has been kidnapped, then you will do him little service if you remain silent!” Monk snapped.

The clerk colored. “Yes. I understand. I'm sorry, sir. Mr. Marchmont, of Marchmont and Squires, lost out to him rather badly last month, but they are large enough they will ride that out.” He thought hard. “Mr. Peabody, of Goodenough and Jones, took it very badly when we beat them to a very good price about six weeks ago. But the only person I know who really suffered was poor Mr. Niven. He is no longer in business, I am sorry to say. Took it like a gentleman, but very hard for him, it was, especially with him and Mr. Stonefield being acquaintances socially. Very sad.” He shook his head very slightly. “But having said that, sir, I cannot imagine Mr. Niven wishing Mr. Stonefield any harm. He's not like that at all. Very decent sort of gentleman, just not as clever as Mr. Stonefield. Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything. It's… it's really very hard to know what to do for the best.” He looked at Monk miserably, seeking some kind of indication. “You have done quite the right thing,” Monk assured him. “Without information we cannot even make a judgment, let alone pursue the best course.” As he was speaking he was looking beyond the young man and around the offices.