Callander Square

TEN

Pitt was called straight away, since anything in Callander Square was considered to be part of his case. Before half past nine he was kneeling on the still icebound earth by the body. A solitary constable stood guard over it. Nothing had been moved. After some protest, Charlotte had been sent home, although Pitt thought it was probably the cold that prevailed over her rather than any sense of obedience.

There was a police doctor with him. After he had stared his fill and the picture was etched on his mind, together they turned Freddie over to look at the wound. The knife was buried right to the hilt, the filigree handle holding no imprint of a hand at all.

Pitt moved the clothes fractionally.

“Single blow,” he remarked. “Very clean.”

“Could be luck,” the doctor said over his shoulder. “Doesn’t have to be skill.”

“What about strength?” Pitt asked.

“Strength?” The doctor considered for a moment. He reached down and moved the knife experimentally. “No bones cut,” he observed. “Clean between the ribs. Nothing but cartilage, and a little muscle; straight to the heart. Average adult could do it quite competently. Too high a wound for a short person. Blow seems to be a downward one, so your murderer was at least five foot six or seven, probably more.”

Pitt picked up one of Freddie’s hands.

“No gloves,” he said, frowning a little. “He must have come out in a hurry, and possibly not expected to be long. Coming to meet someone he knew, I should think.” He looked at the nails and knuckles. “Spotless. He can’t have made much of a struggle.”

“Caught by surprise,” the doctor replied. “Only knew for a second before unconsciousness overtook him.”

“Surprise,” Pitt said slowly. “From the front. That means he knew his murderer, the surprise was that he should strike. Dr. Bolsover considered him safe, a friend.”

“Or acquaintance,” the doctor added.

“Does one go out to meet a mere acquaintance in the middle of the square, at night?”

“I didn’t say he was killed during the night,” the doctor shook his head. “Can’t tell. This weather, body would freeze in a very short time. Makes time of death a bit difficult.”

“Hardly risk murdering someone in the middle of the square in daylight,” Pitt said gently. “Too risky. Servants spend too much time near the windows, too big a chance someone would see you walking into the middle of the gardens. After dark, muffled up in scarf with collar up, which would be reasonable enough in this weather, as soon as you’re out of the arc of the gaslight you’re invisible. Could have gone up the steps to the front door, or into an areaway, off to get a cab-anything.”

“Quite,” the doctor agreed a little stiffly. “So take it they met after dark. Bit of an odd thing to do, wasn’t it? Go to meet someone in the pitch dark in a frozen waste like this? Could fall and break your neck, never mind being stabbed. Hardly see a foot in front of you.”

“Raises a lot of questions in the mind, doesn’t it?” Pitt stared down at the body again.

The doctor grunted.

“Must have been wishing to discuss something very urgent, and very private indeed.”

“Or have an intent to murder,” Pitt said softly.

The doctor said nothing.

Pitt climbed to his feet, a little stiff in the bitter cold.

“It occurs to me that I have rather a lot to ask Mr. Reggie Southeron. See to having Bolsover taken to the morgue, will you? You’d better do your post mortem thoroughly, in spite of the obvious. I don’t believe there will be anything else, but it’s always possible.”

The doctor gave him a sour look, and stumped back toward the constable, slapping his hands together to get the circulation moving again.

Pitt did not want to give Reggie any advance warning this time. He went straight to the front door and when the footman answered, announced that he wished to see Mr. Southeron with all possible speed. He imagined that on a bitter morning like this Reggie would not have risen before nine, and would certainly not have breakfasted and been ready to depart for the city before ten.

He was correct. Reggie was still at the table, and about to expostulate at the footman’s unseemly interruption, and to tell him rather sharply that the police could wait, when he glanced past the man’s sober figure to see the enormous caped figure of Pitt who had followed him in; precisely to avoid being dismissed in such a fashion.

“Really!” Reggie glared at him. “I appreciate that you have a difficult job to do, but a little unpleasantness in the square does not absolve you from all need to follow the ordinary dictates of good manners. I shall see you when I have finished my breakfast! You may wait until then in the morning room, if you wish.”

Pitt eyed the footman, and found to his satisfaction that the man’s fear of the police was greater than his fear of his employer. He retreated like water going down a sink, flowing outward with a somewhat circular motion and disappearing down the passage.

“The matter is too urgent to admit of delay,” Pitt said firmly. “Dr. Bolsover has been murdered.”

Reggie stared at him glassily.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Dr. Bolsover has been murdered,” Pitt repeated. “His body was found this morning, at a few minutes after eight o’clock.”

“Good God!” Reggie dropped his fork laden with food and it fell with a clatter, upsetting his knife and sliding to the floor, taking bacon and sausage with it. “Good God,” he said again. “What a frightful thing.”

“Yes,” Pitt agreed, watching him closely. Did he really have the wit to act so well? He seemed stupefied with shock. “Murder is always frightful,” he went on. “One way and another. Of course many people who are murdered rather bring it upon themselves.”

“What in blazes do you mean?” Reggie’s heavy face flushed scarlet. “I call that damned impertinent! Damned bad taste! Poor old Freddie lying dead somewhere, and you stand there saying he deserved it!”

“No,” Pitt corrected carefully. “You leaped to that conclusion. What I said was that some people who are murdered bring it upon themselves; blackmailers, and so on,” he leaned a little forward, watching Reggie’s face minutely. He saw what he was looking for, the ebb of color, the nervous spasm of muscles.

“Blackmailers?” Reggie repeated hoarsely, his eyes unfocused like a stuffed doll’s.

“Yes,” Pitt pulled up a chair and sat down. “Blackmailers rather often get murdered. Victim sees it as his only way out. Blackmailers don’t seem to realize when they’ve reached the critical point. They press too far.” He opened his hands wide to express an explosion, an eruption.

Reggie swallowed convulsively, his eyes fixed on Pitt as if mesmerized. He seemed to be unable to speak.

Pitt gambled.

“That is what happened to Dr. Bolsover, isn’t it, sir?”

“Dr.-Bolsover-?”

“Yes. He was blackmailing you, wasn’t he?”

“No-no! I told you! It-it was Jemima, the governess. I said that to you before.”

“So you did: you said that the governess was blackmailing you over the fact that you have had a passing affair with your parlormaid. I wouldn’t have thought that was worth paying for, sir, since I knew about it, the servants knew, I would be surprised if the neighbors had not guessed; and I imagine your wife also knows, even if she prefers to pretend that she does not.”

“What the hell do you mean?” Reggie tried to look affronted.

“No more than I say, sir: that I find it hard to believe that you would submit to blackmail over something which is a subject of general knowledge, even though it is not mentioned; and which is a little sordid, but not by any means an infrequent offense; and hardly a crime.”

“I–I told you-of course it is not a crime! But right now it could be misunderstood! People could think-”

“You mean the police could think-?” Pitt raised his eyebrows sardonically.

A tide of color swept up Reggie’s face as he realized his lie was ridiculous. Pitt could almost see his brain racing. Should he catch him now, in panic, or wait till his tongue betrayed him further?

“Er-” Reggie tried to fill in until he invented something, “-well-yes, it does sound-”

“A bit thin,” Pitt finished for him. “Suppose you tell me the truth?”

“Er-truth!”

“Yes, sir. Why was Dr. Bolsover really blackmailing you?”

“I-” Reggie seemed frozen.

“If I have to ask others in order to find out, it will be a lot more uncomfortable for you,” Pitt pointed out. “If you tell me, providing there is no crime involved, I shall be as discreet as I can. Time is important. We have a murderer somewhere in this square: and he may not be finished yet!”

“Oh God!”

“Why was Dr. Bolsover blackmailing you, Mr. Southeron?”

Reggie gasped and swallowed.

“Another affair I had.” His eyes were hot, uncomfortable, searching somewhere over Pitt’s shoulder. “Woman was married. Husband important fellow. Could do me a spot of damage, if he found out. You understand?”

Pitt looked at him for a long moment. He was lying.

“How did the governess ever come to know about it?” he asked.

“What?” Reggie’s head jerked up. “Oh. Er-”

“You said she was blackmailing you too,” Pitt reminded him. “Would you like to amend that now?”

Suddenly Reggie’s eyes cleared.

“No! No, she was. Very greedy young woman. That must be why Freddie was killed! Yes, it all fits in, don’t you see?” He sat up a little. “They must have quarreled over the money! She wanted more than her share, he refused, and she killed him. Makes sense: all fits together!”

“How did the governess come to know of this affair of yours? Did you have the woman here?”

“Good God, of course not! What on earth do you think I am?”

“Then how did she know, sir?”

“I don’t know! Freddie must have said something!”

“Why on earth should he do that? Why share his spoils unnecessarily? Seems an unlikely thing to do.”

“How in hell should I know?” Reggie demanded furiously.

“Perhaps he was having an affair with her, and he told her in a moment of boasting, or something! We’ll never know now. Poor swine is dead.”

“The governess isn’t.”

“Well, you can hardly expect her to tell you the truth!” There was a rising note in Reggie’s voice that sounded uncommonly like panic.

Pitt gambled again.

“I think it sounds more likely to me, sir, that this woman you had an affair with wasn’t the wife of some powerful man at all, but another maid.”

Reggie’s eyes glinted.

“As you’ve just pointed out, Inspector; it would hardly be worth anything to me to pay for silence over something as trifling as that!”

“Not if that’s all there was to it,” Pitt agreed with a small smile, his eyes fixed on Reggie’s face unblinkingly. “But what if there were more to it, a child, say?”

Reggie went pasty white. For a moment it occurred to Pitt that he might have a fit.

“One of your parlormaids died, didn’t she?” Pitt asked slowly, making each word weigh heavily.

Reggie gagged for breath.

“You didn’t murder her, did you, Mr. Southeron?” Pitt asked.

“God! Oh God! No, I didn’t. She died. Freddie was with her. We called him in. Had to. That’s how he knew.”

“What did she die of?”

“I–I don’t know!”

“Do I have to ask the female staff?” Pitt said softly.

“No!” There was a moment’s silence. “No,” Reggie said more quietly. “She had an abortion. It went wrong. That’s why she died. I didn’t know anything about it. I couldn’t have saved her. You’ve got to believe that.”

“But it was your child?”

“How do I know?”

Pitt permitted his disgust to show at last.

“You mean you were sharing her with someone else? The footman, perhaps, or the bootboy?” he said harshly.

“How dare you! I’ll have you remember your place!”

“Your place, at the moment, Mr. Southeron,” Pitt snapped back, “is extremely unpleasant! A parlormaid carrying your child dies in your house from a badly done abortion. You are being blackmailed by your doctor over the affair. Now your doctor is murdered outside your house. What strikes you as the obvious conclusion to draw from that?”

“I–I told you,” Reggie fumbled his words and gasped, “the governess! She was with him in it! He must have been sleeping with her, told her! She was the one who came to me for the money! She must have quarreled with him-a case of thieves falling out! That’s the obvious answer! Who are you going to believe? Me, who hasn’t done anything wrong, or a servant girl who lies and blackmails, and finally kills her lover and accomplice? I ask you!”

Pitt sighed and stood up.

“I shan’t believe anyone, Mr. Southeron, until I have more evidence. But I shall remember what you have said, every word of it. Thank you for your time. Good morning, sir.”

As soon as he had gone Reggie collapsed. It was appalling! God alone knew where the end of it lay. Scandal! Ruin! He felt ill. The room swam around him and darkened into visions of penury-vague, because he had never actually known it-but none the less frightful for that.

He was still sitting slumped over the table when Adelina came in.

“You look ill,” she observed. “Have you eaten too much?”

Her cold unconcern was the last cut to a sore, wounded man.

“Yes, I am ill!” he said angrily. “The police have just been here. Freddie Bolsover has been murdered.” He watched her face, satisfied to see the shock in it.

“Murdered!” she sat down sharply. “How dreadful. Whatever for? Was he robbed?”

“I’ve no idea!” he snapped. “He was just murdered!”

“Poor Sophie,” Adelina stared down the table past Reggie into the distance. “She’ll be quite utterly lost.”

“Never mind about Sophie! What about us? He was murdered, Adelina, don’t you understand that? That means someone murdered him, crept out there in the dark and stuck a knife into him, or hit him over the head, or whatever.”

“Very unpleasant,” she agreed. “People can be very wicked.”

“Is that all you can say?” His voice was rising to a shout, out of control. “God damn it, woman, that bounder from the police all but accused me of it!”

She did not seem impressed, far less frightened.

“Why should they do that? You could have no reason for killing Freddie. He was a friend.”

“He was a blackmailer!”

“Freddie? Nonsense. Who on earth would he blackmail?”

“He’s a doctor, you stupid woman! He could blackmail any of his patients!”

Still she was not apparently moved.

“Doctors are not allowed to tell the things about their patients that are confidential. If they did, they would get no more patients. Freddie would never do that. It would be foolish. And don’t call me stupid, Reggie. It’s very rude, and there’s no need for rudeness. I’m sorry Freddie is dead, but becoming hysterical won’t help.”

“I don’t understand you!” he was angry, frightened, and now utterly bewildered. “You were weeping all over the place about Helena, and here is Freddie dead and you don’t seem to care at all!”

“That was different. Helena was carrying a child.” Her voice dropped at the memory of it. “That child died before it was ever born. If you were a woman, you would understand that. I look at my own children, and of course I weep. Children are all a woman really has.” She looked at him with a sudden harshness. “We carry them, and bear them, bring them into the world, love them, listen to them, advise them, and see that they are married well. All you do is pay the bills, and boast about them if they do something well. I’m sorry Freddie is dead, but I really can’t weep about it. I shall be sorry for Sophie of course, because she has no children. And how do you know Freddie was a blackmailer?”

“What?”

“You said Freddie was a blackmailer. How do you know that?”

“Oh,” he scrambled for an answer, “someone told me. Confidence, you know, can’t tell you about it.”

“Don’t be fatuous, Reggie. People don’t tell you about things like that. He must have been blackmailing you. Was he?”

“Of course not! There’s nothing to blackmail me about!”

“Then why do the police think you killed him? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know!” he yelled. “I didn’t damn well ask!”

“I thought it might have been about Dolly.”

He froze. She looked like a stranger sitting at the head of the table, monstrous and unknown, inscrutable. She was saying something appalling, and there was no expression on her face except a mild curiosity.

“D-Dolly?” he stuttered.

“I could have forgiven you for sleeping with her, as long as you were discreet,” she said, looking directly at him. It seemed as if it was the first time she had ever really looked at him. “But not for killing her child, Reggie; never for that.”

“I didn’t kill the child!” He was becoming hysterical. He could hear it himself but could do nothing to stop it. “It was an abortion. It went wrong! I didn’t do it!”

“Don’t lie, Reggie. Of course you did it. You allowed her to seek an abortion in the back streets instead of sending her away to the country to bear the child. She could have stayed there, or you could have had the child adopted. You didn’t. I shall not forgive you for that, Reggie; not ever.” She stood up again and turned away. “I trust you did not have anything to do with Freddie’s death. It would have been extremely stupid of you.”

“Stupid! Is that all you can say? Stupid! Do you actually imagine I could have anything to do with killing Freddie?”

“No. I think it would be most unlike you to have done anything so decisive. But I am glad to hear you say it. I hope you are telling the truth.”

“Do you doubt me?”

“I don’t think I care very much, except for the scandal. If you manage to keep the police out of it, that is all I ask.”

He stared at her helplessly. Suddenly he was cold, as if a longworn skin had been ripped from him and left him naked. He watched her go out of the room and felt like a child in the dark.

Having told the police that Jemima was the one who had blackmailed him, and therefore having been unable to go back on it, it seemed the obvious, ideal solution to blame her for Freddie’s murder also. Now he must make it stick. He must behave as if he believed it to be the truth. It was inconceivable that a man, knowing such a thing, would keep in his house, tutoring his children, a woman who was a blackmailer and a murderess. The only possible course was to dismiss her immediately.

It was unfortunate, of course. In the circumstances, there would be no one who would take her in, but what else was he to do? Pity he had not taken the opportunity a few minutes ago of telling Adelina-but the thought of Adelina was highly uncomfortable at the moment, better removed from mind. He must find Jemima and tell her she must leave. He need not explain to her precisely why, which would be most embarrassing-he could avoid that very well on the claim that he would not accuse her before the police did, and perhaps jeopardize the justice of her cause. Yes, that sounded excellent. He even felt a flush of rectitude, and rose from the table to set about it immediately.

Charlotte heard of it at midday when Jemima arrived on the doorstep, white-faced, a boxchest on the pavement beside her, a hansom clopping away already reaching the corner of the street. She must have stood on the step for some moments, afraid to knock.

Charlotte answered the door herself, since there was no one else; one would hardly wish to send Mrs. Wickes, with her hands wet, apron splashed, hair sprouting like a bollard willow.

“Jemima!” She saw the chest. “Whatever has happened? Come in, you look frozen and starved. Can you lift the other end of the box with me? We can’t leave it there, or someone may steal it.”

Obediently Jemima bent, and a few minutes later they were both inside and Charlotte looked at her more closely.

“What is it?” she said gently. “Has Mr. Southeron accused you of blackmailing him?”

Jemima looked up, shock and a kind of relief in her face that she did not have to break the news herself.

“You know?”

Charlotte was ashamed now for not having warned her, although perhaps it would have done little good. She should have thought of some way for Pitt to prevent Reggie giving tongue to his lies.

“Yes. I meant to tell you when I came the other day.” She put out her hands and clasped Jemima’s. “I’m so sorry. When I saw how you felt about Brandy Balantyne, I couldn’t speak of Reggie and his maids in the same breath, for fear you would think I believed you were no better.”

Jemima looked bewildered, but there was no accusation in her eyes.

“How did you know?” she repeated. “Does everyone know except me?” She swallowed hard. “Why, Charlotte? Why should he say such a thing? Certainly he lay with Mary Ann, but everyone knew! I never spoke of it, least of all to him-and asking for money! Why should he say I did?”

“Because someone was blackmailing him, and he did not wish to tell the truth of it,” Charlotte replied. “It was easy to blame you, because you are least likely to be able to defend yourself.”

“But why should anyone blackmail him over that? It is rather squalid, it is true, and it is an abuse of Mary Ann, and of his wife; but it is not a crime; it would not even be so much of a scandal: not worth paying to avoid, anyway.”

“I don’t know,” Charlotte admitted. “But come and sit down. Let me make you something to drink to warm you. I think I have a little cocoa. We must plan what to do next.” She busied herself quickly. They were in the kitchen anyway, it being the warmest room in the house. Charlotte could not afford to burn a fire in the parlor except in the evenings. Mrs. Wickes had finished the floor and gone upstairs to sweep, so they were alone.

“You can sleep in the nursery,” Charlotte went on, stirring the cocoa with a wooden spoon to get rid of the lumps. “The bed is a little small, but it will do you for a while. I’m afraid it is all we have-”

“I can’t stay here,” Jemima said quickly. “Oh, Charlotte, I am grateful, but the police will be looking for me soon. Blackmail is a crime, you know. I cannot bring that disgrace upon you-”

“Oh!” Charlotte turned round in surprise, forgetting Jemima knew so little of her. “Don’t worry about that. My husband is a policeman; in fact he is the policeman in charge of this case. He knows you did not blackmail anyone. At least,” she corrected herself, “he does not believe you did. Don’t worry, he will discover the truth. And Dr. Bolsover has been murdered. Did you know that? I found his body this morning. I was on the way again to warn you about Mr. Southeron when I nearly fell over it. Maybe he was the real blackmailer.”

“You-the police-?” Jemima was utterly confused. “But, but you are not married. Are you not Lady Ashworth’s sister? At least that is what General Balantyne said. I obtained your address from him this morning. I had to lie. I said I wished to write you a letter.” She winced and looked down for a moment. “Before Mr. Southeron should tell anyone about me and I should find no one would open their doors to me. I did not know who else to turn to-” Her eyes brimmed over and she dropped her head to hide her distress.

Charlotte put down the cocoa and went to her, putting her arms round her. For a little while Jemima wept silently; then she pulled herself together, blew her nose hard, excused herself to wash her face, and returned downstairs to take cocoa, now ready, and biscuits. Afterward she faced Charlotte and declared herself ready for battle.

Charlotte smiled back at her.

“Thomas will discover the truth,” she said firmly, although she knew that that was not necessarily the case. Sometimes crimes remained unsolved. “And if possible we shall help him,” she went on, “to have it done the more quickly. I think I must send a letter to Emily, to acquaint her with the latest events. She may be able to assist us too.”

“You are marvelous,” Jemima smiled rather weakly. “Are you so used to murders, that they do not frighten you anymore?”

“Oh no!” The horror of Cater Street came back to her with all its terror and grief. She felt a quick prickle of tears for Sarah. “Oh no,” she said quietly. “They frighten me very much, not just murder, but all the other dark things it stirs in even those who are barely involved in the first crime. It seems so often one crime begets another. People do such strange things to cover guilt. We can become so cruel and so selfish when we are afraid. Murder and investigation reveal to us so many things about each other which we would rather not have known. Believe me, I am frightened by it. But I think I would prefer that it should always frighten me. Not to be frightened would mean that I had lost the understanding of it. But it is my nature to fight, and we shall discover the truth of this yet, whomever it may involve!”

When Pitt arrived home late that evening he was only mildly surprised to see Jemima sitting with Charlotte by the fire. She was both embarrassed and nervous to begin with, but he went to some effort to put her at ease, even though he was appallingly tired, and by the time she retired, she looked as if she might sleep.

After she had gone, he told Charlotte that Reggie had accused her of the murder of Freddie also, and was relieved that Charlotte did not blaze up in temper, nor dissolve in tears, although he had never considered the latter likely.

In the morning he set out again to Callander Square, walking some part of the distance, the better to enable himself to think.

He did not doubt for a moment that Freddie Bolsover had been murdered because he was a blackmailer. He was inclined to think that it was not Reggie Southeron, if only because he lacked the nerve, and had seemed to be totally shocked by the news of the discovery of the body. Surely if he had known anything about it, he would have been prepared with a more plausible story.

But if it was not Reggie, then who were the other suspects? Surely in Callander Square there were enough secrets worth paying to keep!

He would begin with Balantyne.

He found him at home and quite willing to see him. He was shown into the morning room and a moment later the general came in, still looking grave from the news of Freddie’s murder the day before.

“Good morning, Inspector. Have you discovered something further about poor Freddie?”

“Yes, quite a lot, sir. None of it very pleasant, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t. Wretched business, poor fellow. You said yesterday he was stabbed. Was there something else?”

“Perhaps I didn’t explain myself very well. I meant that what I had discovered was about Dr. Bolsover himself, not the murder; although I believe it was the cause.”

“Oh?” Balantyne frowned slightly. “What do you mean? Not something to do with the babies in the square, surely? Always thought Freddie was a pretty sober sort of chap, not given to playing the fool with other women.”

“Not directly to do with the babies, but perhaps indirectly. He was a blackmailer.”

Balantyne stared at him.

“Blackmailer?” he repeated foolishly. “Whatever makes you think anything-so-vile?”

“One of his victims.”

“Must be lying! Fellow who would do something fit to be blackmailed for could well be a liar as well. In fact must be! Or others would know about his crimes.”

“Doesn’t have to be a crime, sir,” Pitt said gently. “Could be something he merely preferred kept private, an indiscretion or misfortune. Perhaps like his daughter having an affair with a footman, and being with child before she was married, or-” he stopped. It was unnecessary to go on, Balantyne’s face was scarlet. Pitt waited.

“I’d see the fellow in hell before I’d pay him,” Balantyne said very quietly. “Believe me!”

“Would you?” Pitt asked, his voice mild, not a challenge, but a soft probing. “Your only daughter, just before her marriage to a most suitable man? Are you sure? Would you not perhaps consider it worth a small expense to protect her?”

Balantyne stared at him, his eyes wavering.

Pitt said nothing.

“I don’t know,” Balantyne said at last. “Possibly you’re right. But it didn’t happen. Freddie never came anywhere near me.” He looked down at the carpet. “Poor Sophie. I suppose she had no idea. Often wondered how Freddie managed to live so high on the hog. I had some knowledge of the size of his practice. Never occurred to me in the wildest moment-what a wretched business. Do you suppose he knew whose the babies were?”

“Perhaps,” Pitt replied. “But I rather doubt it. If he were pressing on that one, I think he might well have been killed a good deal earlier than this. Of course he may have known something without realizing its importance. I don’t know, that’s why I must question all the people upon whom he may have put pressure.”

“Nautrally. Of course you must. Well, I had no idea. I would regret having to do so, but if I could help you, I should.”

“Thank you. May I speak with Lady Augusta, please, and then with young Mr. Balantyne?”

Again Balantyne flushed uncomfortably.

“Lady Augusta can tell you nothing, I assure you, she has most certainly never done anything in her life to make blackmail possible! And she is not the manner of woman to be intimidated.”

Pitt agreed with this last observation, but if she had done anything, then in all probability it would be the general from whom she wished to keep it secret. He forbore pointing this out; it would only embarrass without serving any purpose.

“All the same, sir, she might be able to help me. I’m sure she is not a woman to gossip, but we are dealing with murder. I need any help I may be able to obtain.”

“Yes-yes, I suppose so. Very well.” Perhaps he also knew that the request was only a formality. Pitt could not be refused; he came with official power.

Augusta received him in the withdrawing room, still chilly with a newmade fire.

“Good morning, my lady,” Pitt began formally as the footman closed the door behind him.

“Good morning,” Augusta replied. She was a handsome woman, and she looked, if anything, a little more relaxed than when he had seen her last. “What can I do for you, Inspector? I have no idea who killed Freddie Bolsover, or why.”

“Why is not difficult,” Pitt replied, facing her squarely. “He was a blackmailer.”

“Indeed?” she raised her eyebrows slightly. “How very unpleasant. I had no idea. I suppose you are quite sure.”

“Quite,” he waited, wondering what she would say next.

“Then surely his victim is the one who murdered him? You cannot need me to tell you that!”

He smiled very slightly.

“That is to presume he had only one victim, my lady. Why should I presume that?”

She looked at him and the corners of her mouth curled upward very faintly.

“Quite. I should have thought of that myself. When you remark it, it is quite obvious. What is it you imagine I can tell you? I assure you, Freddie Bolsover was not blackmailing me.”

“Not over Miss Christina’s unfortunate business with the footman?”

She barely flickered.

“It is hardly police business, I would have thought.”

“Not at all. Its discovery was incidental. But you haven’t answered my question-did Dr. Bolsover not approach you on the matter?”

“Certainly not,” she smiled very faintly and looked at him without dislike. “I should not have paid him. I should have found some other way of dealing with him; as I did with Max, who did try it. I have more brain, and more imagination, Inspector, than to resort to violence.”

He grinned widely.

”I believe it, my lady. I hope if you think of anything that might help me, however slight, you will let me know, immediately. For heaven’s sake, don’t deal with this yourself. He has killed once, maybe more than once.”

“I give you my word,” she said convincingly.

He saw Brandy a little later in the same room.

“What’s happened now?” Brandy demanded. “Not someone else dead!”

“No, and I want to see that it does not happen again. I must find out who killed Dr. Bolsover, before he feels threatened again.”

“Threatened?” Brandy looked worried.

“Dr. Bolsover was a blackmailer, Mr. Balantyne. That is almost certainly why he was killed.”

“Who was he blackmailing, do you know?”

“Mr. Southeron, at least.”

“Good-Reggie didn’t kill him, surely?”

“You think that unlikely?”

“Well-yes-I do. Somehow Reggie just doesn’t seem like-to be honest, I wouldn’t think he had the nerve!” Brandy smiled apologetically.

“Nor I,” Pitt agreed. “He said it was Jemima Waggoner who killed Dr. Bolsover-”

“What?” All the color blanched from Brandy’s face. “Jemima? That’s idiotic! Why on earth would Jemima kill anyone?”

“Because she was his partner in blackmail, and she became greedy over the spoils, and they quarreled-”

“He’s a liar!” This time there was no mistaking Brandy’s emotion, it was rage. “That’s your answer! Reggie killed him, and is lying to protect himself. There’s the proof of it! If he said Jemima blackmailed him, then he’s a liar!” His face was set, angry and defensive.

“One can lie to cover many things, Mr. Balantyne,” Pitt said quietly. “Not necessarily murder. Mr. Southeron panics rather easily.”

“He’s a liar!” Brandy’s voice was rising. “You can’t believe she-Jemima-” he stopped suddenly, struggling to control himself. He swallowed and began again. “I’m sorry. I feel very strongly about it. I’m sure Jemima is innocent, and I shall find a way to prove it to you.”

“I shall be grateful for all help,” Pitt smiled. “Did Dr. Bolsover approach you, sir?”

“No. Whatever for?”

“Money, favors, anything?”

“Of course not!”

“I thought you might have been prepared to pay, for example, to protect Lady Carlton.”

Brandy flushed deeply.

“How did you know about that?”

Pitt evaded an answer.

“Did he?”

“No. I’m pretty sure he had no idea. It was hardly a thing he would come in contact with. I mean, he might have known she was with child, being a doctor, and so on; but nothing about me. But all that is less important than seeing that Jemima is cleared. Please, Inspector,” he hesitated, “please get to the bottom of that.”

Pitt smiled very gently.

“You care about her, don’t you?”

“I-” Brandy seemed lost. He looked up. “Yes-I–I think I do.”