drinking too much … that sort of thing. Immature … I suppose. But basically quite decent fellows.”
“I expect so,” Pitt agreed halfheartedly. A lot of people one presumed decent had darker, more callous sides.
“As I said, the badge could have gone missing years ago,” Finlay went on, frowning, staring at Pitt with a degree of urgency. “I can’t remember when I last saw mine. God knows.”
“Yes sir,” Pitt said noncommittally. “Thank you for the addresses.” And he bade him good-bye and took his leave, shown out by the still-genial butler.
Norbert Helliwell was not at home. He had gone riding in the Park early, so his butler informed Pitt, and after a large breakfast had decided to spend the morning at his club. That was the Regency Club, in Albemarle Street, although the butler expressed his doubt-not in his words, but in his expression-that it would be acceptable for Pitt to call upon him there.
Pitt thanked him and took a cab south, and then west towards Piccadilly. The more he thought about it, the less did he feel he would be likely to learn anything of use from Norbert Helliwell. There were aspects of his visit to the FitzJames house which had surprised him. He had expected evasion, anger, possibly embarrassment. He was not unprepared to find Augustus FitzJames a domineering man, willing to defend his son, guilty or innocent.
He sat back in the hansom as it bowled along the busy streets, passing all manner of other carriages in the mid-morning. It was now pleasantly warm, the breeze balmy. Ladies of fashion were taking the air, seeing and being seen. There was more than one open landau and several gigs. A brewer’s dray lumbered past, great shaggy horses gleaming in the sun, brasses winking, coats satin smooth. Businessmen about their affairs strode along the pavements, faces intent, raising their tall hats now and again as they passed an acquaintance.
It was Finlay FitzJames who confused Pitt. He was lying, of that he had no doubt at all, but not as he had expected him to lie. Of course he had known women like Ada McKinley. To deny it was merely a reflex reaction, a self-defense in front of a stranger. And he was profoundly afraid, but not of the things he should have been. The mention of Ada’s death produced no reaction in him at all, except the shallow regret such a thing might have evoked in any such young man. Could it really be that he regarded her as barely human, and the act of killing her produced no shame at all, not even the fear that he could in any way be brought to pay for it?
Was the use of a prostitute a little like riding the hounds, a gentlemanly sport-the chase was all, the kill merely the natural outcome? And perhaps foxes were vermin anyway?
His thoughts were interrupted by his arrival at the entrance of the Regency Club. He alighted, paid the cabby and crossed the pavement to go up the steps.
“Are you a member, sir?” the doorman enquired. His face was expressionless, but the overemphasized enquiry in his voice made it profoundly plain that he knew Pitt was not.
“No,” Pitt replied, forcing himself to smile. “I require to speak to one of your members about a matter of delicacy and extreme unpleasantness. Perhaps you would convey that message to him and then find some place where I may do it in private, and avoid the embarrassment for him of approaching him in public?”
The doorman regarded him as if he were a blackmailer.
Pitt kept his smile. “I am from the police,” he added. “The Bow Street Station.”
“I see.” The doorman did not see at all. Pitt was not what he expected of such persons.
“If you please?” Pitt said a trifle more sharply. “My business is with Mr. Norbert Helliwell. His butler informed me he was here.”
“Yes sir.” The doorman could see no other way of dealing with a deplorable situation which was threatening to get completely out of hand. He instructed the steward to show Pitt to a small side room, possibly kept for such needs. He could not be left in the hallway where he might speak to other members and make the matter even worse. The steward did so, then turned on his heel and went to inform Helliwell of his visitor.
Norbert Helliwell was in his early thirties, of very ordinary appearance. He could have been mistaken for any young man of good family and comfortable means.
“Good morning, sir.” He came in and closed the door. “Prebble tells me there has been some unpleasantness with which you think I can help you. Do sit down.” He waved directly to one of the chairs, and sat comfortably in the one opposite it. “What is it?”
Pitt had never seen a man look less guilty.
“I can give you ten minutes,” Helliwell went on magnanimously. “Then I am afraid I have to meet my wife and mother-in-law. They’ve been shopping. The ladies like to do that, you know?” He shrugged. “No, perhaps you don’t. But they can get very upset if left waiting. Not proper at all. Gets oneself misunderstood. Sure you can see that. Only two sorts of women, what.” He smiled. “At least waiting around the streets, there are. Remember that perfectly awful business of that perfectly respectable woman … arrested out shopping!” There was derision in his voice, and indeed the case did not reflect well on the police.
“Then I shall come immediately to the point,” Pitt replied, aware that he was gaining an opinion of this man too rapidly. He was allowing the man’s assumptions to make him also prejudge. “Were you once a member of a young gentlemen’s association known as the Hellfire Club?”
Helliwell was startled, but there was no alarm in his bland, self-confident face.
“A long time ago. Why? Has someone resurrected it?” He shrugged very slightly. “Not very original, I’m afraid. Rather obvious sort of name, when one thinks of it. Speaks of Regency dandies a bit, don’t you think?” He leaned back and crossed his legs. “Much more fashionable to be an aesthete now, if you have the emotional energy. Personally, I couldn’t be bothered to stir up so much passion about art. Too busy with life!” He laughed very slightly.
Was there an edge to his voice, or did Pitt imagine it?
“Used you to have a badge, about so big?” Pitt held up his finger and thumb half an inch apart. “Enamel on gold, with your name engraved on the back?”
“I really don’t recall,” Helliwell said, meeting his eyes unblushingly. “I suppose we might have. Why? What on earth can it matter now? It was years ago. Haven’t met since …” He drew in his breath. He was definitely a trifle paler now. “I don’t know … well before I was married. Six years at least.” He smiled again, showing excellent teeth. “Bachelor’s sort of thing, you know?”
“So I imagine,” Pitt agreed. “Do you still have your badge?” He overlooked Helliwell’s uncertainty as to whether there had been one at all.
“No idea.” He looked startled and even slightly amused. “Shouldn’t think so. Why? Look, you’d better explain what this is all about. So far you haven’t said anything remotely urgent or important. You told the doorman it was a matter of unpleasantness. Either come to the point or I shall have to leave you.” He took out a heavy gold watch on an equally heavy gold chain and looked at it ostentatiously. “I must go in three minutes anyway.”
“A woman was murdered last night, and a Hellfire Club badge was found underneath her body,” Pitt replied, watching his eyes, his face.
Helliwell swallowed convulsively, but he did not lose his composure. It was a moment or two before he answered.
“I’m very sorry. But if it is my badge, then I can assure you I had nothing whatever to do with it. I was dining with my father-in-law and went straight home in the carriage. My wife will attest to that, as will my own servants. Who was she?” His voice was growing firmer as he continued. His color was returning. “Was it my badge? The least I can do is to determine where I lost it, or if it was stolen. Although I doubt it will be much use. It could have been years ago.”
“No sir, it was not your badge. But …”
Helliwell rose to his feet, anger flushing his cheeks. “Then what in the devil are you doing bothering me?” he demanded. “This is outrageous, sir. So whose-” He stopped abruptly, one hand in the air.
“Yes?” Pitt enquired, rising to his feet also. “I’ll walk with you. You were going to say …?”
“Whose …” Helliwell gulped. “Whose badge was it?” He went a step towards the door.
“I understand there were only four of you,” Pitt continued. “Is that correct?”
“Ah …” Helliwell quite transparently considered lying, and then abandoned it. “Yes … yes, that’s right. At least in my time! I left, Inspector … er … Superintendent. More could have joined after … of course.” He forced a smile.
Pitt went to the door and opened it, holding it for him. “I mustn’t delay you from meeting your wife and mother-in-law.”
“No. Well … sorry I couldn’t help.” Helliwell went through and continued on across the hallway to the front
