carved wood. There was much petit-point embroidery in evidence, artificial flowers made of silk in profuse arrangements, and some pleasant pastoral watercolors. In other circumstances, it would have been a charming, if rather overcrowded, room.
Wilhelmina Spencer-Brown was on the chaise longue, her head back, eyes wide, mouth open. There was none of the peace of sleep about her.
Pitt walked over and looked, without touching. There was no spirit left, no privacy to invade, no feelings to hurt, but still he regarded the woman as if there were. He knew nothing about her, whether she had been kind or cruel, generous or mean, brave or a coward; but for himself as much as for her, he wished to accord her some dignity.
'Have you seen all you wish?' he asked Mulgrew without turning around.
'Yes,' Mulgrew replied.
Pitt eased her forward a little so she appeared to have been relaxing, folded her hands although he could not unclench them, and closed her eyes.
'She was here only fifteen or twenty minutes before the maid found her like this?' he asked.
'So she says.'
'So whatever it was, it acted quickly.' He turned and looked around; there was no glass or cup to be seen. 'What did she eat or drink?' He frowned. 'It doesn't seem to be here now. Did the maid remove anything?'
'Asked her.' Mulgrew shook his head. 'She says not. Doesn't seem like a flighty girl. Don't see why she should lie. Too shocked when she found her mistress dead to think of tidying up, I would imagine.'
'So she didn't take it here,' Pitt concluded. 'Pity. That would have made it easier. Well, you'll have to do a postmor shy;tem and tell me what it was, and if possible how much, and when.'
'Naturally.'
Pitt looked at the body once more. There was nothing else to learn from it. There were no signs of force, but then since she had been alone he would not have expected any. She had taken the poison willingly; whether or not she had known what it was remained to be discovered.
'Let's go back to the morning room,' he suggested. 'I can't see anything here to help us.'
Gratefully, they returned to the fire. The house was not cold, but there was a chill in the mind that communicated itself to the flesh.
'What sort of woman was she?' Pitt asked when the door was closed. 'And don't hide behind professional confidences. I want to know if this was suicide, accident, or murder, and the sooner I do, with the fewest questions of the family, the easier it will be for them. And they'll have enough to bear.'
Mulgrew pulled an unhappy face and blew his nose on Pitts handkerchief.
'I can't imagine an accident,' he said, staring at the floor. 'Not a silly woman-very capable, in her own way, very quick, noticed things. Least absentminded woman I ever knew.'
Pitt did not like the sort of question he had to ask, but there was no way to avoid it, or to make it sound any better.
'Do you know of any reason why she might have taken her own life?'
'No, or I'd have said so.'
'She looks as if she was an attractive woman, feminine, delicate. Could she have had a lover?'
'I daresay, if she'd wanted one. But if you mean do I know of one, no, I don't. Never heard any gossip about her whatsoever-even in confidence.' He gave Pitt a very direct look.
'What about her husband?' Pitt pressed. 'Could he have had a woman, a mistress? Could she have been driven to suicide over that?'
'Alston?' Mulgrew's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the idea. Obviously it was one he had never considered before. 'I should think it highly unlikely. Bloodless sort of creature. Still- you never know-the flesh is full of surprises! Nothing odder about the human animal than his predilections in that area. I'm fifty-two years old, and I've been a doctor for twenty-seven of them. Nothing ought to surprise me-but it does!'
Other, uglier thoughts occurred to Pitt, thoughts about other men-boys, even children. Knowledge of such a thing might drive a wife to feel her life was insupportable. But that was only a wild speculation.
Then again there were other thoughts, perhaps more likely, things that Charlotte had spoken about: thefts, a sense of being watched. Could this woman have been the thief and then, when she realized the watcher knew about it, have killed herself in the face of the overwhelming shame? Society was cruel; it seldom forgave, and it never, ever forgot.
Pitt was touched by a breath of misery as cold as January sleet.
Poor woman.
If he discovered that to be the truth, he would find some way to avoid saying so.
'Don't lay too much on what I say, Inspector.' Mulgrew was looking at him soberly. 'I don't mean anything by it-just generalizing.'
Pitt blinked. 'That's all I took it for,' he said carefully. 'Just that nothing is certain when we come to such things.'
There was a commotion out in the hall, a rising and falling of voices, and then the door burst open.
They all turned simultaneously, knowing what it was and dreading it. Only Harris stood straight up, because he knew he would not have to say anything.
Alston Spencer-Brown faced them, bristling with shock and anger.
'Who the devil are you, sir?' He glared at Pitt. 'And what are you doing in my house?'
Pitt accepted the anger for what it was, but there was still no way of dealing with it that took away the hurt or the embarrass shy;ment afterward.
'Inspector Pitt,' he said without pretense. 'Dr. Mulgrew called me, as was his duty.'
'Duty?' Alston demanded, swinging round to face Mulgrew. 'I have the duty in this house, sir. It is my wife who is dead!' He swallowed. 'God rest her soul. It is no concern of yours! There is nothing you can do for her now. She must have had a heart attack, poor creature. My butler tells me she had passed away before you even arrived. I cannot think why you are still here. Except perhaps as a courtesy to inform me yourself, for which I thank you. You may feel yourself released from all obligation now, both as physician and as friend. I am obliged to you.'
No one moved.
'It was not her heart,' Mulgrew said slowly, then sneezed and fished for a handkerchief. 'At least it was, but not of itself.' He blew his nose. 'I'm afraid it was caused by poison.'
All the color drained from Alston's face, and for a moment he swayed on his feet. Pitt believed no man could act such a total and paralyzing shock.
'Poison?' Alston spoke with difficulty. 'What in heaven's name do you mean?'
'I'm sorry.' Mulgrew raised his head slowly to stare at him. 'I'm sorry. But she ate or drank something that poisoned her. I think either belladonna or something very like it, but I can't be sure yet. I had to call the police. I had no choice.'
'That's preposterous! Mina would never have-' He was lost for words; all reason seemed to have betrayed itself and he abandoned the attempt to understand.
'Come.' Mulgrew went toward him and eased him to the big, padded chair.
Pitt went to the door and called the footman for brandy. It came; Pitt poured it and gave it to Alston, who drank without taste or pleasure.
'I don't understand,' he repeated. 'It's ridiculous. It cannot be true!'
Pitt hated the necessity that drove him to speak.
'I presume you know of no tragedy or fear that could have driven your wife to such a state of distress,' he began.
Alston stared at him.
'What are you suggesting, sir? That my wife committed suicide? How-how dare you!' His chin quivered with outrage.
Pitt lowered his voice. He could not look the man in the eyes.
'Can you imagine any circumstance in which your wife would take poison by accident, sir?' he asked.
Alston opened his mouth, then closed it again. The full impli shy;cation of the question reached him: He let several moments tick by as he fought to see another answer.
'No,' he said at length. 'I cannot. But then neither can I conceive of any reason whatsoever why she should
