ELEVEN
Pitt also visited Robert Carlton, more to inform him that Freddie had been a blackmailer than with any hope that Carlton might admit to having been a victim himself. He made his questions discreet, almost to the point of nonexistence, as he felt Carlton’s cooperation was of more value than any possible involvement he might reluctantly divulge.
He could think of no reason why the Dorans should have attracted Freddie’s attention. The whole business of Helena was laid bare for public speculation before Freddie was killed, so he left them to the privacy of their grief.
Lastly he visited the Campbells. He knew of no reason why they should have been put under pressure either, but it was always possible there was some indiscretion as yet unguessed at, although of course they would hardly be likely to tell him. But many small clues were to be found in the most guarded conversations: frequently the very guard itself was an indication of the existence of something to hide.
He saw Mariah first, since Campbell himself was busy in his study writing letters. She was very calm and expressed nothing more than a deep sympathy for Sophie. He learned nothing from her whatsoever, beyond the increasing impression that she was a strong woman who had already surmounted hardships, even griefs, and would bend herself willingly to assist Sophie to endure the shock that was overwhelming her now, and the shame which was doubtless to come.
He was obliged to wait some quarter of an hour before Garson Campbell sent for him to come to his study. He found Campbell standing in front of the fire, feet wide apart, rocking a little backward and forward. He looked angry.
“Well, Pitt, what is it?” he said tersely.
Pitt decided immediately there was no point in trying to be subtle. This was a clever and aggressive man who would see and avoid any attempt at verbal traps laid for him.
“Did you know Dr. Bolsover was a blackmailer?” he asked.
Campbell considered for a moment.
“Yes,” he said slowly.
Pitt felt a quickening of excitement.
“How did you know that, sir?”
Campbell’s cold gray eyes looked at him with bitter amusement. “Not because he was blackmailing me, Inspector. One of his victims came to me for advice. Naturally I cannot tell you who.”
Pitt knew there was no purpose at all in pressing him. Some people he might have been able to coerce, or frighten, or even overcome by power of personality-but not Garson Campbell.
“Can you tell me what advice you gave this person?” he asked instead.
“Yes,” Campbell smiled slightly. “I advised them to pay, for the time being. It was an indiscretion, not a crime. The danger of its becoming public and doing any real harm would shortly pass. I also promised to speak to Freddie and warn him that such a trick would not work a second time.”
“And did you?”
“Yes.”
“And what was Dr. Bolsover’s reaction?”
“Not very reliable, I would think, Inspector. A man capable of blackmail would not jib at a little lying.”
“Blackmail is a sneaking, underhanded crime, Mr. Campbell. A blackmailer relies on secrecy, and is usually a coward. He might well have been frightened by a more powerful man-which Mr. Southeron is not, but you are.”
Campbell’s eyebrows went up in amusement.
“So you knew about it?”
“Of course,” Pitt allowed himself the luxury of a little arrogance.
“And you have not arrested poor Reggie? He’s an awful ass. Panics very easily.”
“So I notice,” Pitt agreed. “But also something of a coward, I think. And not, by any means, the only person in Callander Square who might warrant a blackmailer’s attentions.”
Campbell’s face darkened and his big body tensed. It seemed for a moment as if a spasm of pain shot through him.
“I would be very particular what you say, Pitt. You could lay up a great deal of wrath for yourself if you make careless accusations about the people in this square. We all have our foibles, some of them no doubt unpleasant, by your standards, but we do not like them talked about. All men do what they like, as far as they dare. We have the good fortune to dare more than most; we have earned or inherited that position. Find out who killed the babies, by all means, if you must. And look into who stabbed Freddie Bolsover: but have a care for Sophie, and don’t go stirring up a lot of scandal just to see what floats to the surface. You won’t enhance your career, I promise you. You’re a damn sight more likely to finish up back on some beat down by the dockside.”
Pitt looked at his face for a moment or two. He did not doubt even for an instant that he meant precisely what he said, and that it was more than a warning.
“Freddie Bolsover was a blackmailer, sir,” he answered levelly, “and blackmail feeds on scandal. I can hardly hope to discover who killed him without discovering why.”
“If he was a blackmailer, he deserved to die. Perhaps for the happiness of those still in the square, it would be better if you left it at that. I have no scandal to hide, as I imagine you know by now; but there are a good many powerful men who have. For their safety, and my convenience, I would advise you not to press your dirt shoveling too far. We have had the police in Callander Square for a long time now. It is bad for us. It’s time you either came to some conclusion, or gave up and left us alone. Has it occurred to you that your persistent poking around may have precipitated these tragedies, that far from doing any good, you are making worse that which was bad enough to begin with?”
“It has happened before that a murderer has committed a second crime to cover a first. That cannot be a reason for leaving him free.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, man, don’t be so damn pious! What have you got? A servant girl who gets herself pregnant and kills her babies-or buries them stillborn-a trollop whose lover tired of her, and a blackmailer! You haven’t a devil’s chance of finding which servant girl it was now, and who gives a damn anyway? Helena’s lover is probably in another country by this time, and since apparently nobody ever even saw him, you’ve no better chance of hanging him than you have of swinging a noose round the moon. As for Freddie, he amply deserved it. Blackmail is a crime, even by your standards. And who’s to say it was anyone in Callander Square? He had patients all over the place. Try some of them. Could be any of them. But don’t blame me if they have you thrown out for it!”
Pitt left feeling more depressed than he had felt at any time since the case began. A great deal of what Campbell said was true. It was true that his presence may have precipitated both Freddie’s crime and his death. And he seemed no nearer a solution to any of the deaths than he had been on the very first day.
So it was that two days later, when he was called in to his superiors and questioned rather critically about the matter, that but for Charlotte’s passionate determination, he would have acceded to their pressure and admitted defeat on all but the death of Freddie Bolsover.
“We appreciate that you’ve done the best you can, Pitt,” Sir George Smithers said irritably. “But you just haven’t got anywhere, have you? We’re no nearer a conclusion now than we ever were! It was a pretty long shot in the first place.”
“And we need you for more important things,” Colonel Anstruther added rather more civilly. “Can’t waste a good man on a hopeless case.”
“What about Dr. Bolsover?” Pitt asked bitingly. “Is he to be marked ‘unsolved’ as well? Don’t you think it’s a trifle soon? The public might think we weren’t trying!” He was too angry to care if his tone offended them.
“There is no need to be sarcastic, Pitt,” Smithers said coldly. “Of course we must make some endeavor with regard to Bolsover, although it does look rather as if the bounder got no more than he deserved. Know Reggie Southeron myself; harmless chap. A bit fond of his pleasures, but no real spite in him.”
Pitt snorted at his private thought.
“Somebody stuck a knife into Bolsover,” he pointed out.
“Good heavens, man, you don’t imagine it was Reggie, do you?”
“No, Sir George, I don’t; which is why I need to know who else Bolsover was blackmailing.”
