finished speaking.
“I’m not sure, but I think I am far closer than before.”
Byam’s face tightened but he did not ask again.
“What can I do to help?” he said instead.
“You told me in the beginning, or at least you told Mr. Drummond, that Weems’s original weapon against you was a letter written by Lady Anstiss to you, which unfortunately had fallen into the hands of a maid, who was related to Weems.”
“That’s right. Presumably she showed it to him, or told him of it, and he saw the financial possibilities for himself.”
“And Weems took it from her, because presumably you knew he had it or you would not have paid him?” Pitt went on.
Byam was very pale. “Yes. He had half of it. He showed it to me.”
“We didn’t find it.”
“No. I assume if you had you would not be asking me these questions. What can I tell you that is of any purpose now?”
“Do you know the name of this servant?”
Byam was quite motionless, but his eyes widened. “No-can it matter?”
“It may.”
“For heaven’s sake why?”
“Do you believe that whoever stole the letter did so by chance, sir?”
Byam’s face drained of every last vestige of blood. He swayed on his feet so that for a moment it seemed almost as if he might fall. He put his tongue over dry lips and made no sound.
Pitt waited, wondering if he would say something, anything at all to reveal what terrible thought had come to him. But the seconds ticked by and still he said nothing.
“The maid?” Pitt prompted at last. “She may have told someone else. Perhaps if she married, her husband might be a greedy or ruthless man?”
“I-I have-I have no idea,” Byam said at last. “It was twenty years ago. You will have to ask in Lord Anstiss’s house. Perhaps his butler has some record of past servants-or the housekeeper? Do you really think it could be that? It seems… farfetched.”
“It is farfetched that a man like Weems should have the means to blackmail a person of your position and standing,” Pitt pointed out. It was somewhat less than honest, but he did not wish Byam to have any idea that he suspected Anstiss, even as a remote possibility.
Byam smiled bitterly, but he seemed to accept it as an answer.
“Then you’d better go and see Lord Anstiss’s butler,” he said, as if weariness had suddenly overcome him and he were exhausted with it all. “I presume you know his address?”
“Not of the country house, sir, which is where I suppose I will find the appropriate butler?”
“No, not at this time of the year. Some domestic staff stay in the country, housekeepers probably, and maids, and so on, and a cook of sorts, and naturally all the outside staff, but the butler and valet travel with his lordship. You’ll find the butler in London.”
“Thank you. I shall call upon him and see if he has any record.”
“Please God you find something useful! This matter is-” he stopped, either not wanting to put words to it, or not finding any powerful enough to express his emotions.
“Thank you, sir,” Pitt said quietly.
“Is that all?”
“Yes, thank you sir, for the time being.” And Pitt excused himself and left Byam standing by the cold grate, staring outside at the garden and the fading light.
He preferred to visit Anstiss’s house during the day, when his lordship would more probably be out. He was not an easy man to bluff, or a man who would accept a partial explanation.
However on this occasion, although it was ten o’clock in the morning, Anstiss was at home, and he received Pitt in the morning room of his very elegant and imposing house. The style was Queen Anne, gracious and substantial, but with all the clean brilliance of that period. The curtains were forest-green velvet, the wood mahogany, and the one ornament Pitt had time to observe was an Irish silver chalice of utter simplicity and a beauty so exceptional he found it hard to refrain from staring at it, in spite of the urgency of his business and the fact that Anstiss made him less sure of himself than usual.
Anstiss stood beside a mahogany table with a large bronze of horses and surveyed Pitt with mild curiosity.
“What can I do for you, Inspector?” His blue-gray eyes were unflinching and he seemed vaguely amused. Certainly there was no apprehension in him at all. He was a spectator of this petty tragedy, no more.
Pitt had to treat him as if he knew nothing whatever about any part of the affair, except what anyone might know from the headlines in the newspapers.
“I am investigating the murder of a blackmailer, my lord,” Pitt began.
“How unpleasant. But I imagine such people frequently come to an untimely end.” Anstiss was still only very superficially interested. He was being polite, but it would be safe to assume that his courtesy would last only briefly if there were not something a great deal more relevant following soon.
“They don’t often press their fortune far enough to endanger their own lives,” Pitt answered. Ridiculously he found his mouth dry. “This one was successful for quite a long time. He obtained his information from servants who had chanced to learn something personal about their employers, and chosen to try to take advantage of it.”
Anstiss’s face darkened with contempt.
“If you expect my pity, you will be disappointed, Inspector. Such people deserve to be hoist on their own petard.”
“No sir.” Pitt shook his head. “I find it hard to care who killed him myself. But it is my duty, and we cannot permit private persons to become executioners, no matter how hardly tempted. This judgment may be one we concur with, but what about the next?”
“I take your point, Inspector, you do not need to labor it. What has all this to do with me?”
“One of the servants in question once worked in your country house.” He watched closely to see if there was a flicker in Anstiss’s face, anything that would tell him he had caught a nerve.
There was nothing.
“Indeed? Are you sure? I am not being blackmailed, Inspector.” He made no protestations and there was humor in his face, not anxiety.
“I’m very glad.” Pitt smiled back. “It is someone who was a guest in your home some time ago.”
“Oh? Who is that?”
It was Anstiss’s first error, and not a serious one.
“I am sure, my lord, you will understand if I do not answer that,” Pitt said smoothly. “I must treat such information in confidence.”
“Of course.” Anstiss shrugged. “Foolish of me to have asked. I was not thinking. It was a sense of guilt. I feel responsible that a guest of mine should suffer such an offense.” He shifted his weight a little and relaxed, but he did not invite Pitt to sit. One did not entertain policemen as if they were social acquaintances. “How can I help? You said it was some time ago?”
“Yes. Several years. If I could speak to your butler he may have either records, or if not, then some memory of past servants. He may even know where they may be found now.”
“It’s possible,” Anstiss agreed. “But don’t hold much hope, Inspector Pitt. Some servants stay a long time, of course, indeed all their lives, but many others move position often, and this one sounds most unsatisfactory. The sort of person you are speaking of may well have passed from one place to another, always downward, and in quite a short space have ended up on the streets, or by this time dead. Still, by all means speak to Waterson if you like. I’ll call him.” And without waiting for any better instruction he moved to the bell rope and rang it.
Waterson proved a dignified man with a dry and individual humor in his face, and Pitt liked him immediately. On Anstiss’s instruction he conducted Pitt to his pantry, where he offered him a cup of tea with biscuits, an unusually civilized concern to a policeman. Then he recalled as well as he was able all the upstairs servants in the country house approximately twenty years previously.
He was tall and lean with a fine head of white hair. Were it not for his deferential and unobtrusive manner, one
