the theater, the opera, the races, the same round of social events. Even so, they do not have any interest in common I can find, or any specific acquaintance that does not equally include a thousand others.”
“And no one has yet been asked for money?” Theloneus said.
“I am not certain.” Pitt thought of Cadell. “It is possible Cadell of the Foreign Office may have.” He told him of Parthenope Tannifer’s information, and his own visit to Cadell, and his denial.
Theloneus remained silent for several moments, turning it over in his mind.
Outside the light was fading. The lawn was already in shadow, and there was a flush of gold across the sky.
“I cannot help feeling that it is more than money,” Vespasia interrupted the silence. “Money could more easily be extracted by slow and reasonable threats, and a means of payment made more obvious. The pattern does not seem to be right.”
Pitt turned in his chair to look at her. Her face was very grave in the slanting light, which was gentler than the white clarity of morning. It lent a glow to the beauty of her bones, still exquisite, untouched by the years. Her hair could almost have been gold rather than silver.
“I am inclined to agree with you,” Theloneus said at last. “The exercise of power is so deliberate I feel there will be something asked for which will be repugnant to each man we know of, but by the time the demand is made, he will be so weakened by the tension, the fear and the exhaustion that he will not be able to summon the strength to resist. He will be prepared to do almost whatever he is asked, even something he would normally refuse without consideration.”
“What concerns me,” Vespasia said with a frown, “is why Brandon Balantyne was the one chosen for the dramatic and rather extreme measure of having a corpse placed upon his doorstep.” She looked from Pitt to Theloneus, and back again. “That was bound to bring the police into this affair. Why did our blackmailer wish that? One would have thought it would be the last thing he desired.”
“That puzzles me also,” Pitt confessed. “Except it would seem that possibly some extreme pressure was desired upon Balantyne, but why, I have no idea.”
“I suppose it is not coincidental?” Theloneus asked. “Could it be merely fortuitous that poor Albert Cole died where he did?”
“No.” Pitt realized he had not told them about Tellman’s discovery. He saw their surprise at his certainty. “No, it’s not coincidence,” he said. “Tellman has been working on it. We assumed it was Albert Cole because of the bill for socks, which certainly seemed to be his. The lawyer from Lincoln’s Inn Fields identified him as Cole.” He had their total attention. They both leaned forward, eyes fixed upon his face. “But it turns out it was a petty thief by the name of Josiah Slingsby,” he continued, “who quarreled with his accomplice, Ernest Wallace, a man with a violent temper, and Wallace killed him ….”
“And left him in Bedford Square?” Vespasia said in amazement.
“They were burgling Bedford Square,” Theloneus concluded. “They stole the snuffbox from Balantyne? No … you said he admitted giving it to the blackmailer. Thomas, my dear friend, this makes no sense whatever. You had better explain yourself again. We have missed something. To begin with, where is the real Albert Cole?”
“No, Wallace did not kill Slingsby in Bedford Square,” Pitt answered. “Or anywhere near it. They quarreled in an alley in Shoreditch, and he left Slingsby exactly where he fell and ran away. He swears he never went anywhere near Bedford Square, and Tellman believed him. So do I.”
“And the receipt for socks?” Theloneus asked. “Did he know Albert Cole?”
“He says not, and there seems no reason to suppose he did.”
“And what does Cole say?”
“We haven’t found Cole. I have Tellman looking for him.”
“Then someone else took Slingsby’s body, placed Albert Cole’s receipt on it, and left it on Balantyne’s doorstep,” Vespasia said with a shiver she could not control. “Surely there can be no other conclusion than an intention to embarrass Brandon Balantyne, possibly even to have him arrested for murder?”
“You did not add, my dear, that it must be the blackmailer,” Theloneus reminded her. “Since he placed the pinchbeck snuffbox in the dead man’s pocket as well.”
She looked from Theloneus to Pitt. “Why? Under arrest Balantyne could neither pay money nor exert influence, corrupt or otherwise.”
“Then that brings to one’s mind the only other alternative,” Theloneus reasoned. “He may wish Balantyne removed so he cannot have an effect upon whatever it is he is planning to do. Perhaps he tried to corrupt him and failed, and this is his way of neutralizing his ability to affect the issue.”
“Which brings us back to the most urgent need to learn what the issue is,” Pitt said helplessly. “We don’t know! We have found nothing in common between them all, Mr. Quade.” He produced the list of cases and handed it to Theloneus. “Can you tell me anything about these? They are all the charges in which Cornwallis was concerned and are due to be heard before Dunraithe White. Is there anything in any of these which could involve the others, however indirectly?”
Theloneus studied the list very carefully, and Pitt and Vespasia remained silent while he did so. Outside the light was dying more swiftly. The roses were a pale blur. Only the tops of the trees were golden. A poplar looked like a shimmering spire as the sunset breeze caught and turned its leaves. A cloud of starlings whirled up into the air, black against the deep, soft blue of the sky. The hustle and squalor of the city was only a matter of yards away, the other side of a high stone wall, but it could have been another land.
The clock in the hall chimed the half hour.
“Some of these cases are merely sad,” Theloneus said at last. “People who have allowed shortsighted greed to sweep away their better judgment, individual crimes which will bring down the families of the men concerned, but no more. There is a sense in which it is already inevitable, and nothing Cornwallis or White will do can change that. An able barrister may mitigate the sentence by pleading the circumstances, showing the accused in a more human light, but the verdict will be the same.”
“And the others?” Pitt pressed.
“That is a domestic murder. It is unlikely to implicate anyone else, but not impossible. The woman was beautiful, and very liberal with her favors. Other men may be implicated, but I find it difficult to believe blackmail will help the accused husband. And since he is in prison awaiting trial, it would have to be accomplished for him by someone else. He does have two loyal and ambitious brothers. It is not impossible.”
“Could it involve all our blackmail victims?” Pitt said dubiously.
“If you are referring to Laetitia Charles, then most certainly not!” Vespasia said tartly. “Certainly she was, at the very kindest, a woman of overgenerous affections. She was also earthy in her tastes, very frank to the point of vulgarity, and had an uproarious sense of the absurd, frequently at the cost of her admirers-and of her husband.” She shrugged her thin shoulders very slightly. In the shadows her face was unreadable. “She would have terrified the life from a man like Captain Cornwallis, and he would have bored her to weeping. Leo Cadell would have had more of a sense of self-preservation than to have had anything to do with her, even socially, and Dunraithe White has never looked at another woman in his life. Even if he had wanted to, and I concede that he may, his sense of honor would crucify him if he had, and I, at least, would know of it.”
Theloneus smiled bleakly. “You are probably right, my dear. That leaves two cases of fraud and embezzlement, both for very large sums of money. One involves international banking in Europe-Germany, to be precise-and the transfer of funds to a very questionable enterprise in South Africa. The other is an attempt to pass forged bonds and deeds to mines, again in Africa.”
“Could they be connected to each other?” Pitt asked quickly.
“Not on the surface, but it is possible.” Theloneus regarded the paper again. “One would have to know who purchased the bonds. It is conceivable that it may concern all our victims.”
“Where in Africa?” Pitt pressed.
“As I recall, several places.” Theloneus frowned. “I think it may bear further investigation. The case is not complete yet. The trial lies some time in the future.”
“Is it still under investigation?” Pitt asked with a sinking in his stomach. “By whom?”
“Superintendent Springer,” Theloneus replied. “Reporting to Cornwallis.” He regarded Pitt steadily, a sadness in his eyes and in the lines of his face, but he would not look away nor temper the perception that was all too plainly in his mind.
“I see,” Pitt said slowly, hating himself for the thoughts he could not dismiss. Vespasia was watching him
