It was opened by a girl of about eleven, plain-faced and straight-haired.
“Yes sir?” she asked.
“We would like to see Mr. Horsfall,” Pitt said bluntly, allowing no opportunity for refusal.
A small boy ran down the hall, making a noise in imitation of a galloping horse, and another followed him, laughing. They both disappeared into a passageway at right angles to the one that led from the door, and there was a squeal from somewhere beyond.
Pitt felt the anger boil up inside him, perhaps pointlessly. Maybe Gracie was wrong? There was far too much money for the few children he had seen, but perhaps there were more somewhere else? Perhaps Horsfall really did find homes for them? Perhaps there was a dearth of orphans at the moment, and many childless families?
“Now, if you please,” he added as the girl looked doubtful.
“Yes sir,” she said obediently, and pulled the door wider. “If yer’ll wait in the sittin’ room I’ll fetch ’im for yer.” She showed them to the same homely room Pitt had seen before, and they heard her feet clatter along the wooden corridor as she went about her errand. They remained standing, too tense to sit.
“Don’t suppose he’ll run, do you?” Tellman said dubiously.
Pitt had thought of it, but Horsfall had no reason to fear anything now. “If he were going to, he’d have gone when Cadell shot himself,” he said aloud.
“Suppose he knows?” Tellman pursed his lips, frowning. “If he does, why is he still here? Does he inherit the orphanage? Where does the money go anyway? Why share it with Cadell in the first place? Do you suppose this is Cadell’s house?”
Those thoughts had occurred to Pitt also, and others that troubled him even more. At the back of his mind was the complacent expression in Wallace’s face when Pitt had told him Dunraithe White had resigned from the bench, and even when he had said that Cadell was dead.
Wallace’s impassivity about White could have either of two explanations. He did not know of White’s involvement, and therefore his resignation held no meaning for Wallace, or he knew the blackmailer would not allow White to resign. He would let him know that if he did, he would exercise his threat and ruin him anyway.
Then why had he not been shattered to learn of Cadell’s death? That removed every chance for him of escape from the noose.
There could be only one answer … it was not Cadell he was depending upon.
Either Cadell had an accomplice … which would explain why Horsfall was still there, or it was not Cadell who was the blackmailer, but someone else.
Tellman was watching Pitt, waiting for him to speak.
It could not be Guy Stanley. He would not have ruined himself, not so completely. Neither did Pitt believe it was Balantyne. He had never even considered that it could be Cornwallis. That left White and Tannifer.
He looked up at Tellman. “Where was Dunraithe White when Cadell was shot?”
“You mean, you don’t think he shot himself?” Tellman seized on the change of wording instantly.
“I don’t know,” Pitt replied. He shoved his hands hard into his pockets, leaning against the wall and staring back at Tellman.
“No one else was there,” Tellman pointed out. “You said so yourself.”
“Wallace believes the blackmailer is still alive, and he knows Cadell is dead,” Pitt argued. “What about Tannifer?”
“I don’t know.” Tellman shook his head. He moved restlessly about the room. “But he can’t have been at Cadell’s house, or he’d have been seen.”
There was no further time to pursue it because at that moment the door opened and Horsfall came in looking blankly from one to the other of them.
“Good morning, gentlemen. What can I do for you this time?”
His smug unconcern infuriated Pitt, the more so for his own inner confusion. Something essential was still eluding him, and he was bitterly aware of it.
“Good morning,” he said grimly, his body tight and his jaw clenched. “How many children have you here at present, Mr. Horsfall?”
Horsfall looked startled. “Why … about fifteen, I think.” He shot a look at Tellman, and then swallowed. “We have been very fortunate in placing several … lately.”
“Good!” Pitt said. “Where?”
“What?”
“Where?” Pitt repeated a little more loudly.
“I don’t understand ….” He was still only mildly uncomfortable.
“Where have you placed them, Mr. Horsfall?”
Tellman moved to the door, as if to cut off Horsfall’s retreat.
“Er … you mean the exact addresses? I should have to look it up. Is there something amiss? Has someone proved unsatisfactory?”
“Unsatisfactory? What an odd word to use of a child,” Pitt said coldly. “Sounds more like placing a servant.”
Horsfall swallowed again. He eased his shoulders up and down, as if to relax tense muscles.
“Yes … silly of me,” he agreed. “But I feel responsible for our children. Sometimes people expect better behavior than … than young people are capable of. New surroundings … strange … new people … not all children respond well. They become used to us here, of course, used to our ways.” He was talking a little too quickly. “Don’t always understand change … even if it is change for their good ….”
“I know.” Pitt’s voice was like ice. “I have children myself, Mr. Horsfall.”
“Oh …” Horsfall paled. He licked his lips. Pitt had said nothing threatening, but the look in his eyes was enough to warn of savage dislike. “Well … what is the problem, Mr …. er …?”
“Where were these children placed?” Pitt repeated the original question.
Horsfall was clenching and unclenching his hands.
“I told you … I should have to look it up. I don’t have a good memory for the details of addresses … large numbers of … addresses.”
“Approximately …” Pitt insisted.
“Oh … well … Lincolnshire, yes; Spalding. And several … as far north as Durham … yes.”
“And Nottinghamshire?” Pitt suggested.
Horsfall’s eyebrows rose. “Why, yes. Nottinghamshire too.”
“How about Wales?” Pitt went on. “South Wales. Lot of mines in South Wales.”
Horsfall was white, a sheen of sweat on his face. “M-mines?”
“Yes. Children are useful in lots of places … in mines, up chimneys, in factories, cleaning out corners adults can’t get into, especially small children, young … thin. Even three- and four-year-olds can be taught to pick rags, pick oakum, send them out into the fields to work. All sorts of crops need taking up … by hand … little hands are as good as big ones and don’t need paying … not if you’ve bought them ….”
“That’s …” Horsfall swallowed and choked.
“Slavery,” Pitt finished for him.
“You can’t … you can’t prove that.…” Horsfall gasped. His face was running with sweat.
“Oh, I’m sure I can.” Pitt smiled, showing his teeth.
Horsfall ran his hands over his brow.
“Do you know a man named Ernest Wallace?” Pitt asked, changing the subject suddenly. “Small, wiry, very bad temper indeed.”
Horsfall’s deliberation was plain in his expression. He could not judge whether acknowledgment or denial was going to make his situation worse.
Pitt watched him without the slightest pity.
Tellman did not move.
“I … er …” Horsfall hesitated.
“You can’t afford to lie to me,” Pitt warned.
“Well …” Horsfall licked his lips. “He may have done the occasional odd job around the … garden … for us. Yes … yes, he did. Wallace … yes.” He stared at Pitt as at some dangerous animal.
“Where does the money go?” Pitt switched back to the original line of questioning.
