unquestionably the best man for this investigation. He had done so with an ill grace.
Mowbray was staring at Pitt with only slight disappointment, and it quickly disappeared; apparently he had expected nothing. “Oh. Well, you’d better speak to Constable Lowther first; he found the body. And of course you can read the reports that were written at the time. There isn’t much.” He shook his head. “We tried hard, but there were no witnesses, and none of the stolen pieces ever turned up. We thought of the possibility of an inside job—we questioned the entire staff and came up with nothing.”
“I daresay I’ll do the same,” Pitt said in an oblique apology.
“Have a cup of tea while I send for Lowther?” Mowbray offered. “It’s a vile day. I wouldn’t be surprised if it snows before Christmas.”
“Thank you,” Pitt accepted.
Ten minutes later Pitt was sitting in another small, chilly room with a gas lamp hissing on the wall above a scratched wooden table. A thin file of papers rested on it, and opposite Pitt a stiff, self-conscious constable stood at attention, buttons gleaming.
Pitt told him to sit down and be easy.
“Yes sir,” Lowther said nervously. “I can remember that murder in ’anover Close pretty clear, sir. What is it as yer wants ter know?”
“Everything.” Pitt took the teapot and filled a white enamel mug without asking. He passed it to Lowther, who took it with round-eyed surprise. “Thank you, sir.” He swallowed gratefully, composed himself, and began in a low voice, “It was five past three on the mornin’ of October seventeenth, just over three year ago. I were on night duty then, an’ I passed along ’anover Close—”
“How often?” Pitt interrupted.
“Every twenty minutes, sir. Reg’lar.”
Pitt smiled very slightly. “I know that’s what it’s meant to be. Are you sure nothing held you up anywhere that night?” He deliberately gave Lowther the chance to escape blame if necessary without telling less than the truth. “No trouble anywhere?”
“No sir.” Lowther faced him with totally guileless blue eyes. “Sometimes I do get ’eld up, but not that night. I were round exact, give or take no more’n a minute. That was why I noticed the broken winder at number two partic’lar, because I knew it weren’t broke twenty minutes afore. An’ it were a front winder, too, which is kind o’ funny. Burglars usually goes ter the back, wiv a little nipper skinny enough to get through the bars and whip round an’ let ’em in.”
Pitt nodded.
“So I went to the door o’ number two an’ knocked,” Lowther went on. “I ’ad ter raise an ’ell of a row—” He flushed. “Beg yer pardon, sir; a lot o’ noise, before anyone came down. Arter about five minutes a footman opened up. ’Alf asleep, ’e were; ’ad a coat over ’is nightshirt. I told ’im abaht the winder as was broke, an’ ’e was startled like, an’ took me straight to the room at the front, which was the libr’y.” The constable took a deep breath, but his eyes held Pitt’s without wavering. “I saw immediate that there was trouble: two ’ard-back chairs was turned over, lyin’ on their sides, there was ’alf a dozen books knocked on the floor, upset like, and a decanter spilled on a table near the winder as was broke and the glass lyin’ on the floor, shinin’ in the light.”
“Light?” Pitt asked.
“Footman turned up the gas lamps,” Lowther explained. “ ’E were fair shook, I’d swear to that.”
“Then what?” Pitt prompted.
“I went further into the room.” Lowther’s face puckered as the memory of the hard stab of human mortality came back to him. “I saw the body of a man on the floor, sir, ’alf on ’is face, sort o’ legs bent a bit, like ’e’d bin took by surprise from be’ind. ’Is ’ead were matted wi’ blood”—he touched his own right temple at the hairline—“an’ there were a big bronze ’orse on a stand, ’bout ten inches ’igh, lyin’ on the carpet ’bout eighteen inches away from ’im. ’E were wearing a dressin’ robe over a silk nightshirt, an’ ’ad slippers on ’is feet.
“I went over to ’im ter see if there were anythink I could do for ’im, though I thought ’e were dead even then.” The look of an adult compassion for a child crossed his face. “The footman can’t ’a bin more’n twenty, if ’e were that, an’ ’e got took queer an’ sat down rather sudden. ’E said, ‘Oh Gawd—it’s Mister Robert! Poor Mrs. York!’ ”
“And the man was dead?” Pitt said.
“Yes sir, quite dead. But ’e were still warm. An’ o’ course, I knew the winder ’adn’t bin broke when I passed twenty minutes afore.”
“What did you do then?”
“Well, it were plain ’e were murdered, an’ it looked like someone’d broke in: the glass were all inside, and the catch were undone.” His face clouded. “But a shockin’ amacher job it were; no star-glazin’ nor nuthin’—an’ such a mess!”
Pitt did not need to ask what star-glazing was; many expert thieves used the trick of pasting paper over glass to hold all the shards while cutting a neat, silent circle which could be lifted out so a hand could be inserted to open the latch. A master cracksman could do the job in fifteen seconds.
“I asked the footman if they ’ad one o’ them telephone instruments,” Lowther continued. “ ’E said as they ’ad, so I went out o’ the libr’y an’ told ’im to stay at the door. I found the instrument and called the station an’ reported the crime. Then the butler came down—’e must ’ave ’eard the noise and when the footman didn’t go back upstairs, ’e come ter see what was goin’ on. ’E formally identified the dead man as Mr. Robert York, the son o’ the Honorable Piers York, the master o’ the ’ouse. But ’e was away from ’ome on business, so there was nothin’ for it but to tell the elder Mrs. York, the victim’s mother. The butler sent for ’er lady’s maid, in case she were overcome at the news. But when she came down and we ’ad ter tell ’er, she were very calm, very dignified.” He sighed in admiration. “Makes yer realize what real Quality is. She were white as a ghost an’ looked like she were dead ’erself, poor soul, but she never wept in front of us, just asked ’er maid to steady ’er a bit.”
Pitt knew of many great women who were bred to bear physical pain, loneliness, or bereavement by always showing the world a serene face, shedding all their tears in private. They were the sort of women who had sent their husbands and sons to battle on the fields of Waterloo and Balaklava, or to explore the Hindu Kush or find the source of the Blue Nile, and then to settle and administer the empire. Many had gone themselves into unknown
