This was not the time; Athelstan was too shaken. In a few hours, perhaps by tomorrow, he would have had a chance to think about it, to balance one risk against another and find cour-age. But now he had not the resolve to fight Pitt.
'Yes,' he said reluctantly. 'Well, I suppose we must. Ugly-it's all very ugly, Pitt. Remember the morale of the police force, so-so be careful what you say!'
Pitt knew the danger of argument now. Even a hint of indecision, of vacillation, would allow Athelstan the chance to gather his thoughts. He gave him a cold, withering look.
'Of course,' he said sharply, then turned and went to the door. 'I'm going to Deptford now. I'll tell you when I learn something.'
Wittle was surprised to see him. 'Morning, Mr. Pitt! You're not still on about that boy as we got out o' the river, are you? Can't tell you anythin' more. Coin's to close the case, poor little sod. Can't waste the time.'
'I'm taking the case back.' Pitt did not bother to sit down; , there was too much emotion and energy boiling inside him to permit it. 'We discovered Maurice Jerome did not kill the Waybourne boy, and we know who did, but we can't prove it. But we may be able to prove he killed Albie.'
Wittle pulled a sad, sour face. 'Bad business,' he said softly. 'Don't like that. Bad for everybody, that is. 'Anging's kind o' permanent. Can't say you're sorry to a bloke as you've already 'anged. Wot can I do to 'elp?'
Pitt warmed to him. He seized a chair and swung it around to face the desk, then sat down close, leaning his elbows on the littered surface. He told Wittle all he knew and Wittle listened
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without interruption, his dark face growing more and more somber.
'Nasty,' he said at the end. -'Sorry for the wife, poor little thing. But wot I don't undersand-why did Vanderley kill the Wayboume boy at all? No need, as I see it. Boy wouldn't a' blackmailed 'im-was just as guilty 'isself. Who's to say 'e didn't like it anyway?'
'I expect he did,' Pitt said. 'Until he discovered he had contracted syphilis.' He recalled the lesions the police surgeon had found on the body, enough to frighten any youth with the faintest clue of their meaning.
Wittle nodded. ' 'O course. That would change it from bein fun to suffin' quite different. I s'pose 'e panicked and wanted a doctor-an' that panicked Vanderley. Would do! After all, you can't 'ave yer nephew runnin' around sayin' as 'e picked up syphilis from 'avin' unnatural relations wiv yer! That'd be enough to provoke most men into doin' suffink permanent. Reckon 'e just grabbed 'is feet and, woops-a-daisy, 'is 'ead goes under an' in a few minutes 'e's dead.'
'Something like that,' Pitt said. The scene was easy to imagine; the bathroom with big cast-iron tub, perhaps even one of those newfangled gas burners underneath to keep it hot, towels, fragrant oil, the two men- Arthur suddenly frightened by the sores on his body, something said that brought the realization of what they were-the quick violence-and then the corpse to be disposed of.
It had probably all happened in Vanderley's own house-a servants' night off. He would be alone. He would wrap the corpse in a blanket or something similar, carry it to the street in the dark, find the nearest manhole that was out of sight of passersby, and get rid of the body, hoping it would never be found. And, but for chance, it never would have been.
It was disgusting, and so easy to see, now that he knew. How could he ever haVe believed it was Jerome? This was so much more probable.
'Want any 'elp?' Wittle asked. 'We still got a few of Albie's things from the rooms 'e 'ad. We didn't find any use in them, but you might, since you might know what you was looking for. Weren't any letters or anythin' like that.'
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'I'll look anyway,' Pitt said. 'And I'll go back to the rooms and search them again-might be something hidden. You found he knew quite a few high-class customers, you said. Can you give me their names?'
Wittle pulled a face. 'Like to make yerself unpopular, do yer? There'll be a rare lot o' squealin' and complainin' goin' on if you go and
