talk to these gentlemen.'
'I dareseay,' Pitt agreed wryly. 'But I'm not going to give up on this as long as there's anything at all that I can still do. I don't care who screams!'
Wittle fished among the papers on the desk and came up with half a dozen.
'There's the people as Albie knew that we know of.' He grimaced. 'O* course there's dozens more we'll never know. That's just about all we done to date. An' 'is things that we got are in the other room. Not much, poor little swine. Still, I suppose 'e ate reg'lar, and that's suffink. An' 'is rooms was comfortable enough, and warm. That'd be part of 'is rent-can't 'ave gentlemen comin' in ter bare their delicate bodies to the naked an' the room all freezin' chill, now, can we?'
Pitt did not bother to reply. He knew they had an understanding about it. He thanked Wittle, went to the room where Albie's few possessions were, looked through them carefully, then left and caught an omnibus back to Bluegate Fields.
The weather was bitter; shrill winds howled around the angles of walls and moaned in streets slippery with rain and sleet. Pitt found more and more pieces of Albie's life. Sometimes they meant something: an assignation that took him closer to Esmond Vanderley, a small note with initials on it found stuffed in a pillow, an acquaintance in the trade who recalled something or had seen something. But it was never quite enough. Pitt could have drawn a vivid picture of Albie's life, even of his* feelings: the squalid, jealous, greedy world of buying and selling punctuated by possessive relationships that ended in fights and rejections, the underlying loneliness, the ever-present knowledge that as soon as his youth was worn out his income , would vanish.
He told Charlotte a lot of it. The sadness, pointlessness lay 268
heavy on his mind, and she wanted to know, for her own crusade. He had underestimated her strength. He found he was talking to her as he might have someone who was purely a friend; it was a.good feeling, an extra dimension of warmth.
Time was growing desperately short when he found a young fop who swore, under some pressure, that he had attended a party where both Albie and Esmond Vanderley had been present. He thought they had spent some time together. 1 Then a call came to the police station, and shortly afterward Athelstan strode into Pitt's office where he was sitting with a pile of statements trying to think whom else he could interview. Athelstan's face was pale, and he closed the door with a quiet snap.
'You can stop all that,' he said with a shaking voice. 'It doesn't matter now.'
Pitt looked up, anger rising inside him, ready to fight-until he saw Athelstan's face.
'Why?'
'Vanderley's been shot. Accident. Happened at Swynford's house. Swynford keeps sporting guns or something. Vanderley was playing about with one, and the thing went off. You'd better go around there and see them.'
'Sporting guns?' Pitt said incredulously, rising to his feet. 'In the middle of London! What does he shoot-sparrows?'
'God dammit, man, how do I know?' Athelstan was exasperated and confused. 'Antiques, or something! Antique guns-they're collectors' things. What does it matter? Get out there and see what's happened! Tidy it up!'
Pitt walked to the hatstand, picked off his muffler, and wound it around his neck, then put on his coat and jammed his hat on hard.
'Yes, sir. I'll go and see.'
'Pitt!' Athelstan shouted after him. But Pitt ignored him and went down the steps to the street, calling for a hansom, then running along the-pavement:
When he arrived at the Swynford house, he was let in immediately. A footman had been waiting behind the door to conduct him to the withdrawing room, where Mortimer Swynford was sitting with his head in his hands. Callantha, Fanny, and Titus
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stood close together by the fire. Fanny clung to her mother without any pretense at being adult. Titus stood very stiff, but under the disguise of supporting his mother, he was holding her just as tightly.
