'Yes, Mr. Jerome-and very ugly,' Pitt said quietly. 'And i there is worse than that. He was homosexually used sometime before he was killed.'
Jerome's face was absolutely still, as if he either did not understand or could not believe it as any kind of reality.
Pitt waited. Was the silence caution, a consideration what to say? Or was it genuine shock, the emotion any decent man would feel? He watched every flicker-and still he had no idea.
'Sir Anstey did not tell me that,' Jerome said at last. 'It is perfectly dreadful. I suppose there is no question?'
' 'No.'' Pitt allowed himself the shadow of a smile. ' 'Do you think Sir Anstey would concede it if there were?'
Jerome took his point, but the irony passed him by.
'No-no, of course not. Poor man. As if death were not enough.' He looked up quickly, hostile again. 'I trust you are going to treat the matter with discretion?'
' 'As far as possible,'' Pitt said. ' 'I would prefer to get all the answers I can from within the household.'
4 'If you are suggesting that I have any idea who might have bad such a relationship with Arthur, you are quite mistaken. ' Jerome bristled with offense. 'If I had had even the least suspicion of such a thing, I should have done something about it!''
'Would you?' Pitt said quickly. 'Upon suspicion-and without proof? What would you have done, Mr. Jerome?'
Jerome saw the trap instantly. A flicker of self-mockery moved in his face, and then vanished.
'You are quite right, Mr. Pitt. I should have done nothing. However, disappointing as it is, I had no suspicion at all. Whatever occurred, it was quite beyond my knowledge. I can tell you all the boys of similar age that Arthur spent time with. Although I don't envy you trying to discover which of them it was-if indeed it was any of his friends and not just some acquaintance. Personally, I think you are probably mistaken in supposing it to have any connection with his death. Why should anyone indulging in such a-a relationship commit murder? If you are suggesting some sort of an affair, with passion and jeal-
ousy or anything of the sort, I would remind you that Arthur Wayboume was barely sixteen.'
This was something that had troubled Pitt. Why should anyone have killed Arthur? Had Arthur threatened to disclose the relationship? Was he an unwilling partner, and the strain had become too great? That seemed the more likely answer. If it was someone who knew him, robbery would be pointless. Anything he would carry would be far too trivial for a boy of that social circle to covet so violently-a few coins, probably not even a watch or a ring.
And would another youth, even in panic, have the physical strength to murder, or afterward have the coolheadedness to dispose of the body so skillfully? And it was skillful: for all but mischance, it would never have been identified. An older man was a far more probable suspect: a man with more weight, more inured to his appetite, and better able to deal with the results of satisfying it-perhaps a man who had even foreseen this very danger arising one day.
Would such a man be fool enough, fragile enough, to become infatuated with a youth of sixteen? It was possible. Or perhaps it was a man who had only just discovered his own weakness, maybe through constant companionship, a proximity forced upon him by circumstances? He might still have the cunning to hide the body in the labyrinth of the sewers, trusting that by the time it was found it would be past connecting with the disappearance of Arthur Waybourne.
He looked up at Jerome. That careful face might hide anything. He was trained by a lifetime of masking his feelings so that they never offended, and his opinions so that they never clashed with those of his social superiors-even when he was perhaps better informed, or just quicker-wilted. Was it possible?
Jerome was waiting, overtly patient. He had scant respect for Pitt, and he was enjoying the luxury of affording to show it.
'I think you would be better advised to leave the matter alone.' Jerome sat back and crossed his legs, folding his hands fingertip to fingertip. 'It was probably a single instance of excess, certainly repellent.' His face was marked momentarily
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