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let him know what had happened to his brother, only that he should not be afraid to tell me the truth, that I should not be angry with him. He has committed no sin whatsoever-poor child!'
Pitt waited, but apparently Waybourne had said all he wished to. He looked up at Pitt, his eyes challenging, waiting for his response.
'May I speak to him?' Pitt said at last.
Waybourne's face darkened. 'Is that absolutely necessary? Surely now that you know what Jerome's nature is, you will be able to find all the other information you need without questioning the boy. It is all most unpleasant, and the less said about it to him, the sooner he may forget it and begin to recover from the tragedy of his brother's death.'
'I'm sorry, sir, but a man's life may depend on it.' There was no such easy escape for either of them. 'I must see Godfrey myself. I shall be as gentle as I can with him, but I cannot accept a secondhand account-even from you.'
Waybourne glared at the floor, weighing in his mind one danger against another; Godfrey's ordeal against the possibility of the case dragging on, further police investigations. Then he jerked his head up to face Pitt, trying to judge if he could prevail on him by force of character if necessary. He knew it must fail.
'Very well,' he said at last, his anger rasping through his voice. He reached for the bell and pulled it hard. 'But I shall not permit you to harass the boy!'
Pitt did not bother to answer. Words were of no comfort now; Wayboume would not be able to believe him. They waited in silence until the footman came. Waybourne told him to fetch Master Godfrey. Some moments later, the door opened and a slender, fair-haired boy stood in the entrance. He was not unlike his brother, but his features were finer; when the softness of childhood was gone, Pitt judged they would be stronger. The bones in the nose were different. He would like to have seen Lady Waybourne, just from curiosity, to complete the family, but he had been told she was still indisposed.
'Close the door, Godfrey,' Waybourne ordered. 'This is 56
Inspector Pitt, from the police. I'm afraid he insists that you repeat to him what you have told me about Mr. Jerome.'
The boy obeyed, but his eyes were on Pitt, wary. He walked in and stood in front of his father. Waybourne put his hand on the boy's arm.
'Tell Mr. Pitt what you told me yesterday evening, Godfrey, about Mr. Jerome touching you. There is no need to be afraid. You have done nothing wrong or shameful.'
'Yes, sir,' Godfrey replied. But he hesitated and seemed unsure how to begin. He appeared to think of several words and discard them all.
'Did Mr. Jerome embarrass you?' Pitt felt a rush of sympathy for the boy. He was being asked to recount to a stranger an experience that was profoundly personal, confusing, and probably repellent. It should have been allowed to remain a secret within his family, a secret to be told or not as he chose, perhaps a little at a time, at whatever moments it came easily. Pitt hated having to extract it this way.
The boy's face showed surprise; his blue eyes widened into a frank stare.
'Embarrass?' he repeated, considering the word. 'No, sir.'
Apparently, Pitt had chosen the wrong word, although it seemed a particularly appropriate one to him.
'He did something that caused you to feel uncomfortable because it was overfamiliar, unusual?' he said, trying again.
The boy's shoulders lifted and tightened a little.
'Yes,' he said very quietly, and for a second his eyes went up to his father's face, but for so short a time that there was no communication between them.
'It's important.' Pitt decided to treat him as an adult. Perhaps candor would be less distressing than an attempt to skirt around the issue, which would make it seem that there was shame or crime attached to it, leaving the boy to seek his own words for something he did not understand.
'I know,' Godfrey replied soberly. 'Papa said so.'
