'What happened?'
'When Mr. Jerome touched me?'
'Yes.'
57
'He just put his arm around me. I slipped and fell, and he helped me up.'
Pitt curbed his impatience. For all his confusion perhaps a natural denial, a retreat, the boy must be embarrassed.
'But it was unusual this time?' he encouraged.
'I didn't understand.' Godfrey's face puckered. 'I didn't know there was anything wrong-till Papa explained.'
'Of course,' Pitt agreed, watching Waybourne's hand clench on his son's shoulder. 'How was it different from other times?'
'You must tell him,' Wayboume said with an effort. 'Tell him that Mr. Jerome put his hand on a most private part of your body.' His face colored with his own discomfort.
Pitt waited.
'He touched me,' Godfrey said reluctantly. 'Sort of felt around.'
'I see. Did that only happen once?'
'No-not really. I-honestly, sir-I don't understand-'
'That's enough!' Wayboume said harshly. 'He's told you-Jerome interfered with him, more than once. I cannot permit you to pursue it any further. You have what you need. Now do your job. For heaven's sake, arrest the man and get him out of my house!'
'Of course, sir, you must dismiss him from your employ, if you think fit,' Pitt answered with unhappiness growing inside him. A feeling of certainty was drawing close in a sad, imprisoning circle. 'But I have not yet enough evidence to charge him with murder.''
Wayboume's face convulsed, the muscles of his body knotting. Godfrey winced under his hand.
'Good God, man! What more do you want? An eyewitness?'
Pitt tried to keep calm. Why should this man understand police necessities? One son had been murdered, the other distressed by perverted attentions, and the offender was still under his roof. Why should he be reasonable? His emotions were raw. His whole family had been violated in one way after another, robbed and betrayed.
'I'm sorry, sir.' He was apologizing for the whole crime: 58
for its nature, its obscenity1, for his own intrusion into it, for the grief still to come. 'I'll be as quick and as discreet as I can. Thank you, Godfrey. Good day, Sir Anstey.' He turned and went out of the library into the hall where the parlormaid was waiting, still serene and unknowing, with Pitt's hat in her hand.
Pitt was dissatisfied without reason. There was not yet enough known for grounds to arrest Jerome, but there was too much to justify keeping it from Athelstan any longer. Jerome had said he spent the evening at a musical recital, and had had no idea where Arthur Way bourne had been or intended to be. Perhaps if it was carefully checked, Jerome's time could be accounted for. It was possible an acquaintance had seen him, and if he had returned home with someone-perhaps his wife-it would be impossible to prove beyond a very reasonable doubt that he had then gone out to some unknown place and murdered Arthur Waybourne.
That was a weakness in the case. They had no idea whatsoever where the murder had taken place. There was without question much to do before they had grounds for arrest.
He quickened his step. He could face Athelstan with a report; there was progress, but they were a long way from certainty.
Athelstan was smoking an excellent cigar, and his room was pungent with the smell of it. The furniture gleamed a little in the gaslight, and the brass doorknob was bright, without a fingermark.
