fear or even anticipation.
'No, Mr. Jerome,' he replied. He must make the decision. 'It is you I have the warrant for.' He took a breath and removed the piece of paper from his pocket. 'Maurice Jerome, I arrest you for the assault and murder of Arthur William Way-bourne on or about the night of September 11,1886, and I warn you that anything you say will be recorded and may be given in evidence at your trial.'
Jerome did not seem to understand; his face was perfectly blank. Gillivray, watching, stood stiffly by the door, his fist loosely knotted as if ready for sudden violence.
Pitt wondered for a ridiculous moment if he should repeat it. He then realized that of course it was not the words themselves that were unclear; it was simply that they had not had time to deliver their meaning. The impact was too immense, too totally inconceivable to be grasped in an instant.
'W-What?' Jerome stammered at last, still too staggered to be aware of real fear. 'What did you say?'
'I am arresting you for the murder of Arthur Wayboume,' Pitt repeated.
'That's ridiculous!' Jerome was angry, contemptuous of Pitt's stupidity. 'You can't possibly believe I killed him! Why on earth should I? It makes no sense.' Suddenly, his face was sour. 'I imagined you to have more integrity, Inspector. I see I
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was mistaken. You are not stupid-at least not as stupid as this. Therefore, I must assume you to be a man of convenience, an opportunist-or simply a coward!'
Pitt was stung by Jerome's accusations. They were unfair. He was arresting Jerome because there was too much evidence to leave him free. It was a necessary decision; it had nothing to do with self-interest. It would have been irresponsible to allow him to remain free.
'Godfrey Wayboume has said that you have interfered with him on several occasions, in a homosexual manner,' he said stiffly. 'That is a charge we cannot ignore, or set aside.'
Jerome's face was white, slack, as the horror dawned on him and he accepted its reality.
'That's preposterous! It's-it's-' His hands moved up as if to cover his face, then fell away again weakly. 'Oh, my God!' He looked around, and Gillivray stepped in front of the door.
Pitt felt the twinge of unease again; could not so superb an actor, so subtle and complete, have smoothed his way through life with a performance of charm? He could have won himself so much more than he now possessed; his influence could have been immense if he had wooed with friendship or a little humor, instead of the wall of pomposity he had consistently shown Pitt.
'I'm sorry, Mr. Jerome, but we must take you with us now,' Pitt said helplessly. 'It would be far better for everyone if you would come without resistance. You'll only make it worse for yourself if you don't.'
Jerome's eyebrows rose in amazement and anger.
'Are you threatening me with violence?'
'No, of course not!' Pitt said furiously. It was a ridiculous suggestion, and totally unjust. 'I was thinking of your own embarrassment. Do you want to be hauled out struggling and yelling for the scullery maid and the bootboy to gawp at?'
Jerome's face flamed but he found no words to answer. He was in a nightmare that moved too rapidly for him; he was left floundering, still trying to argue the original charge.
Pitt took a step closer.
'I didn't touch him!' Jerome protested. 'I never touched 67
either of them! It's a base slander! Let me speak to him-I'll soon sort it out.'
'That's not possible,' Pitt said firmly.
'But I-' Then he froze, his head
