'' Yes.' He shrugged. ' But I never thought about it till Godfrey explained to me what it meant. If I'd known, sir, that it was going to end up with poor Arthur dead, I'd have said something sooner.' His face shadowed; his gray-green eyes were hot with guilt.
Pitt felt a surge of sympathy. Titus was quite intelligent enough to know that his silence could have cost a life.
'Of course.' Pitt put out his hand without thinking and clasped the boy's arm. 'Naturally you would-but there was no way you could know. Nobody wishes to think so ill of someone, unless there is no possible doubt. You cannot go around accusing somebody on a suspicion. Had you been wrong, you could have done Mr. Jerome a fatal injustice.'
'As it is, it's Arthur who's dead.' Titus was not so easily comforted. 'If I'd said something, I might have saved him.'
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Pitt felt compelled to be bolder and risk a deeper wound. 'Did you know it was wrong?' he asked. He let go the boy's arm and sat back again.
'No, sir!' Titus colored, the blood rushing up again under his skin. 'To be honest, sir, I still don't really know exactly. I don't know whether I wish to know-it sounds rather dirty.'
'It is.' Pitt was soiled himself, by all his knowledge, in the face of this child who would probably never know a fraction of the weakness and misery Pitt had been forced to see. 'It is,' he repeated. 'I'd leave it well alone.'
'Yes, sir. But do you-do you think I could have saved Arthur if I'd known?'
Pitt hesitated. Titus did not deserve a lie.
'Perhaps-but quite possibly not. Maybe no one would have believed you anyway. Don't forget, Arthur could have spoken himself-if he'd wished to!'
Titus's face showed incomprehension.
'Why didn't he, sir? Didn't he understand? But that doesn't make any sense!'
'No-it doesn't, does it?' Pitt agreed. 'I'd like to know the answer to that myself.''
'No doubt frightened.' Swynford spoke for the first time since Pitt had begun questioning Titus. 'Poor boy probably felt guilty-too ashamed to tell his father. I daresay that wretched man threatened him. He would, don't you think, Inspector? Just thank God it's all over now. He can do no more harm.'
It was far from the truth, but this time Pitt did not argue. He could only guess what the trial would bring. There was no need to distress them now, no need to tell them the sad and ugly things that would be exposed. Titus, at least, need never know.
'Thank you.' Pitt stood up, and his coat fell in creases where he had been sitting on it. ' 'Thank you, Titus. Thank you, Mr. Swynford. I don't think we shall have to trouble you again until the trial.'
Swynford took a deep breath, but he knew better than to waste energy arguing now. He inclined his head in acknowledgment and pulled the bell for the footman to show Pitt out.
The door opened and a girl of about fourteen ran in, saw Pitt, and stopped with an instant of embarrassment. She then imme-
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diately composed herself, stood quite upright, and looked at him with level gray eyes-a little coolly, as if it were he who had committed the social gaffe, and not she.
'I beg your pardon, Papa,' she said, with a little hitch of her shoulders under her lace-edged pinafore. 'I didn't know you had a visitor.' She had sized up Pitt already and knew he was not 'company.' Her father's social equals did not wear mufflers; they wore silk scarves, and they left them with whoever opened the door, along with their hats and sticks.
'Hello, Fanny,' Swynford replied
