relieve yourself and then leave for the next man; the other, whatever dim figure it was, because Albie had seen his dependence-his naked soul- and he could not forgive that. Each was master and slave, and each knew it.
Pitt felt a sudden pity and anger-pity for the men, because they were imprisoned in themselves, but anger for Albie, because he had been made into what he was not by nature but by man, and for money. He had been taken as child and set into this mold. He would almost certainly die in it, probably within a few years.
Why couldn't Jerome have stayed with Albie, or someone like him? What was it Jerome felt for Arthur Waybourne that Albie had not been able to satisfy? He would probably never know.
'Is that all?' Albie asked patiently. His mind was already somewhere else.
'Yes, thank you.' Pitt stood up. 'Don't go away, or we'll be obliged to look for you and keep you safe in jail so we have you for the trial.'
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Albie looked uncomfortable. 'I gave Sergeant Gillivray a statement. He wrote it all down.'
'I know. But we'll need you all the same. Don't make things harder for yourself-just be here.'
Albie sighed. 'All right. Where have I got to go, anyway? I have clients here. I couldn't afford to start all over again somewhere else.'
'Yes,' Pitt said. 'If I thought you would go, I'd arrest you now.' He walked to the door and opened it.
'You don't want to do that.' Albie smiled with wan humor. 'I've too many other clients who wouldn't like it if I was arrested. Who knows what I might say-if I was questioned too hard? You're not free either, Mr. Pitt. All sorts of people need me-people far more important than you are.'
Pitt did not grudge him his brief moment of power.
'I know,' he said quietly. 'But I wouldn't remind them of it, Albie-not if you want to stay safe.' He went out and closed the door, leaving Albie sitting on the bed, his arms wrapped around his body as he stared at the prisms on the gaslight.
When Pitt got back to his office, Cutler, the police surgeon, was waiting for him, his face wrinkled in puzzlement. Taking his hat off and flinging it at the stand, Pitt closed the office door. The hat missed and fell on the floor. He pulled his muffler undone and threw it as well. It hung over the antler like a dead snake.
'What is it?' he asked, undoing his coat.
'This man of yours,' Cutler replied, scratching his cheek. 'Jerome, the one who is supposed to have killed your body from the Bluegate Fields sewer-'
'What about him?'
'He infected the boy with syphilis?'
'Yes-why?'
'He didn't, you know! He doesn't have it. Clean as a whistle. Given him every test I know of-twice. Difficult disease, I know. Goes dormant-can stay like that for years. But whoever gave it to that boy was infectious within the last few months- even weeks-and this man is as clean as I am! I'd swear to that
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in court-and I'll have to. Defense will ask me-and if they don't, I'll damn well tell them!'
Pitt sat down and shook off his coat, leaving it sprawled over the back of his chair.
'No possibility of a mistake?'
'I told you-I did it twice, and had my assistant check me. .The man has not got syphilis or any other venereal disease. Done all the tests on him there are.'
Pitt looked at him. He had a strong face but it was not overbearing. There were lines of humor around the mouth and eyes. Pitt found himself wishing he had time to know him better.
