waiting in the parlor
106
again. She was sitting on the edge of the sofa with Charlotte, who was pale-faced and, for once, obviously uncertain what to do or say. She stood up the moment she heard Pitt at the door, and rushed to greet him-or perhaps to warn him.
As Pitt entered the room, Eugenie stood up, her body tense, her face composed with an effort that was painful.
'Oh, Mr. Pitt, it is so kind of you to see me!'
He had no choice; he would like to have avoided her. That knowledge made him feel guilty. He could see nothing in his mind's eye but Albie Frobisher-what a ridiculous name that was for a prostitute!-sitting in the gaslight in his disgusting room. He felt obscurely guilty for that, too, although it was nothing to do with him. Perhaps the guilt was because he knew about it, and had done nothing to fight it, to wipe it out forever.
'Good evening, Mrs. Jerome,' he said gently. 'What can I
do for you?' ,
Her eyes filled with tears, and she had to struggle for several seconds to master herself before she could speak distinctly.
'Mr. Pitt, there is no way that I can prove that my husband was at home with me all the night that poor child was killed, because I was asleep and I cannot truly say I know where he was-except that I have never known Maurice to lie about anything, and I believe him.' She pulled a little face as she recognized her own naivete'. 'Not that I suppose people would expect me to say anything else-'
'That's not so, Mrs. Jerome,' Charlotte interrupted. 'If you believe he was guilty, you might feel betrayed and wish to see him punished. Many women would!'
Eugenie turned around, her face aghast.
'What a dreadful thought! Oh, how terrible! I do not for even an instant believe it to be true. Certainly Maurice is not an easy man, and there are those who dislike him, I know. He holds very definite opinions, and they are not shared by everyone. But he is not evil. He has no-no appetites of the vile nature they are accusing him of. Of that I am perfectly sure. It is just not the sort of person he is.'
Pitt hid his feelings. She was remarkably innocent for a 107
woman married eleven years. Did she really imagine that Jerome would have permitted her to learn of it if he had?
And yet it surprised him also. Jerome seemed too-too ambitious, too rational to fill the picture that was emerging of him as an emotional, sensual man. Which proved what? Only that people were far more complex, more surprising than it was so easy to suppose.
There was no point in hurting her the more by arguing. If it was better for her to go on believing in his innocence, cherishing the good in what she had had, then why insist on trying to shatter it?
'I can only uncover evidence, Mrs. Jerome,' he said weakly. 'It is not in my power to interpret it, or to hide it again.'
'But there must be evidence to prove him innocent!' she protested. 'I know he is! Somewhere there must be a way to show that! After all, someone did kill that boy, didn't they?'
'Oh, yes, he was murdered.'
'Then find who really did it! Please, Mr. Pitt! If not for the sake of my husband, then for the sake of your own conscience-for justice. I know it was not Maurice, so it must be somebody else.' She stopped for a moment, and a more forceful argument came to her mind. ' 'After all if he is left to go free, he may abuse some other child in the same manner, may he not?'
'Yes, I suppose so. But what can I look for, Mrs. Jerome? What other evidence do you think there could be?'
'I don't know. But you are far cleverer at that sort of thing. It is your job. Mrs. Pitt has told me about some of the marvelous cases you have solved in the past, when it seemed quite hopeless. I'm sure if anyone in London can find the truth, it is you.'
It was monstrous, but there was nothing he could say.
