breakfast.' It was as much a command as an invitation. He led the way to a small hexagonal room with parquet flooring and a French window opening onto a garden where old roses climbed a brick wall. In the center of the room a table was set for one. Drummond swept some of the con-
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diments aside and made room for another setting. He pointed to a chair and Pitt drew it up.
'Did Cobb have it right?' Drummond sat down and Pitt did also. 'Some member of Parliament has been murdered on Westminster Bridge?'
'Yes sir. Rather macabre. Cut the poor man's throat and then tied him up to the last lamppost on the south side.'
Drummond frowned.' 'What do you mean, tied him up?''
'By the neck, with an evening scarf.'
'How the devil can you tie somebody to a lamppost?'
'The ones on Westminster Bridge are trident-shaped,' Pitt replied. 'They have ornamental prongs, a bit like the tynes of a garden fork, and they're the right height from the ground to be level with the neck of a man of average build. It was probably fairly simple, for a person of good physical strength.'
'Not a woman, then?' Drummond concentrated on his inner vision, his face tense.
Cobb brought in a hot chafing dish of bacon, eggs, kidneys, and potatoes and set it down without speaking. He gave each man a clean plate and then left to fetch tea and toast. Drummond helped himself and offered the server to Pitt. The steam rose deliciously, savory, rich, and piping hot. Pitt took as much as he dared consistent with any kind of good manners and then replied before he began to eat.
'Not unless she was a big woman, and unusually powerful.'
'Who was he? Anyone in a sensitive position?'
'Sir Lockwood Hamilton, Parliamentary Private Secretary to the Home Secretary.'
Drummond let out his breath slowly. He ate a little more before speaking. 'I'm sorry. He was a decent chap. I suppose we have no idea yet whether it was political or personal, or just a chance robbery gone wrong?'
Pitt finished his mouthful of kidney and bacon. 'Not yet, but robbery seems unlikely,' he said. 'Everything of value-
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watch and chain, keys, silk handkerchief, cuff links, some nice onyx shirt studs-was still on him, even the money in his pockets. If someone meant to rob him, why would they tie him up to a lamppost beforehand? And then leave before anyone even raised an alarm?'
'He wouldn't,' Drummond agreed. 'How was he killed?'
'Throat cut, very cleanly, so probably a razor, but we haven't got the surgeon's report yet.'
'How long had he been dead when he was found? Not long, I imagine.'
'A few minutes,' Pitt agreed. 'Body was warm-but apart from that, if he'd been there longer, someone would have seen him sooner.'
'Who did find him?'
'Prostitute called Hetty Milner.'
Drummond smiled, a brief humor lighting his eyes, then dying immediately. 'I suppose she tried to solicit a little business-and found her prospective client was a corpse.'
Pitt bit his lip to hide the shadow of a smile. ' 'Yes-which was a good thing. If she hadn't been so startled she wouldn't have screamed; she'd have collected herself and walked straight on, and we might not have known about him for a lot longer.'
Drummond leaned forward, all
