sir?'
'Charles Street, south of the river, off the Westminster Bridge Road. Thought I'd walk home. Do me good. Didn't want the pater to see me a-a little tiddly. Thought the fresh air, and all that.'
'So you were walking home over the bridge?'
'Yes, that's right.' For a moment he teetered a little on his feet. ' 'God! I've never seen anything so awful! Poor devil was leaning backwards against the lamppost, sort of lolling, as if he were three sheets to the wind. I took no notice until I got level with him, and then I realized who he was. Met him a couple of times, you know; friend of the pater's, in a mild sort of way. Then I thought, Vyvyan Etheridge'd never be caught like that! So I went over, thinking he must be ill, and-' He swallowed. There was a fine sweat on his face now, in spite of the cold, '-and I saw-saw he was dead. Of course, I remembered poor Hamilton then, so I walked back towards the Parliament side, pretty smartly-I think
74
maybe I ran-and I shouted out something. Anyway, the constable came and I told him what. . . er, what I'd seen.'
' 'Was there anyone else on the bridge, or coming from the bridge as you approached it?'
'Er ...' He blinked. 'I don't rightly recall. I'm fearfully sorry. I was definitely a bit-high-until I saw Ether-idge and realized what'd happened.'
'If you could search your memory, sir?' Pitt pressed, looking at the fair, earnest, rather placid face.
Rawlins was very pale. He was neither so drunk nor so shaken that he did not realize the implication of Pitt's insistence.
'I think there was someone on the opposite of the bridge. I mean across the road, coming towards me; a big stout person. I have the impression of a longish coat, dark-that's really what I remember, a sort of darkness moving. That's about it. I'm sorry.'
Pitt hesitated a moment longer, half hoping Rawlins would think of something more. Then he accepted that the young man's mind had been in such a muddled state that that was really all there was.
'And the time, sir?' he asked.
'What?'
'The time? Big Ben is just behind you, sir.'
'Oh. Yes. Well, I definitely heard it strike eleven, so about five past. Not later.'
'And you are sure you saw no one else? No cabs passing, for instance?'
There was a flicker of light in his eyes. 'Oh yes-yes I did see a cab. Came off the bridge and went along the Victoria Embankment. Remember now that you mention it. Sorry Constable.''
Pitt did not bother to correct Rawlins as to his rank. The man had intended no insult; he was shocked past everyday niceties.
'Thank you. If you think of anything else, I'm at the Bow 75
Street Station. Now you had better go home and have a hot cup of tea and go to bed.''
'Yes-yes I'll do that. Good night, er-good night!' He went off rapidly and rather unsteadily, lurching from one pool of light to the next on up Westminster Bridge Road and disappearing behind the buildings.
Pitt crossed the street back to Drummond. Drummond met his eyes, searching for some sign of hope and finding little.
'There's nothing else,' he said bleakly. 'Looks political after all. We'll get the men out tomorrow morning after conspiracies, but we're already doing all we can. There isn't a single piece of evidence of any sort to connect anyone with this. Dear heaven, Pitt, I hope it isn't some lunatic.'
