The merest flicker of hurt crossed Helen's face before it was mastered and concealed again. Pitt debated for an instant whether to offer his hand. He wished to, as he would have to Charlotte, but he remembered his position: he was a policeman, not a guest or an equal. She would regard it as an impertinence, and more powerful in his mind, it would highlight the fact that her husband had not done so. James was standing by the door, holding it open.
'Have you been at home all evening, sir?' Pitt said with an edge to his voice he had not intended, but his anger at the man was too strong.
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James looked surprised. Then a wave of color spread up his cheeks, dim in the light of the two lamps that had been turned up but unmistakable to someone staring at him as Pitt was.
He hesitated. Was he debating whether to lie?
'Never mind.' Pitt smiled sourly. 'I can ask the footman. I need not detain you. Thank you, Mrs. Carfax. I am deeply sorry to have had to bring you such news.'
'We don't need your apologies-just get off about your business!' James said waspishly. Then realizing at last how he betrayed himself by unnecessary rudeness, he turned and walked out of the door, leaving it wide and unattended for Helen to follow.
She stood still, her eyes on Pitt's face, struggling with herself whether to speak or not.
Pitt waited. He was afraid she would retreat if he prompted her.
' 'I was at home,'' she said, then instantly seemed to regret it. 'I mean, I went to sleep early. I-I am not sure about my husband, but-but my father did receive a ... a letter that troubled him. I think he may have been threatened in some way.'
'Do you know who sent this letter, Mrs. Carfax?'
'No. It was political, I think. Maybe regarding the Irish?'
'Thank you. Tomorrow perhaps you would be kind enough to see if you can remember any more. We will inquire at his office, and among his colleagues. Do you know if he kept the letter?'
She looked almost at the point of collapse. 'No. I have no idea.'
'Please don't destroy anything, Mrs. Carfax. It would be better if you were to lock your father's study.''
'Of course. Now if you will excuse me, I must be alone.'
Pitt stood to attention. It was an odd gesture, but he felt a profound sympathy for her, not only because she had lost her father in violent and peculiarly public circumstances, but
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because of some other pain he sensed in her, a loneliness that had something to do with her husband. He thought perhaps she loved him far more than he did her, and she knew it, and yet there was also something beyond that, another wound he could only guess at.
The footman showed him out, and he went down the steps into the quiet lamplit street with a deep feeling that there were other tragedies to be revealed.
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1
By midweek they had found four of the cabbies who had crossed the bridge between half past ten and eleven o'clock. None of them had seen anything that was of any help, nothing out of the ordinary, no loitering figures except the usual prostitutes, and they, like Hetty Milner, were merely pursuing their trade. One had seen a man selling hot plum duff, but he was a regular, and when the police met the man in the early evening he could tell them nothing further.
Other members of Parliament had spoken with Etheridge shortly before they all left the House and went their several
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ways. None had seen him approached by anyone or could remember his actually walking towards the bridge. They had been busy in conversation themselves, the night was dark, it was late, and they were tired and thinking of home.
