man's choice of books said much of his character, if the books were actually read; if, on the other hand, they were meant to impress, they revealed something of the people whose opinion mattered to him. If they were merely to decorate the wall they revealed nothing, except the certain shallowness of a person who used books for such a purpose. These were well-used volumes of history, philosophy, and a few classic works of literature.
It was Helen herself who appeared nearly ten minutes later, ashen-faced and dressed entirely in black, which made her look younger, but also wearier, as if she were recovering from a long and confining illness. But her composure was admirable.
'Good morning, Inspector Pitt,' she said levelly. 'I believe you wish to search for the letter I mentioned last night?
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I doubt you will find it-I don't imagine my father will have preserved it. But of course you may look.'
'Thank you, Mrs. Carfax.' He wanted to apologize for disturbing her, but he could think of nothing that would not sound trivial in the circumstances and so found himself following her silently across the gaslit hallway. An upstairs maid with a pile of laundry and a tweeny of about fourteen with a mop in her hand were both leaning over the landing rail watching. If the housekeeper caught them, they would be disciplined sharply and told precisely what happened to girls who could not attend to their work but interested themselves in the affairs of their betters.
The library was another spacious room, with two oak-paneled walls, one with large windows, the curtains drawn as suited a house in mourning; the other two walls were lined with glass-fronted bookcases. The fire was unlit, but the ashes had been cleared and the grate freshly blacked.
' 'There is my father's desk,'' Helen said, indicating a large oak desk inlaid with tooled leather in dark maroon and containing nine drawers, four on either side and one central one. She held out her thin hand, offering him a little carefully wrought key.
'Thank you, ma'am.' He took it, and feeling even more intrusive than usual, he opened the first drawer and began to look through the papers.
' 'I presume these are all Mr. Etheridge's?'' he asked.' 'Mr. Carfax never uses this room?'
'No, my husband has offices in the City. He never brings work home. He has many friends, but little personal correspondence.'
Pitt was sorting through unanswered constituency letters, small matters of land boundaries, bad roads, quarrels with neighbors, all trivial compared with violent death. None of them were written with ill will; simple irritation, more than rage or despair, seemed the ruling emotion.
'Has Mr. Carfax been obliged to go into the City this 89
morning?' he asked suddenly, hoping to surprise something from her.
'Yes. I mean-' She stared at him. 'I-I am not sure. He told me, and I-forgot.'
'Is Mr. Carfax interested in politics?'
'No. He is in publishing. It is a family interest. He does not go in every day, only when there is a board meeting, or . . .' She trailed off, changing her mind about discussing the subject.
Pitt came to the second drawer, which was full of various tradesmen's bills. He looked at them closely, interested to see that apparently they were all addressed to Etheridge, none to James Carfax. Everything was accounted for here that he might have expected would be required for the running of the establishment: the purchase of food, soap, candles, polishes, linen, coal, coke and wood; the replacement of crockery and kitchenware, servants' uniforms, footmen's livery; the maintenance of the carriages and supplies for the horses, even the repair of harness. Whatever James Carfax contributed, it must be very little indeed.
The only thing absent was any account of expenditure for feminine clothing, shoes, dress fabrics or dressmakers' bills, millinery or perfumes. It would seem Helen had either an allowance or money of her own; or perhaps these were the things which James provided.
He continued with the next drawer, and the next. He discovered nothing but old domestic accounts and some papers to do with the properties in the country. None of it bore the faintest resemblance to a threat.
'I did not imagine he would keep it,' Helen said again, when Pitt completed his search. 'But it was ... it must have meant something.' She looked away towards the curtained windows. 'I had to mention it.'
' 'Of course.'' He had seen the compulsion that had driven her to speak, although he was less sure of its
