He had done it, told her without a shadow, without her suspecting anything but joy and pride. He felt a moment of terrible isolation. She did not even know what it cost him; she had no idea how intensely he would rather be on the street, with people, feeling the dirt and the pain and the reality of it. It was the only way to understand.
But that was foolish. Why else was he telling her like this, but precisely because he did not want her to sense his misgivings! He must not spoil it now. He pushed her away a little and smiled at her.
She searched his face, and the brilliance in her eyes turned to questioning.
'What is it? What is wrong?'
'Just this case,' he answered. 'The further I look into it the less I seem to have hold of.'
'Tell me more about it. Tell me about this latest victim,' she invited him. 'I'll get your dinner. Grade's upstairs with the children. You can explain it to me while we eat.' And taking his agreement for granted she took the lid off the pan and stirred it once or twice, filling the kitchen with a delicious odor. Then she lifted plates out of the wanning oven and served mutton stew with thick leeks and slices of potato and sweet white turnips and a touch of dried rosemary that gave it sharpness and flavor.
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He told her all that he had omitted on his previous, rather scattered accounts, which had been more emotional than logical, together with the little of value he had learned since and the skeletal knowledge he had of Cuthbert Sheridan.
When he had finished she sat for several minutes in silence, looking down at her empty plate. When at last she did look up there was a deep color in her cheeks and the half shame-faced look of embarrassment and defiance he had seen so many times before.
'How?' he said quietly. 'How are you involved? It's nothing to do with us, any of us. And Emily's in Italy-isn't she?'
'Oh yes!' She seemed amost relieved. 'Yes, she's in Florence. At least, the letter I got this morning was from there. She may be somewhere else by now, of course.'
'Well then?'
'Great-aunt Vespasia . . .sent for me.'
He raised his eyebrows. 'To discover the Westminster Cutthroat?' he said with heavy disbelief.
'Well, yes, in a way. ...'
'Explain yourself, Charlotte.'
'You see, Africa Dowell is the niece of Great-aunt Vespasia's closest friend, Miss Zenobia Gunne. And they think the police suspect her-quite rightly, as it turns out. Of course I didn't tell them it was you!'
He searched her face for several moments and she held his gaze without flinching. She could keep a secret, sometimes, and she could be evasive, with difficulty, but she was no good at all at lying to him, and they both knew it.
'And what have you discovered?' he asked at length.
She bit her lip. 'Nothing. I'm sorry.'
'Nothing at all?'
'Well I made friends with Amethyst Hamilton-'
' 'How on earth did you do that? Does Aunt Vespasia know her?'
'No-I just lied.' She looked down at the table, embar-205
rassed, then up again, meeting his eyes. 'She and her stepson loathe each other so much they cannot even be civil, but I can't see anything in that which could lead to murder. She's been married for many years, and nothing new has happened . . .'she trailed off.
