For a breathless instant she did not believe it. Then when it sank on her incredulous brain that it was truly what it seemed, she slid with a splash into the trough, face first.
The cold water choked her and in an effort to get her breath she pulled herself up again, gasping and gagging; the whole of the top of her body was soaked, and now thoroughly cold. She was too horrified even to scream, but crouched in silence, half arched over the edge of the trough, shaking violently.
There was a thud of hooves behind her, a scatter of pebbles, and a man’s voice spoke.
“I say, ma’am, are you all right? Had a fall? May I—” He stopped abruptly, having seen the object. “Oh my God!” He gulped and caught his breath in a choking cough.
“The rest of him is in there.” Amanda gestured weakly towards the trough, where now a liveried knee was protruding from the bloody water.
* * *
Tellman looked down at Pitt in his chair with a dark, grim expression in his lantern face.
“Yes?” Pitt asked, his heart sinking.
“There’s been another,” Tellman said, staring back without wavering. “He’s done it again. This time you’ll have to arrest him.”
“He …?”
“Carvell. There’s another headless corpse in the park.”
Pitt’s heart sank even further. “Who is it?”
“Albert Scarborough, Carvell’s butler.” A shadow of bitter humor touched Tellman’s face. “Lady Kilbride found him in the horse trough. Or to be more accurate, all of him except his head,” he amended. “His head was behind it.”
“Horse trough where?”
“Rotten Row, a hundred yards or so short of Hyde Park Corner.”
Pitt tried to force the horror of it from the front of his mind and concentrate on the practical elements of the case. “Some distance from Green Street,” he observed. “Any idea how he got there?”
“Not yet. He was a big fellow, so there is no way Carvell could have carried him. Might have walked there.”
Pitt opened his eyes very wide. “Midnight stroll with his employer? Doesn’t seem like the sort of person one takes a walk with for pleasure. And as the assistant commissioner has been at pains to point out, no one is strolling around the park these nights.”
“So he didn’t walk there,” Tellman corrected with a grimace. “Carvell killed him in his home and took him there in some sort of conveyance. Could even have been his own carriage. Do you want to arrest him, or shall I?”
Pitt rose to his feet, his limbs suddenly very tired, as though his body were of enormous weight. He should have been relieved there was an end to the mystery, if not the terror or the tragedy of it; but he felt no sense of ease at all.
“I’ll go.” He went to the hat stand and took his hat, even though it was a fine morning. “You’d better come with me.”
“Yes sir.”
It was still before nine when Pitt and Tellman presented themselves at the front door of the house in Green Street. Pitt rang the bell, but it was several moments before it was answered.
“Yes sir?” A footman with untidy fair hair looked at him with anxiety.
“I would like to speak with Mr. Carvell, if you please,” Pitt said, but his voice was a command, not a request.
The footman was startled. “I’m sorry sir, I’m not sure Mr. Carvell has risen yet,” he said apologetically. “Could you call again at about ten o’clock?”
Tellman made as if to speak, but Pitt cut across him.
“I’m afraid it will not wait. The matter is of the utmost gravity. Will you tell him that Superintendent Pitt and Inspector Tellman are here and require to see him immediately.”
The footman paled. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then changed his mind and turned away without remembering to ask them to wait, or direct them to a more suitable place than the hall.
Within a few moments Carvell appeared in a dressing robe, his hair standing in spikes, his face pale and filled with fear.
“What has happened, Superintendent?” he said to Pitt, ignoring Tellman. “Is there something wrong? What brings you at this hour?”
Again Pitt felt the tug of reluctance and the familiar pity inside him.
“I am sorry, Mr. Carvell, but we require to search your premises and question your staff. I know it will inconvenience you, but it is necessary.”
“Why?” Carvell was now extremely anxious, his hands opened and closed at his sides and his face was ashen. “What has happened? For God’s sake, tell me what is wrong. Has—has there been another …?”
“Yes. Your butler, Albert Scarborough.” Pitt was obliged to step forward and steady Carvell as he swayed. He caught him by the elbow and steered him backwards to the fine oak settle a yard or so behind him. “You had better sit down.” He turned to the footman standing helplessly. “Get your master a small glass of brandy,” he ordered. Then, as the youth still stood rooted to the spot, eyes wide: “Jump to it!”
“Yes—yes, sir.” And the unfortunate young man ran out of the hall and disappeared, calling for the housekeeper in a shaking voice.
