Not hard enough to kill, just rob him of his senses for a while.” He looked at Pitt candidly at last. “Looks careful and nasty, doesn’t it … sir.”
“Yes it does. Is that all?”
Tellman opened his eyes wide, waiting for Pitt to continue.
“There was nothing on the rest of the body, so far as I could see,” Pitt said patiently. “No bruises, no scratches on his hands or knuckles. What about his clothes? I didn’t see them. Are they torn or scuffed? Green stains, mud?”
“No,” Tellman said flatly. “No. He didn’t put up a fight. Nothing at all.”
“How tall does he estimate him to have been—with his head? Six feet?”
“About that, as near as we can judge—and big, broad chested.”
“I know. I saw him. And yes, it does look nasty,” Pitt agreed. “I think we need to know a great deal more about Captain the Honorable Oakley Winthrop.”
Tellman’s face split into a grin.
“That’s why it’s your case, Mr. Pitt. The powers that be reckon as you’re good at that sort of thing. You’d better go and mix with the Honorable Winthrops and their kin. See who hated the good captain, and why.” He stood still in front of Pitt’s desk, amused and sharp with resentment. “We’ll get on with finding witnesses and that sort of regular police work. Will that be all, sir?”
“No it won’t.” Pitt kept the dislike out of his voice with intense difficulty. He must remember he was in command; he had no business indulging in personal irritations and pettiness. He forced it out of his mind. “What did the medical examiner say about a weapon? I assume you haven’t found anything or you would have said so.”
“No sir, nothing yet.” He preempted Pitt’s repeating the orders. “We’ll drag the Serpentine, of course, but makes sense to look in the easier places first.”
“What did the medical examiner tell you?”
“Clean cut Must have been quite a heavy weapon to do that in one blow, and with a very sharp blade. Either an ax with a broad head, or more likely a sword of some sort, again a big one, a cutlass or the like.”
With a wave of sickening memory Pitt saw again in his mind the severed stump of neck, and smelled the overwhelming carbolic and wet stone.
“Or a meat cleaver?” he suggested with a husky voice.
Tellman had got Pitt’s vision. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face for not having mentioned it himself. “Yes —or that. Anyway, we’ll know if we find it.”
“When were the latest witnesses you could trace, so far?” Pitt went on.
Tellman looked at him expressionlessly. “How would you suggest we go about that, sir? Not easy to know who crosses Hyde Park of an evening. Could be anyone in London—or out of it, for that matter. Visitors, foreigners …” He left all the possibilities trailing in the air.
“Cabbies,” Pitt said dryly. “They have areas.” He saw Tellman’s face flush, but continued. “Post a man on the paths and on Rotten Row, and along Knightsbridge, and see who passes that way this evening. Some people do things regularly.”
“Yes sir.” Tellman stood very stiffly. It was common-sense police work, and he knew it. “Naturally that will be done, sir. Is that all?”
Pitt thought for a moment. It was his responsibility to set the tone of their relationship and to keep command of it, but he had never considered it could be so difficult. The man had a far more powerful personality than he had imagined. One could order his acts but his attitude was beyond reach, as was his ability to poison the minds of all the other men. Of course there were punishments available, but that would be clumsy, and in the end rebound on Pitt. Drummond had managed it. He had balanced all their differing natures and skills and made them an efficient whole. Pitt must not be beaten when he had little more than begun.
“For the moment,” he replied levelly. “Let me know when you make any progress with witnesses.”
“Yes sir,” Tellman acceded, then turned on his heel and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
Pitt sat back in the chair and thought for a moment, hesitating before putting his feet up on the desk. It was not as comfortable as he had expected, but it was a feeling of command and self-indulgence which was very satisfying. He began to review their knowledge to date, and all of it suggested Winthrop had been murdered not by some chance madman, or by a robber, not that he had ever thought that likely. The only conclusion consistent with what had emerged was that he had been attacked by someone he knew, someone from whom he was expecting no threat. It might be a colleague or a social acquaintance. It was more likely to be a member of his close family or immediate friends. Until Tellman returned with more physical evidence, he should begin to look for motive.
He swung his feet off the desk and stood up. He could accomplish nothing here, and the sooner this was cleared up the better. Already the newspapers were publishing black headlines about the murder and Winthrop’s name was on everyone’s lips. In a day or two they would be demanding results and asking what the police were doing.
Two hours later Pitt was in the train to Portsmouth, sitting beside the window watching the countryside rush past him in vivid green with giant trees beginning to bud for heavy leaf and the bare branches of the hazels already veiled in a soft mist of color. Willows leaned over water trailing streamers of soft, gauzy, green like women bent forward with clouds of hair around them. Flocks of birds followed the slow plows, wheeling and diving after the worms in the turned earth.
Another three hours and he was standing in a small room close to the Royal Naval Dockyard, awaiting the arrival of Lieutenant Jones, second in command to the late Captain Winthrop. He had already spoken with the harbormaster and learned nothing of value. Everyone was shocked and could only repeat trite expressions of grief and outrage, and the sort of eulogizing remarks which they no doubt felt appropriate, but were what they would have said of anyone.
The door opened and a slender man in his late thirties came in. He was dressed in uniform and carried his hat in his hand.
“Good afternoon, sir. Lieutenant Jones. How may I be of service?” He stood to attention and looked at Pitt anxiously. He was clean-shaven with light eyebrows and fair hair receding considerably. It was a face where
