It was not necessary for either of them to point out that a quarrel in Portsmouth ten days ago was not likely to have resulted in a violent murder in London nine days afterwards.
“All the same,” Pitt went on. “I’d like you to tell me all you can of his last few days here, whom he saw, anything out of the ordinary that was said or done. Have there been any unusual disciplinary decisions in the last few months?”
“Nothing involving Captain Winthrop,” Jones replied, still a small pucker between his brows. “You are mistaken, Superintendent. The answer to this tragedy does not lie in anything that happened here.”
Pitt was inclined to believe him, and after he had pursued one or two more questions he thanked Lieutenant Jones and excused himself, but he still remained in Portsmouth for several more hours, asking more questions, seeing the local police, public house landlords, even a brothel keeper, before catching his train back to London.
The following morning he found Tellman waiting for him. “Good morning, sir. Learn anything in Portsmouth?” he asked, his hard, bright eyes searching Pitt’s face.
“A little,” Pitt replied, going up the stairs with Tellman behind him. “He left there eleven days ago. Nine days before he was killed. Doesn’t seem likely anyone from there followed him up. Most of his closest associates are accounted for that night anyway.”
“Not surprising,” Tellman said bluntly as Pitt opened his office door and went in. “Could have sent le Grange down to find that out.” He closed the door and stood in front of Pitt’s desk.
Pitt sat down and faced him. “Send him down to check on what everyone says,” he agreed. “I wanted to find out about Winthrop himself.”
“Cheerful sort of person, according to his neighbors,” Tellman said with satisfaction. “Always got a good word. Kept to himself most of the time, family man. Liked his home when he was not at sea.”
“Scandal?”
“Not a breath. Model gentleman in every way.” Tellman looked faintly smug.
“And what have you learned?” Pitt asked, opening his eyes wide. “Where was he killed? Have you got the weapon?”
The satisfaction died in Tellman’s face, and his lips tightened.
“Haven’t found the place yet. Could have been anywhere. We’ve looked for the weapon. We’ll drag the Serpentine tomorrow.” He lifted his head a little. “But we have found several witnesses. Couple of lovers were walking down the path at half past ten. He wasn’t there then. It was still light enough to see that much quite clearly. Cabby going along Knightsbridge towards Hyde Park corner at midnight empty, on his way home, and going pretty slow, saw two people walking along Rotten Row, and is certain both were men. He didn’t see anybody on the water then, although of course it was dark and he was some way from the Serpentine, but there was a good moon.”
“And …” Pitt prompted.
“And another gentleman came home in his own carriage at two in the morning and passed the same way, and saw what he took to be a boat drifting,” Tellman said, staring at Pitt.
“Sober?” Pitt asked.
“He says so.”
“And your judgment?”
“Well, he was certainly sober enough when I spoke to him.”
“Did you find him, or did he come to you?”
Tellman’s face tightened again. “He came to us. But he’s a gentleman. I meant the word exact. Banker in the City.”
“Where had he been that he was away from home at two in the morning?”
Tellman’s shoulders tightened.
“I didn’t ask, sir. I gathered it was private business, an assignation maybe. It isn’t done to press gentlemen of that sort as to where they’ve been, Mr. Pitt. Gets their backs up to no purpose.”
Pitt heard the insolence in his voice and saw the satisfaction of contempt in his face.
“I suppose you did check that he is who he said he is?” he asked.
“Can’t see that it matters,” Tellman replied. “He saw a boat on the water at two o’clock. It’s not police business if he gives us the right name or not—or where he’d been. If gentlemen go around bedding other gentlemen’s wives, that’s their way, and nothing to do with our case. He was a gentleman, that I know. You don’t have to be a detective to tell the difference.”
“And of course a gentleman couldn’t have killed Captain the Honorable Oakley Winthrop!” Pitt said sarcastically. “If this informant of yours had a good voice, good manners and clean shoes, then it couldn’t have been he who committed murder….”
Tellman’s face flushed a dull red. He glared at Pitt and remained silent.
“We’ll assume it’s the truth unless we find otherwise,” Pitt said pleasantly. “That’s a step forward. What did you find in the boat?”
“No blood, except the bit from the bleeding after he was dead.”
“Any signs of another person there?”
“Such as what? They’re pleasure boats. There could have been a hundred other people in it at one time or another. Even this last week!”
“I am aware of that, Tellman. Maybe one of them killed Winthrop.”
