blade would have caught it if it had struck off someone’s head over the side,” Pitt answered. “Also he had a few pieces of cut grass on his shoes. He was quite dry himself, but his head was wet.”
“Good—good. That’s definite. So Winthrop was killed in the boat, and Arledge was killed somewhere else, but you don’t know where. I still think it could be connected with a prostitute. You’d better bring in all those who work around that area—and don’t tell me it’s several hundred. I know there are well over eighty thousand prostitutes in London. One of them may have seen something, may even know who this lunatic is. Do that, Pitt!”
“Yes sir,” Pit agreed immediately. Actually it was an extremely sensible idea. So far the connection did seem the most likely. Prostitutes had their own areas, and the number he would need to see was actually relatively small. Winthrop might indeed have gone to the park for that purpose, or even have thought of it afterwards, when an opportunity presented itself. That was an answer to the seemingly impossible question of why he would have got into a pleasure boat with anyone. He could have with a prostitute, if she had expressed the desire to do so as a preliminary to her favors. Winthrop would suspect nothing, especially since he was a sailor. It might seem to him an amusing thing to do.
“Well?” Farnsworth went on. “What else? What do we say to the newspapers? Can hardly tell them we suspect the late Captain Winthrop of soliciting a whore in the park. Apart from anything else, we’d be sued. Lord Winthrop has been onto the Home Secretary, saying too little has been done.”
“Tell them the assistant commissioner has made a penetrating and lucid suggestion which the police on the case are following,” Pitt suggested soberly. “Let the newspapers work out for themselves what it is. Tell them you cannot say until it is proved, in case you do someone an injustice.”
Farnsworth glared at him, uncertain whether to suspect sarcasm or not.
Pitt was saved the necessity of explaining himself by a knock on the door, and as he answered, Police Constable Bailey came in. He was tall, sad-faced, with a sweet tooth for striped peppermint drops. He looked at the assistant commissioner apprehensively.
“What is it, Bailey?” Pitt asked.
“We have found out ’oo Arledge was, poor devil,” he replied, turning from Pitt to Farnsworth and back again.
They both spoke at once. Bailey opted to answer Pitt.
“ ’E were a musician, sir. ’E conducted a small orchestra sometimes and guested with a lot o’ other different people. Quite distinguished ’e were, in ’is own circle, like.”
“That’s quick.” Pitt looked at Bailey carefully. “How did you find out so soon?”
Bailey blushed. “Well sir, ’is wife said as ’e didn’t come ’ome last night. She didn’t realize it until this morning, like, but when she ’eard about the body bein’ found, she got upset an’ sent for us. The local constable knew it were ’er ’usband, o’ course, because ’er name’s Arledge—Dulcie Arledge, poor creature.”
Farnsworth was sitting upright in his chair.
“What else? What sort of woman is she, this Mrs. Arledge? Where do they live? What did he do, apart from music? He must have had money.”
“Don’t know about that, sir, but seems like ’e were quite famous in ’is own fashion. ’E did ’is conducting very well, so they say. As for Mrs. Arledge, she seems like a real lady, very soft-spoken, nice sort o’ manners, dressed very quiet like, although not in black yet, o’ course.”
“How old, in your estimate?” Farnsworth pressed.
Bailey looked awkward. “ ’Ard to tell a lady’s age, sir….”
“Oh for Heaven’s sake, man! Make a guess. You must have some idea. You’re not saying it in front of her!” Farnsworth said impatiently. “Forty? Fifty? What?”
“More like forty, sir, I should say, but still very pretty. One o’ them sort o’ faces that you can live with, if you know what I mean?”
“I have no idea what you mean!” Farnsworth snapped. Bailey blushed unhappily.
“Do you mean pleasing without being consciously beautiful?” Pitt asked him. “The sort that becomes more agreeable as you know the person better, rather than less so?”
Bailey’s face lit. “Yes sir, that’s exactly what I mean. The sort you wouldn’t get tired of, ’cos that’s all there is to ’er—sir.”
“A most attractive woman,” Farnsworth said sourly. “But that doesn’t mean her husband didn’t go out after whores all the same.”
Bailey said nothing, but his unhappiness registered in his features.
Farnsworth ignored him. “Find out, Pitt!” he said grimly. “Find out this Arledge’s habits, anything you can about him, where he went for his pleasures, how often he took walks in the park in the evenings, any”—he hesitated —“any peculiar tastes he might have had. Perhaps he abused women, went in for sadism or perverted behavior— something that might bring a pimp down on him.”
Pitt pulled a face.
“Don’t be squeamish,” Farnsworth said abruptly. “Good God, man, you know the situation! There’s close to hysteria over this second case. Banner headlines everywhere, and articles about police incompetence. There’s a by-election coming up, and already the candidates are out to make capital of it.”
“I’m not reluctant to do it,” Pitt explained as soon as Farnsworth finished speaking. “I simply don’t think peculiar tastes, or even sadism, would make a pimp behead a client. They don’t care, as long as they get paid and the girl isn’t marked too much to be useful anymore.”
Farnsworth looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Really? Well I suppose that is your field of expertise. It isn’t something I know a great deal about.” His lip curled in distaste. “All the same, I think you’ll find that’s the answer. Pursue it, Pitt. Do all the other things, of course. See where he was killed. Get your other witnesses, if there are any, but find those women!”
“Yes sir,” Pitt agreed.
