closer. She chose the only style of cap which would hide her own hair.”
“Well, you still aren’t lying right.” Tellman was immovable. He went over to Pitt and put his hand on the side of Pitt’s head. “You should be another three inches over that way.” He pushed gently.
“Oh!” Pitt let out a cry. “Three inches that way and my neck would be broken!” he said sharply.
Tellman froze. Then he straightened very slowly, his body rigid.
Pitt let out a long sigh, then sat up in the bath, staring at Charlotte.
“Are you sure?” Charlotte whispered. “Absolutely sure?”
“Yes!” Tellman replied sharply, but his very stubbornness was a doubt.
“Only one way.” Pitt climbed out of the bath, characteristically without bothering to straighten his clothes. “We’ll have to go to the icehouse and have a look at the body.” He walked towards the bathroom door.
“Boots,” Charlotte said quickly.
“What?”
“Boots,” she replied, pointing to his boots at the end of the bath.
He came back and put them on absentmindedly, smiling at her for a moment, then following Tellman.
But he got no further than the landing when he met Gracie, her face pinched with anxiety, her cap gone, her apron crumpled.
“Please sir, I gotter see yer!” she said desperately, her eyes on Pitt’s, completely ignoring Tellman beside him, and Charlotte standing in the bathroom doorway. “It’s private ….”
He could see the importance of it to her, whether it proved to be real or not to anyone else. He did not hesitate.
“Yes, of course. We’ll go back into the bathroom.” He turned and walked past Tellman, leaving him on the landing, and caught Charlotte’s eye, hoping she would understand. He closed the door after Gracie. “What is it?”
She looked absolutely wretched, her small hands clenched in her apron, making it like a rag.
“Wot does dynamite look like, sir?”
He controlled his surprise with an effort, and the immediate leap of both hope and fear.
“White and solid, a bit like candle tallow, only a bit different to touch.”
“Sort o’… sweaty?” she asked, a catch in her voice.
“Yes … that’s right. They sometimes wrap it in red paper.”
“I seen some. I’m sorry, sir, I went there, but I can explain. It weren’t nothin’ wrong.” She looked thoroughly frightened.
“I hadn’t thought it would be, Gracie,” he said, more or less honestly. This was sounding like Charlotte’s area of jurisdiction. He certainly was not going to interfere. “Where was it?”
“In Finn ’Ennessey’s room, sir.” She colored painfully. “I went ter tell ’im I were sorry for makin’ ’im look at the truth about Neassa Doyle an’ Drystan O’Day and Mr. Chinnery. You see, I made ’im look at the newspaper pieces.”
“What newspaper pieces?”
“Them wot Mrs. Pitt brought back from Lunnon. It proved Mr. Chinnery couldn’t a’ done it, ’cos ’e were dead.”
“But that was thirty years ago. It wouldn’t be in today’s newspapers,” he said reasonably. “Are you sure you have that right, Gracie?”
“Yes sir. They was old newspapers … just pieces like.”
“Old newspaper cuttings?” he said in disbelief.
“Yeah. She brung ’em back from Lunnon.” Her face was completely innocent and full of fear.
“Did she indeed? I’ll speak to Mrs. Pitt about that later. So you saw what looked like dynamite in Finn Hennessey’s room?”
“Yes sir.”
“Does he know you saw it?”
“I …” She lowered her eyes. She looked wretched. “I fink so. ’E came after me later on, ter try an’ explain, I fink. I … I din’t listen … I jus’ ran.”
“How long ago did you see this dynamite, Gracie?”
She did not look at him. “About two hours,” she whispered.
He did not need to tell her that she should have reported it to him straightaway. She knew it already.
“I see. Then I had better go and speak to him about it. You stay here with Mrs. Pitt. And that’s an order, Gracie.”
“Yes sir.” Still she did not look up.
“Gracie …”
“Yeah …”
