“I see. Thank you.”
“Does that help?”
“Yes, thank you. Mrs. McGinley?”
“I told you.” She regarded him coldly. “I remained in my room. My maid was with me for a while. She helped me to prepare for the night, and of course put away my gown.”
“Do you know what time she left you?”
“No, I don’t. But if I had seen anything, I should tell you. I didn’t.”
Pitt left the subject. There was no reason now to doubt her. But he would check up on Hennessey. He thanked them and went to see Fergal Moynihan.
He found him alone in the billiard room. He looked extremely unhappy and in a considerable temper.
“Police?” he said angrily when Pitt explained who he was. “I think you might have been a little more candid with us, Superintendent. The deception wasn’t necessary.”
Pitt did not bother to hide a slight smile.
Fergal flushed, but Pitt had the feeling it was more annoyance than embarrassment. He might have been disconcerted at being caught publicly with Iona McGinley, but he was not ashamed of his feelings for her. If anything, he was defensive of them, almost proud. That was part of being wildly in love.
He could account for part of his time between twenty-five past ten and quarter to eleven, but not all of it. He had had opportunity to leave his room unobserved and go as far as Greville’s bathroom.
“But I did not,” he said firmly.
Pitt next found O’Day
He was standing in front of the fire, his hands in his pockets. He did not add any comment as to Pitt’s lack of success, but it was there in the carefully blank expression in his face. “I don’t know how I can assist you. You say it is not an accident? Therefore you are implying that it was murder?”
“Yes, I am afraid so.”
“I see. Well, I have no knowledge as to who killed him, Superintendent. Why is not difficult. The conference seemed to have every chance of genuine success. There are many among the more radical and violent of the Nationalist factions who did not want that.”
“You mean those Mr. Doyle represents, or those Mr. McGinley does?” Pitt asked. “Or do you believe other factions have infiltrated their staff, perhaps? One of them is unknowingly employing a Fenian disguised as a valet?”
“There is no reason why a valet should not also be a Fenian, Superintendent.”
“No, naturally. Why would they wish the conference to fail?”
O’Day smiled. “You are politically naive, Superintendent. Of necessity, any agreement would be a compromise. There are those who would regard even a single concession to the enemy as a betrayal.”
“Then why have they come here?” Pitt asked. “Surely their own supporters would consider them traitors?”
“Quite true,” O’Day conceded with a flicker of appreciation. “But not everyone is precisely what they seem, or what they affect to be. I don’t know who killed Greville, but if I can help you to find out, I shall do everything I can. Although with the conference effectively over, I am not sure how that may be accomplished.” His face was smooth, a little grayer than Pitt had thought in the lamplight, and he looked tired and disappointed, as if all his effort were over, and it had left him drained.
“It is not necessarily over,” Pitt replied. “We have yet to hear from Whitehall.”
O’Day’s smile was bitter. There was a lifetime’s emotion behind it, passionate, complex, unreadable.
“Yes it is, Mr. Pitt. Tell me, when and how was Greville killed? I thought originally he slipped when preparing to get out of the bath. Now you tell me this is not so.”
“He was struck while still in it,” Pitt amended. “And then probably pushed under the water. His valet says he drew the bath at twenty minutes past ten, and Mr. Greville would not have been more than five minutes going to it, at the most. Nor would he have remained in it longer than ten or fifteen minutes without calling for additional hot water, which he was not in the habit of doing. When Wheeler returned upstairs from an errand at quarter to eleven, he knocked on the bathroom door. On receiving no answer, he assumed Mr. Greville had gone to bed. We now know he was dead.”
“I see. Then he was killed between quarter past ten and quarter to eleven.”
“Probably nearer half past ten. There was a certain amount of soap in the water. He had time to wash.”
“I see.” O’Day bit his lip on the ghost of a smile, self-mocking. “Unfortunately, I can account at least for McGinley’s valet, and for McGinley himself, which is irritating. I came along the corridor and saw the valet standing in the doorway talking to McGinley. He was there for at least twenty minutes. I know, because I left my own door open and I heard him. They were discussing shirtmakers. I confess, I listened with a certain interest. I admire McGinley’s linen, but I should dislike him to know it.”
Pitt could not help smiling also. He could see O’Day’s frustration quite plainly. Also, his information bore out what Lorcan had said. At least it reduced the suspects by three, and three who would not willingly protect each other.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “You have been most helpful.”
O’Day grunted and bit his lip.
Kezia was horrified when Pitt told her as they walked across the gravel drive, the damp wind in their faces. It smelled of newly turned earth, wet raked leaves and clippings from the last mowing of the grass. She swung around to face him, the fresh color fading from her cheeks, her eyes bright.
