was mockery in Farnsworth’s voice.
“No.” Pitt did not bother to add how unlikely he thought it.
Farnsworth turned to look at him. “Then what?” His eyes widened. “The Colonial Office treason? Thorne?”
“Possibly. But there is another solution, which may not be unconnected….”
“What do you mean, not unconnected?” Farnsworth frowned. “Explain yourself, Pitt. You are talking in circles. Do you mean it is connected, or don’t you?”
Pitt gritted his teeth. “I think the death of Arthur Desmond may have been connected with his beliefs-”
He got no further. Farnsworth’s face darkened and his eyes narrowed. “I thought we had already dismissed that, and put it to rest. Arthur Desmond was a good man who unfortunately, tragically if you like, became senile towards the end of his life and suffered from serious delusions. The kindest thing one can assume is that he accidentally took an overdose of his sleeping draft.”
His lips tightened. “Less kindly, one might conclude that he knew he was losing his mind and had already seriously compromised his reputation and slandered many of his erstwhile friends, and in a moment of lucid realization of just what was happening to him, took his own life.”
He swallowed. “Perhaps I should not say that is an unkind solution. On second thoughts it was a highly honorable thing to do, and most like him.” His eyes met Pitt’s for a moment. “Yes, I’m sure that is the man you knew also. It required a considerable courage. If you have the regard for him that you profess, you will leave it at that and let him rest in peace. By keeping on raking up the matter you are prolonging the pain for his family and seriously misadvising them. I cannot warn you more gravely that you are making a profound mistake. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” Pitt agreed, staring back at him, sensing the power of his resolve, and driven to ignore it. “But none of that is relevant to what Mrs. Chancellor may have thought, which is what we are concerned with.”
“You didn’t discuss this farrago of nonsense with Mrs. Chancellor, for God’s sake!” Farnsworth was aghast. He was still standing with his back to the window, his face in his own shadow from the sunlight, throwing its lines and planes into sharp relief.
“No I didn’t,” Pitt replied steadily. “But I am aware that Mrs. Chancellor knew Sir Arthur and thought very highly of him, and that he discussed his beliefs about Africa with her. Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould told me so.”
Farnsworth pulled a face at the mention of Vespasia’s name again. He was beginning to dislike her intensely.
“And how did she know that, pray? I suppose she is acquainted with Mrs. Chancellor? She is something of a busybody, and I think not to be taken seriously.” The moment he had said that he regretted it. It was a mistake, and he not only saw it in Pitt’s face, but his own social background was sufficient to have heard her name before, and to have recognized a true aristocrat when he met one. His temper had spoken before his intellect.
Pitt merely smiled, which was patronizing. Losing his own temper would have placed him in an equal position; this was superior.
“Well?” Farnsworth snapped. “Are you suggesting on the strength of that, that Mrs. Chancellor believed Mr. Thorne murdered Desmond, and that in fact he did, and felt compelled to murder her to keep her silent about it? Wouldn’t simply denying it have been just as effective, and a great deal less trouble?” His voice was dripping sarcasm.
Put as baldly as that, it did sound absurd. Pitt felt the color rush up his face, and saw the satisfaction in Farnsworth’s eyes. Farnsworth’s shoulders relaxed and he turned back towards the window.
“You are losing your grip, Pitt. That was unworthy of you.”
“That was your suggestion, not mine,” Pitt denied it. “What I am suggesting is that possibly Sir Arthur knew something about the missing information from the Colonial Office. After all, he often went in to the Foreign Office, and still had close connections there at the time of his death. He may not have realized the full importance of what he knew, but if he mentioned it to Susannah Chancellor, and she did understand it, because of Standish, and her family background in African finance, and Chancellor’s knowledge in the Colonial Office, and her friendship with Mrs. Thorne, then …”
“She put it all together and tackled Thorne with it?” Farnsworth was staring at him with growing interest. “And if Thorne is the traitor after all … yes, yes, you have a possibility!” His voice lifted a little. “Look into that, Pitt, but very carefully. For heaven’s sake remain discreet, both not to offend Thorne if he is innocent, and possibly more important, not to warn him if he is guilty.”
He made an effort of will. “I apologize to you, Pitt. I should not have leapt to such a hasty conclusion as to what you were saying. This does indeed make sense. You’d better get to it straightaway. Go and see the servants at the Thorne household. And keep on looking for that cabdriver. If he delivered her there, then he has nothing to fear, and will be a witness at Thorne’s undoing.”
“Yes, sir.” And Pitt rose from the chair to obey. It was what he had been intending to do anyway.
But the servants in the Thorne household could tell him nothing of use. He questioned them each, but no one had seen or heard Susannah Chancellor on the evening of her death. He pressed them as to the possibility of her having called without their knowledge. But it required a stretch of the imagination beyond reason to suppose that she had, unless she had specifically been asked to alight short of the house and not to present herself at the front door; instead to walk around the side, through the garden to the doorway to the back, and then make her way across the lawn to the French doors of the study and let herself in that way. Or possibly someone had been waiting for her.
Of course that was perfectly possible, but why should she do such a thing? If anyone had asked her to come secretly, without any of the servants seeing her, what explanation could they give for such an extraordinary request? Had it been Thorne, or Christabel, or both?
If indeed they had anything to do with it, it seemed far more likely one of them had gone out and met her in the street and taken her to wherever she had been killed, then left and returned to the house through the side entrance.
But looking at Christabel Thorne’s clear, wide eyes, full of intelligence, anger and grief, he could not imagine that she had taken part in anything so duplicitous.
But then again, if she loved her husband, perhaps he had persuaded her it was necessary, either for some higher good politically or morally, or simply to save him from discovery and disgrace.
“I really am sorry to be of so little assistance, Superintendent,” she said earnestly. They were in the study, where the doors led into the garden and he could see the flowering shrubs beyond her from where he sat. “Believe me,” she continued, “I have racked my brains to think of anything that could possibly be relevant. Mr. Kreisler was here, you know, and asked me all the same questions you are doing, and I could offer him nothing.”
“Kreisler was here?” he said quickly.
Her eyes widened.
“You didn’t know? He seems most concerned to learn the truth. I confess, I had not realized he cared so much for Susannah.” Her expression was difficult to read; there was confusion, surprise, sadness, even a faint shred of wry, hurt amusement.
Pitt had other thoughts on the subject. He was beginning to wonder which motives lay behind Kreisler’s enquiries. Was it a passion to avenge Susannah, either through assisting the police or privately? Or was it in order to learn how much they knew, so he might guard either himself or someone else? Or was it to lay false information, to mislead and even further confuse the search? The more he knew of Kreisler, the less certain he was about him.
“No,” he said aloud. “I think there is a lot yet to be learned on that matter.”
She looked at him with a sudden quickening of interest. “Do you suspect him, Superintendent?”
“Of course, Mrs. Thorne.”
There was a flash of humor across her face, this time undisguised. “Oh no,” she replied. “I am not going to give words to any speculation. You must imagine what you will. I enjoy trivial gossip, but I abhor it when it touches on things that matter.”
“And Mr. Kreisler matters?”
Her high eyebrows arched. “Not in the slightest, Superintendent. But accusations of complicity in murder
