already had the knife, taken from downstairs because the dinner plates had long since been removed from the dining room.
It was imperative that they find out more about the woman: her nature, her background, even her other clientele. The crime could be personal after all. He must contact Narraway and tell him. Perhaps after all there was an escape from the appalling conclusion that the murderer had to be one of the guests.
He turned on his heel and went immediately to Tyndale to ask him for permission to use the telephone. Permission granted, he called Narraway and told him the latest development and the necessity of finding out as much as possible about the woman. Then he sent for the footman, Edwards, and questioned him again.
“This box that was delivered for Mr. Dunkeld between midnight and one o’clock on the morning of the murder,” he began.
Edwards looked uncomfortable but his gaze did not waver. “Yes?”
“Can you describe this carter?”
Edwards chewed his lip, moving his weight from one foot to the other. “Didn’t really look at ’im. I was too busy carryin’ that box up the stairs. ’E ’ad the back end of it.”
“How large was it?” Pitt asked.
“ ’Bout three feet long, maybe four, an’. .” Edwards gestured with his rather large hands, describing the shape of an ordinary luggage chest, broader than it was deep. “Like that.”
“Heavy?”
“ ’Bout like yer’d expect with books an’ papers.”
“Lot of books?”
“Dunno, forty or fifty maybe. Don’t carry books very often.”
“Where did you put it, at what hour of the night?”
“In the sittin’ room next door to ’ere. Can’t ’ardly take it to ’im at midnight, can I? ’E could be doin’ anythin’!” The shadow of a leer touched his mouth and then vanished again. “As it was, ’e was there anyway, like ’e was expectin’ it. An’ ’e told us to come back for it in ten minutes or so. Seems the carter wanted ’is box back.”
Pitt found himself disliking the young man intensely.
“Describe as much as you saw of the carter,” he ordered.
Edwards shrugged. “Din’t really see ’is face. Oldish, stooped over.
Had a hat on, jammed down ’ard, an’ a coat with a collar. Half-mitts on ’is hands, probably for drivin’ the horse. Weren’t that cold.”
“What was the cart like?”
“Don’t know.”
“Four wheels, or two?” Pitt insisted.
“Four.”
“And the horse?”
“Dunno. Pale. A gray, I suppose.”
“And did you go back in ten minutes?”
“ ’Course I did!”
“Where did you go in the meantime?”
Edward’s eyes widened. “You think he could ’ave done it?”
“Could he?”
Edwards looked reluctant. “Don’t see how. ’E were only in the place a few minutes. An’ ’e went downstairs an’ out the back, then in again. Was the murder real gory, like?”
Pitt winced with distaste, remembering the woman’s torn entrails, pale in all the blood. “Yes.”
“Then I don’t see as ’e could. ’E was clean as a whistle,” Edwards replied unblinkingly. “Not even any dirt on ’im, let alone blood.”
“You’re certain?” Pitt’s hopes sank.
“Yes, sir. Ask Rob, the boot boy, ’e’ll say the same thing.”
“What was the boot boy doing up at that time of the morning?”
“Lookin’ for a piece of cake, most likely. Always eatin’, ’e is.”
“But Mr. Dunkeld was waiting for you, you said? Where?”
“On the stairs. Told us not ter take it any further up, we might waken the ladies. Said it was books ’e needed in a hurry, an’ we was ter put it in the room there off the passage, an’ ’e’d take ’em out, an’
we was ter come back and take the box away. Carter never went up to where the linen cupboard is,” he added.
“And you went back for the box and the carter took it again?”
“Yes. Bleedin’ heavy box it was too. Must’ve been teak, or somethin’ like that. Couldn’t see at that time o’ night in what light there was.”
“And it was midnight, no later?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. For now you can go.”
Reluctantly, Pitt was forced to abandon the idea that the carter could have killed the woman. He was back again to the inevitability that it had to have been one of the guests of the Prince of Wales.
He was on the next landing, weighed down with a sense of disappointment he knew was unreasonable, when he met Cahoon Dunkeld coming up.
“Ah, afternoon, Pitt,” Dunkeld said briskly. “His Royal Highness would like to see you.” He frowned. “For heaven’s sake take that rubbish out of your pocket, man. And straighten up your cravat. You look as if you’ve slept in your shirt! Doesn’t your housekeeper have an iron, or a needle and thread?”
Pitt knew he was untidy, and had never cared until now, but the insult to Charlotte stung him like a hot needle. He ached to be just as rude in return, but he did not dare to. Only for short stretches of time, an hour or two at most, did he forget that he was in Queen Victoria’s palace: he, the son of a gamekeeper who had been deported to Aus-tralia for stealing from his master’s estate. He was never certain who knew that, and who did not. If he were to retaliate, he always half expected the stinging contempt of the rejoinder.
Shaking with anger he took the handful of objects out of his coat pocket and redistributed them as evenly among his other pockets as possible, then straightened his cravat.
Dunkeld made no comment but his expression was eloquent.
With a shrug of exasperation, he led the way to the room where the Prince of Wales was waiting. To Pitt’s deep annoyance, he followed him in.
Pitt stood to attention. He knew better than to speak first or to stare around at the ornate ceiling and the magnificent pictures that almost covered the walls.
The Prince was dressed in a linen suit of a nondescript color. He was neatly barbered and looked considerably better than the last time they had met. His eyes were less bloodshot, and though his skin was a trifle mottled, it was more likely from a lifetime of indulgence than a single drunken night and the devastating shock of murder.
First he thanked Dunkeld, then looked appraisingly at Pitt.
Pitt felt uncomfortable, like livestock at a market, but he remained motionless.
“Oh, hello. . Pitt, isn’t it?” the Prince said at last. “Is everybody giving you the assistance you need?”
“Yes, sir, thank you,” Pitt replied.
“It’s not an inquiry for your health, man,” Dunkeld growled.
“What progress have you made?”
Pitt was not an equal, and he was acutely aware that he could only lose by behaving as if he were, no matter how Dunkeld provoked him. He smiled. He could be utterly charming, when he wished. “It was an inquiry for my professional needs,” he said calmly. “His Royal Highness’s help is necessary for our success, and I am grateful for it.”
The Prince glanced at Dunkeld, a cold, puzzled look, then back at Pitt. “Well taken, sir,” he said quietly. It was a reminder to Dunkeld not to assume too many liberties. Pitt glanced at Dunkeld’s face and saw the burning humiliation in it, for an instant, and wished that he had not. Worse, he knew Dunkeld had understood it.
“I am quite satisfied, sir, that none of your domestic staff could be guilty.” Pitt forced himself to speak gravely, addressing the Prince.
“Two people were where they could observe the servants’ staircase at the relevant time. No one came or
