like one of the other women to be with her? Mrs. Marquand, or Mrs. Quase? To whom was she closer?”
Cahoon stared at him. “What?” His eyes seemed unfocused.
“Someone must inform Mrs. Dunkeld,” Pitt said again. “If you don’t feel well enough, then somebody else can. I will, if you wish, but I am sure in those circumstances, Mrs. Dunkeld would prefer to be up and dressed.”
“She was not Minnie’s mother,” Cahoon said flatly. “Call who you want. What about Sorokine?”
“I’ll call Mrs. Quase to be with your wife, then I’ll go and see Mr.
Sorokine. Go back to your own room. Would you like someone to be with you?”
“No. No, I’d rather be alone.” Cahoon rose to his feet very slowly, swaying a little, and Pitt cursed the fact that he had no sergeant with him to whom he could delegate other tasks.
He walked along the silent corridor beside Cahoon as far as his own bedroom, and left him there. Then he retraced his steps quickly to Hamilton Quase’s room and knocked abruptly on the door.
There was no answer. Perhaps he had drunk too much the night before to come to his senses easily. Pitt had no recourse but to go directly to Mrs. Quase. It was not something he wished to do.
She answered after only a few moments. She was wrapped in a silk robe and her glorious hair was loose around her shoulders.
“Yes?” she said anxiously.
“Mrs. Quase, I am sorry to disturb you. I tried to waken Mr.
Quase, but-”
“What is it?” she cut across him. “Tell me.”
“I am afraid Mrs. Sorokine is dead. Mr. Dunkeld is profoundly disturbed, too much so to inform Mrs. Dunkeld, or to be with her. I must see Mr. Sorokine, and it may take me some time. I regret having to ask, but will you please tell Mrs. Dunkeld, and be with her?”
All the blood left her face, her hand flew to her mouth. “You. .
you mean Minnie. . was killed?”
“Yes. I’m afraid so.” As soon as he had said it he realized he should not have done so when she was standing. She swayed and grasped hold of the handle of the door, leaning against it, trying to support herself.
“Have I asked too much of you?” he said apologetically. “Should I call Mrs. Marquand?”
“No! No,” she protested. “I shall go to Elsa immediately. But that’s foolish. I’ll call my maid to bring tea for both of us. Then I’ll go.
I shall be perfectly all right. How absolutely dreadful. One of us is raving mad. This is worse than any nightmare.”
He apologized again, thanked her, and went to Julius Sorokine’s room. He wondered for a moment if he should at least look at the body first, then realized that the rooms would connect, and if Julius were returning to his senses, there was no way of preventing him from changing such evidence as there was, or even further desecrating the body. Pitt needed help, but there was no one he could trust, or who had seen death with such violence and tragedy before.
He did not knock, but opened the door and went straight inside.
The scene that met his eyes was exactly what he expected from Dunkeld’s description. A slender bedroom chair was splintered and lying sideways on the floor. A robe, which might have been on the back of it, was stretched across the carpet. Even the large, four-poster bed had been knocked a trifle off the straight, as if someone heavy had collided hard against it. A tall dresser of drawers was also crooked, and the silver-backed brush set, box of cuff links and collar studs, which had presumably been on top of it, lay scattered on the carpet. Julius Sorokine himself lay on the floor on his face. He was wearing trousers and a shirt and no jacket. He was motionless.
Pitt closed the door behind him and walked over. He bent down and touched Julius’s neck above the collar. The pulse was strong and steady, and even before Pitt straightened up, Julius began to stir.
“Sit up slowly, Mr. Sorokine,” Pitt told him.
Julius rolled over, opening his eyes. He stared up at Pitt with obvious confusion. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice gravelly. He coughed and sat up, wincing with pain. His face was bruised and there was a heavy gash across his cheek, blood smeared on his lip and chin. His hair was tousled. However, unlike Cahoon, he had already shaved, possibly in cold water, since there was no sign of his manservant having been here.
“What happened, Mr. Sorokine?” Pitt asked him. “Please stay sitting on the floor.” He made it sound like an order. He was afraid that if Sorokine got to his feet, he could easily start another fight. He was at least as tall as Pitt, and judging by the grace with which he had moved previously, very fit.
Julius blinked. Then memory rushed back. “God! Minnie!” He started to get up.
Pitt put out a hand and pushed him back again, so that he rolled a little, off-balance. “What happened, Mr. Sorokine?”
Julius shivered. “Cahoon came storming in here, eyes blazing like a madman, snarling something about Minnie, and took a swing at me.” He touched his face and drew his fingers away, covered in blood.
“Knocked me over against the bed. When I got up again, I asked him what the devil was the matter. He just shouted something else indis-tinguishable and hit me again. This time I saw it coming and hit him back. I knocked him against the dresser and everything went flying.”
He shook his head, then winced. “I thought that might bring him to his senses, but it didn’t. He seemed to be completely off his head.” He looked totally bewildered.
“He came back and hit me,” he went on. “First with his left hand, which I ducked, then he caught me with his right. We struggled a bit more. It was ridiculous, like two drunks in an alley. He must have got the better of me, because the next thing I remember was a hell of a blow, then you talking to me.” He blinked. “What’s happened to Minnie? We made the devil of a row. She must have heard us! Did she call you? That’s stupid. I’m not going to lay charges. He’s my father-in-law, God damn it!”
Pitt could almost have believed him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sorokine, but your wife is dead.”
Julius looked as if Pitt had hit him again. “What?”
Was it possible he had some kind of mental aberration where he had no idea afterwards what he had done? It would explain why no one had realized his guilt before; he did not even know it himself.
“I’m sorry,” Pitt said clearly. “Mrs. Sorokine is dead.”
“How?” Julius demanded. “It wasn’t Olga, was it? Poor woman.”
He closed his eyes again, drew in his breath as if to say something further, then changed his mind and looked up at Pitt, waiting for the answer.
“No, sir. No woman did to her what Mr. Dunkeld described. I’m afraid I’m going to have to lock you in here until I can contact Mr.
Narraway again and have more men brought. I’ll have one of the Palace servants bring you something to eat, and possibly see if you need medical help.”
“Me?” Julius seemed not to grasp what Pitt had said.
“Yes. Mr. Dunkeld said you had those injuries on your face before he came in.”
“Injuries?” He put his hand up again to his lip as if he had forgotten the pain and the blood. “No, I didn’t. I told you, he came in here and hit me!” Then the color fled from his face and he got to his feet so swiftly Pitt lurched backward away from him.
“God Almighty! You think I killed her!” Julius said, aghast. “I haven’t even seen her since last night.” He swung round. “Is she. .?”
Pitt moved rapidly past him to block his way to the dressing room and the connecting door. “No, sir. Not yet. Don’t oblige me to hand-cuff you to the bed. That would be most unpleasant for you.”
“I didn’t kill her,” Julius said quietly, letting his arms fall to his sides. “And I didn’t touch the other woman either, poor creature.”
Pitt went back to the main door and turned the key in the lock, then he put it in his pocket and went through the connecting door, pushing the bolt home on the farther side. He did not know what to believe, but he had to follow the evidence.
In spite of what Cahoon had said, he was not prepared for the sight of Minnie Sorokine sprawled across the floor of her bedroom, her throat scarlet, her gorgeous flamingo-pink gown half torn off her, and the lower half of her torso ripped open and bright with blood.
He walked toward her, feeling sick, and kneeled down beside the billowing skirts. There could be no question
