The Prince was staring at him in undisguised horror.
“He must have waited all night,” Pitt went on. “We can only guess how fearful that was for him, alone with her body. Then in the early morning he went in to accuse Sorokine, and fought with him, his purpose being to mark Sorokine as if from a fight with Mrs.
Sorokine, and even more than that, to disguise the marks on himself where she had fought for her life.”
“God in Heaven!” the Prince breathed out. “What are you going to do now?”
“Arrest Dunkeld and release Sorokine,” Pitt replied. “And hope it is still possible to keep most of this quiet. But we will not be able to shut Dunkeld away and say he is mad. There will have to be a trial, at least for the murder of Mrs. Sorokine. I’m sorry, sir. If another way can be found, it will be.”
The Prince swallowed with difficulty. “Please. . please try. .”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
Pitt returned to his rooms and found Narraway waiting for him, pacing the floor. Gracie was still present as if she were standing guard.
“Is she right?” Narraway demanded as soon as Pitt had closed the door. His face was drawn, his eyes haggard.
Pitt did not ask what Gracie had said; he knew she had understood it all perfectly. “Yes,” he said to Narraway. “I just confirmed it with the Prince of Wales. Not surprisingly, when he woke and found the corpse of a naked woman, covered in gore, beside him in the Queen’s bed, he panicked. He certainly didn’t look at her face long enough to see it wasn’t the one he went to sleep with-if he looked at her face even then!”
Narraway blasphemed thoroughly and with intense feeling.
“What a diabolical shame. A cold nerve, though!” He glanced at Gracie, wondering whether he should apologize to her for his language. In this situation she was not exactly a servant. A certain better nature won. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“ ’S all right,” she told him graciously.
He looked startled, then nodded his appreciation.
Pitt concealed a smile. “We should arrest Dunkeld for the killing of his daughter,” he said to Narraway. “Accidental or intentional.
And free Sorokine. I’m looking forward to that.”
“Just a moment!” Narraway jerked up his hand as if to hold Pitt back. “Can we prove it?”
“Minnie knew the whole plot!” Pitt said impatiently.
“Yes, but can we prove that?” Narraway insisted. “And not only that she knew it, but that she would have betrayed him by telling everyone. If we can’t do both those things, he could still say it was Sorokine, either because he killed Sadie, or simply out of jealousy over her affair with Marquand.”
Pitt took a deep breath, his mind racing. He was certain in his own mind, but was there proof, beyond any reasonable doubt?
“He was the one who arranged for the three women to come. It was his box of books the corpse came in.”
“We know it was his box,” Narraway agreed. “We have deduced that the corpse came in it, and Sadie went, but there’s no proof.”
“No books came,” Pitt told him. “Edwards carried something up in it, and something of similar weight down again.”
“Servant’s word against Dunkeld’s,” Narraway said.
“No books,” Pitt argued. “All the African books, of which there are not many, were here already. All the other men will testify to that.”
“Moderate,” Narraway granted. “Who saw the Limoges dish, apart from Dunkeld’s wife, who hates him, and is in love with Sorokine? I think it hangs on that.”
“His valet,” Pitt replied.
“And he’ll testify?” Narraway said with heavy disbelief. “Even if he did, it’s his word against Dunkeld’s again. From your account the Prince of Wales never saw the dish broken, and he can’t be called to testify anyway.”
“Tyndale!” Pitt exclaimed. “He knew the dish was broken because he helped clear it away and hid the pieces. He lied to me about it, and to Gracie.”
“And you think he’ll implicate the Prince in any wrongdoing?”
Narraway’s eyebrows shot up.
“No, sir, but he’ll testify against Dunkeld, who tried to implicate and then blackmail the Prince.”
Narraway’s face was bleak, his mouth tight. “The newspapers will have a field day with that! It’ll never come to trial, Pitt. Dunkeld knows it, and so do I. Perhaps we could prove it, with the dish, the box; we can’t prove that he brought the port bottles in full of blood.
Certainly someone did a lot of cleaning up in the Queen’s room, and Sorokine’s never been in the Palace before. But it’s all academic.
Dunkeld has us. The best we can do is at least not charge Sorokine.”
“No, sir,” Pitt said in a hard, quiet voice. “Dunkeld was going to blackmail the Prince of Wales, the heir to the throne. If he didn’t do it explicitly, it was always implicit, for the rest of his life.”
“I didn’t think you’d be a royalist after all this, Pitt,” Narraway said with irony and confusion in his voice.
“I don’t have much respect for the man, but I do for the office,”
Pitt snapped. “But that isn’t the point.”
Narraway opened his eyes wide. “Blackmail is a filthy crime.”
“Not blackmail,” Pitt said tartly. “Treason.”
“Treason?” Then in a flash of fire in the mind, Narraway understood. “Of course. We charge him and try him for treason. Secrets of the State-a closed court. Thank you, Pitt. I am profoundly obliged.”
Pitt smiled, the blood warming his face again.
Gracie gave a long sigh of relief.
“Who killed the poor woman in the linen cupboard?” Narraway asked almost casually.
“God knows,” Pitt admitted. “Maybe He is the only one who ever will. She might be just some murder victim of the night.”
“Exactly like the one in Africa?” Narraway asked sarcastically.
“Who the hell brought her?”
“I’ve no idea.”
Narraway raised his eyebrows. “I imagine you would like to find out?”
“Yes, I would. First I would like to go and release Sorokine.” Pitt smiled. “I’d take help for Dunkeld, if I were you. He’s a big man with a very violent temper.”
Narraway looked at him coldly. “I have no intention of going alone, Pitt! Do you take me for an idiot?”
They reached the door together, then Pitt turned to Gracie.
“Which one do you want to see?” he asked. “You deserve to take your choice.”
“Thanks,” she said primly. “I think as I’ll come with you and tell Mr. Sorokine ’e’s free. ’E were real nice ter me. Let me read in a book by Oscar Wilde, like I were a real sort o’ person as could understand it.”
“You are,” Pitt told her. “How perceptive of him. When we get home, I shall buy you a copy for yourself.”
“Thank you,” she accepted.
They went downstairs together and found Mr. Tyndale, who gave them the key to Julius’s room.
“I’m very glad, sir,” he said gravely. “Mr. Sorokine was always very civil.” He glanced only briefly at Gracie, confused now as to exactly what her status was.
She avoided his eyes too, so as not to make it even harder for him.
Up the stairs again Pitt knocked on Julius’s door, then opened it and went in.
“Your courtesy is very pleasant, if a trifle absurd,” Julius said quietly. He was fully dressed but ashen-faced. His hands were clenched by his sides and he stood so stiffly he swayed very little, concentrating on keeping his composure.
Pitt held out the door key in his open hand, offering it.
“I apologize, Mr. Sorokine. I am now perfectly certain that your account of events was a true one. I regret the
