Somebody opened an upstairs window.
They tried again, knocking on areaway doors, kitchens, stopping the few people in the street. No one had seen the carter they described.
“He must live here!” Narraway said in disgust an hour and a half later. “We haven’t got time for this, Pitt. We’ll never find him this way.”
“I need breakfast,” Pitt replied. “I’m so thirsty I feel as if my tongue is as trodden on as the soles of my boots.”
“There’s nowhere around here to get anything.” Narraway looked miserably at the elegant fac?ade of Eaton Place. “I know people in this damn street! But I can’t go and ask them for breakfast.”
“Who do you know?” Pitt inquired. “Which houses?”
“No!” Narraway was aghast. “Absolutely not!”
“To avoid them,” Pitt explained patiently.
“What are you going to do?” Narraway was too tired to hide his apprehension.
“Go and question someone’s servants inside,” Pitt replied with a faint smile. “Preferably in the kitchen. I’m not above asking the cook for a cup of tea and a piece of toast. I’ll even ask for one for you, if you like?”
“I like,” Narraway said grudgingly.
“Then I can think,” Pitt added. “We’re going about this the wrong way.”
“Couldn’t you have told me this ten miles ago?” Narraway asked sarcastically.
Fifteen minutes later, sitting at the table in a large and very well appreciated kitchen, they were sipping tea and inquiring about strangers in the neighborhood, possible break-ins, theft of harness or other stable supplies. They gained no information of any value what-soever, but at least they had done it sitting down with tea, toast, and rather good marmalade.
The scullery maid returned to her chores and the cook resumed the preparation of breakfast for the household. They had both answered the brief police questions and satisfied their charitable consciences.
“I didn’t see it until now,” Pitt replied to Narraway’s original question.
“What? You are trying my patience, Pitt.” Narraway took another slice of toast from the rack and buttered it.
Pitt passed him the marmalade. “We lost the carter because he changed appearance. Which says he was in some form of disguise, even if only different clothes, attitude, and manner, and a good deal of dirt on his face.”
“Because he was not a carter by occupation,” Narraway agreed.
“We know that too. It doesn’t tell us who he was, or more importantly, where he is now.”
“It tells us he might be known without the disguise.”
“Ah. .” Narraway took the point this time.
“What do we know about him?” Pitt went on. “Dunkeld must trust him, not only not to betray him, but his competence, his nerve, his ability to find the right sort of woman who would be taken for Sadie at a very rough glance. .”
“Very rough?” Narraway questioned. “She was identified as Sadie.”
“By Dunkeld himself,” Pitt reminded him. “She only had to answer a verbal description: brown hair, blue eyes, average height, handsome build.”
“But he had to be there at the Palace doors with her in a box, not long after midnight,” Narraway agreed. “So he was someone Dunkeld trusted. We’ve no idea who that is. Could be dozens of people.”
Pitt leaned further forward over the table. “But who told Dunkeld how the woman in Cape Town was slashed? He wasn’t there. He made a point of saying that, and you confirmed it. The murder wasn’t common knowledge; in fact the whole episode was pretty well covered up.”
Narraway frowned. “Are you saying he was there?”
“No! I’m saying that someone who was there told him about it.
And he trusted them enough in this for them to conspire together. He put his career, even his life, in their hands. Why did they do this for him?”
“Someone equally interested in the project,” Narraway answered.
“Which comes back to Sorokine, Marquand, or Quase. But none of them left the Palace! They could have told him about the woman, if one of them killed her, but why in God’s name would they trust him with information like that? It could get them hanged! And if they’d trust Dunkeld never to use it against them, either they truly are insane, or else they had a hold on him so great he wouldn’t dare betray them? Is that what you are saying? It doesn’t tell me who the carter is.
A three-way conspiracy?”
“No, just two,” Pitt shook his head. “Dunkeld wanted to get rid of Sorokine.”
“Sorokine could still be the madman from Cape Town,” Narraway cut across him. “Perhaps he’s done it again, since then, and Dunkeld knew, and that’s how he found out the method.”
“Too complicated, and still doesn’t tell us who the carter is,” Pitt told him, at last taking another bite of his toast and drinking half his tea before it was cold. He filled the cup again from the pot.
“Then what does?” Narraway ignored his own tea.
“We are assuming the plan is not working.” Pitt’s mind was racing from one improbability to another. “What if it is?”
“Dunkeld will hang for treason,” Narraway replied. “His daughter is dead and his wife despises him and is in love with Sorokine, whom he hates. I would say that is about as much failure as it’s possible to have.”
“Not Dunkeld’s plan, his co-conspirator’s,” Pitt corrected. “The carter, whoever he is.” At last it was beginning to clear in his mind, threads were emerging. “Who has won?”
“No one, unless getting rid of Dunkeld was what they wanted,”
Narraway replied. “But Sorokine turned down the leadership, and neither Marquand nor Quase were offered it. They have even less au-tonomy under Forbes than they had before.”
“But Forbes had no part before, and now he has complete control, and the Prince’s profound gratitude,” Pitt said.
Narraway stiffened. “Forbes? But he doesn’t even approve of the damn railroad! His financial interest is in shipping!” A sudden spark lit in his eyes and slowly they widened.
“Exactly,” Pitt breathed out. “And what better position than leader of the project from which to make certain it never succeeds?”
“God Almighty!” Narraway breathed out. “He was the carter! He knows about the murder in Cape Town because he was there too!
You’re not saying he killed her. Are you?”
Pitt thought for a moment. “What is Quase so afraid of? And he is, he’s terrified. Liliane too, but she doesn’t know of what.”
“He killed the woman, and Forbes knows it?” Narraway shook his head. “You’re wrong, Pitt. He would never allow the man to marry his daughter.”
“It’s not something Quase did.” Pitt was still making his way through the myriad of facts in his mind. “It’s something he knows.”
“Forbes killed them himself?” Narraway struggled with it.
“I don’t know.”
“We can’t prove it. .” There was an anger and deep frustration in Narraway’s eyes and in the tight line of his lips. “There’s nothing we can do.”
“I don’t know what he did,” Pitt went on as if Narraway had not spoken. “But he did something, before he killed Kate. And Hamilton Quase knows about it, but Liliane doesn’t.” An idea was forming in his mind, one that Narraway would hate. “At least I think she doesn’t, although like Minnie, she may be working her way toward it. I wonder whom she loves more, her father or her husband.”
“Pitt!”
“Yes?”
“Don’t look at me with that air of innocence, damn it! We can’t prove anything against Forbes. All we have are guesses, and we could be wrong.”
“But we aren’t,” Pitt said it with growing assurance. “I don’t know if it was just to get rid of Dunkeld and take over the project, so he could see it fail, or there were other reasons as well. .”
