is one case where I would have few qualms about it.”
“Thank you.” Quixwood took a deep breath. “Thank you,” he said again.
NARRAWAY WENT FIRST TO the local police station to find Knox and was informed that he was at Lyall Street, so he followed him there. He approached Quixwood’s house with an odd mixture of familiarity and complete strangeness. The only time he had been here before was at night, in Quixwood’s company, and with the terrible knowledge of Catherine’s death. The shock of seeing her body had sharpened his senses so he could remember every detail of the corpse with awful clarity. And yet he could recall only foggy impressions of anything else.
Now, in the daylight, it looked as ordinary as any other wealthy and elegant house in the better parts of London. An open carriage passed by, then another in the opposite direction, coming toward him. The second was a landau, bodywork dark, brass gleaming in the sun. The liveried coachman sat bolt upright, the reins held tightly in his gloved hands.
In the back two women sat talking to each other, pink and yellow embroidered muslins fluttering in the breeze. One of them laughed. It was jarring, a waking nightmare, to think of Catherine lying obscenely flung like a broken doll on the floor of one of these quiet, sedate houses with their exquisite façades, life proceeding on outside as if her death was of no importance.
Narraway’s hansom came to a halt. He alighted, paid the driver, and walked toward the front door. Flickering in his mind was the memory of Pitt telling him how, in his early days, he used to be sent to the servants’ entrance. No one wished to have the police enter through the front part of the house, as though they were equal to the owners. Now Narraway was doing what had essentially been Pitt’s job, and he planned to use every privilege and artifice he could to obtain information, whether it was intended to be shared with him or not.
The door was opened by a footman whose face was appropriately polite and blank, as if everything in the household was normal.
“Yes, sir? May I help you?” He clearly did not recognize Narraway from the night of the murder. Narraway recalled him, but it was his profession to remember faces.
“Good morning.” He produced a card out of the silver case in his pocket. “If you would be so good as to ask Inspector Knox if he can spare me a few moments?”
The footman was about to refuse him when training took over from instinct and he looked at the card. The name was unfamiliar but the title impressed him.
“Certainly my lord. If you would care to follow me to the morning room, I shall inform the inspector.”
It was a full ten minutes before Knox appeared, walking straight in without knocking, and closing the door behind him. He looked tired; his shoulders drooped and his tie was slightly askew. There were lines of anxiety etched deep in his face.
“Morning, sir,” he said with a sigh. “Sorry, but I really don’t have any news that’ll help Mr. Quixwood. Only bits and pieces, and nothing’s for certain yet.”
Narraway remained standing rather stiffly by the mantel shelf.
“Regardless of its apparent lack of meaning, what have you found?” he asked. “You must know how the assailant got in by now, and have an excellent idea of what, if anything, is missing. Have you found any witnesses, if not nearby, then within a block of here? Has any missing jewelry or artifacts, or whatever, turned up at a pawnshop or with a receiver of such things? Have there been any similar crimes reported? Other break-ins or attacks on women?”
Knox looked down at the ground, his lips pursed in sadness rather than thought.
“There’s no sign of a break-in anywhere, Lord Narraway,” he answered. “We’ve searched every door and window. We’ve looked at the downpipes, ledges, everywhere a man could climb, and a few where he couldn’t. We even had a lad up in the chimney to look.” He saw Narraway’s expression of irritation. “Some of the houses in this part have big chimneys. You’d be surprised how a skinny little lad can come down one o’ these an’ open a door.”
Narraway acknowledged his error. “Yes, of course. I didn’t think of that. I assume you are not saying the attacker was here all the time? One of the servants? Please God, you are not saying that! We’ll have every household