mistaken idea that that had been his sole motive in inviting her.
They had reached the dessert (a most exquisite French apple tart) before the subject was raised, by Vespasia.
“I spoke at some length to Catherine’s maid,” she said, setting her fork down on her plate. “At first she was naturally reluctant to say anything but the sort of respectful praise that loyalty would dictate. I’m afraid I took the liberty of mentioning that if we did not prosecute the right man, the real murderer would escape detection and very probably commit a similar crime against someone else. I am not certain if that is true, of course, but I am quite sure that Catherine herself would not wish the wrong man convicted.”
“I’m afraid it probably is true,” he replied gravely. “What did she tell you? Is Quixwood right about Catherine?”
“No,” she said without hesitation. “But, of course, I can’t say whether he believes he is. It is quite clear that she did not find in him either the love or the friendship she wished for. His defense against that may have been to see her as the cause of the problem rather than he himself, or the simple fact that perhaps they were mismatched.”
“And you are sure the maid was not merely being loyal?” he pressed.
She smiled. “Yes, Victor, I am quite sure. I have had a lady’s maid all my life. I can read between the lines of what they say, or decline to say.” Her eyes were bright with amusement, but there was no impatience in them, no condescension. He had the distinct feeling that she was pleased to have been asked for her help.
“Would you like Armagnac, perhaps?” he said impulsively.
“Champagne is sufficient for me,” she answered, smiling.
He hesitated.
She looked at the light, sparkling wine in her glass and raised her delicate eyebrows. “Is this not champagne, then?” she asked.
For a moment he was not certain of the compliment. Then, meeting her eyes, he understood and found himself coloring with pleasure, and even a little self-consciousness. He raised his glass to hers without answering.
IN THE MORNING NARRAWAY went to find Knox again. He began at the police station and was told that there had been an unpleasant brawl down on the waterfront and Knox had been called to the scene.
Narraway obtained the precise location, thanked the constable, and left to find a hansom to take him there. It was not a long journey but it took time weaving in and out of the traffic, dense at that time of day, the roads crowded with drays, wagons, and men and women on foot busy with their early errands. He passed lightermen, stevedores, crane drivers, wagon masters, and ferrymen, already busy. Gulls wheeled and dived, screaming as they fought over fish. Up and down the highway of the river Narraway saw strings of barges ride the tide, and on the land behind them men shouted at one another and the rumble of wheels jolted over the uneven cobbles.
He found Knox standing on the stone slipway where the fight had taken place, his jacket collar high round his ears, wind whipping his hair.
Fortunately, in this crime no one was dead, although there was still blood on the stones from a knife wound.
“I know you didn’t want Hythe to be guilty,” Knox remarked after he had greeted him. “Neither did I. Sometimes I don’t understand people at all. I’d have sworn he hadn’t it in him, but you can’t argue with that letter.” He pushed his hands into his coat pockets. “And don’t tell me it isn’t in her hand, because it is. First thing I did was have it checked by the experts who can spot a forgery. Although I don’t know why anybody’d bother with that; it’s not as if we had any other suspects.”
Narraway felt crushed by the logic of it. “Then there’s something about this case that we’ve missed,” he said stubbornly, although he could think of nothing.
Knox looked at him with a frown, puzzled. “Haven’t you ever found that an anarchist, who wanted to bring the whole social order down around our ears, was actually quite a nice fellow if you met him down at the pub, my lord?”
“Yes, of course I have,” Narraway said irritably. “But Hythe liked Catherine Quixwood, and he understood her a lot better than her husband did.”
Knox hunched his shoulders and pulled his coat more tightly around him, as if he were cold, although the wind off the river was mild.