Seven Dials Page 0,38

way as mistresses."

Ragnall took a deep breath, as if reaching a decision that was difficult for him.

Pitt waited. Perhaps finally he was on the brink of something that did not implicate Ryerson.

"No," Ragnall said at last. "I gathered he did not particularly care, and... and he had not the means to support a mistress, not in any style." He stopped, still reluctant to commit himself any further.

Pitt stared at him. "Other men's wives? Their daughters?"

Ragnall cleared his throat. "Yes... at times."

"Who were his friends?" Pitt asked. "What clubs did he belong to? What were his interests, sports? Did he gamble, go to the theater? What did he do in his leisure time?"

Ragnall hesitated.

"Don't tell me you don't know," Pitt warned. "The man was in the diplomatic service. You could not allow yourself to be unaware of his habits. That would be incompetent. You must know his associates, his problems, his financial status."

Ragnall looked down at his hands, spread on the desk, then up at Pitt again. "The man is dead," he said quietly. "I have no idea whether that was pure misfortune or if he contributed to it in some way himself, greatly, or very little. He was good at his job. I am unaware of him owing anyone money or, as far as I know, favors. He came from a good family, and he kept his word once he had given it. He had an honorable career in the army and he never lacked either physical or moral courage. I never caught him in a lie, nor do I know anyone who did. He was loyal to his friends, and he knew how to conduct himself as a gentleman. He had a certain charm, and there was nothing mean-spirited in him."

Pitt felt the wave of regret he always did when investigating a murder. Suddenly the truth of detail was overwhelmed by the loss of a life, the passion, the vulnerability, the virtues and the idiosyncrasies. The vitality of being was ended, not naturally in age, but without warning, and incomplete. The fault or the contributing sins of the person concerned seemed so unimportant as to be forgotten.

But emotion would cripple his analytical mind, and his job was to find the truth, easy or difficult, complicated and however painful.

"The names of his friends," he said aloud. "I may find him innocent of all blame, Mr. Ragnall, but I cannot assume. If Miss Zakhari, or anyone else, is to be hanged for his murder, it will be because we know what happened, and why."

"Yes, of course." Ragnall pulled a piece of paper towards himself and picked up a pen, dipped it in the ink and began to write. He blotted it and pushed it towards Pitt.

"Thank you." Pitt took it, glanced at it and read the names, and the clubs at which they might be found, then took his leave.

PITT SAW ONE or two of the people Ragnall had suggested, and learned very little more. No one was comfortable discussing a colleague who was dead, and unable to defend himself. It was not a matter of affection so much as loyalty to their own ideals, perhaps in the belief that to betray was to invite a similar betrayal yourself, when your own weaknesses were questioned.

By midafternoon Pitt had given up the hope of finding anything useful this way, and decided to go and see his brother-in-law, Jack Radley, who had now been a Member of Parliament for a number of years, some of it with particular interest in the Foreign Office.

He was not in the House of Commons, and Pitt caught up with him just after four o'clock, walking in the sun across St. James's Park, a slight breeze sending a few early yellow leaves fluttering down over the grass.

Jack stopped and turned when he heard Pitt call his name. He was surprised to see him, but not displeased.

"The Eden Lodge case?" he said wryly as Pitt fell into step with him.

"Sorry," Pitt apologized. They had a genuine liking for each other, but their social circles as well as their professions kept them apart almost all the time. Jack had no money of his own, but he had always managed to live as well as his good birth invited. To begin with, it had been by liberal use of his great personal charm. Since marrying Emily, it was on the fortunes she had inherited from her first husband.

For the first year or two he had been content to continue merely enjoying