Seven Dials Page 0,43

not imagined Saville Ryerson falling in love with a woman who was markedly unintelligent. He tried to visualize her, the kind of beauty or demureness she must have possessed to capture his emotions to the degree that a quarter of a century after her death he was still mourning her too profoundly to marry again.

"Was she so very..." he began, then found that he did not know how he intended to finish.

"No idea," Woodside said unhelpfully. "Never understood Ryerson. Brilliant chap, at times, but devil of a temper when he was young. Only a fool would cross him, I'll tell you that!"

Again, Pitt was slightly taken aback. This was not the man he had observed a couple of days ago-calm, self-controlled, concerned only for the woman.

Had he lost all his ability to judge? Was it possible that Ryerson had shot Lovat himself, in a fit of jealousy, and the woman was shouldering the blame? Why? For love, or in some mistaken belief that he would, or even could, protect her?

"Changed, of course," Woodside went on thoughtfully, still looking at his feet as if afraid he might actually have scorched the leather of his boots. "God knows, with the government he's had enough to test any man's temper over the years. Lonely thing for a man, command, and politicians are a treacherous lot, if you ask me." He looked up suddenly. "Sorry I can't help. No idea who shot Lovat, or why."

Pitt realized it was a dismissal, and he rose to his feet. "Thank you for giving me your time, sir. I'm much obliged to you."

Woodside waved his hand and turned his feet back to the fire.

Pitt went to Ryerson's office in Westminster and requested permission to speak to him for a few minutes. He had waited rather less than half an hour when a secretary in a high wing collar and pin-striped trousers came to collect him and show him in. Pitt was surprised it had taken so short a time.

Ryerson received him in a room of somber opulence, leather-covered furniture, old wood with a polish so deep it seemed like satin beneath glass. There were shelves of morocco-bound books with gold lettering and windows looking out onto the slowly fading leaves of a lime tree.

Ryerson looked tired, dark smudges around his eyes, and his hands constantly fiddled with an unlit cigar.

"What have you found?" he said as soon as Pitt had closed the door, and even before he sat down in the chair Ryerson gestured towards, although remaining standing himself.

Pitt sat down obediently. "Only that Lovat apparently had affairs with many women and no loyalty to any," he replied. "He seems to have hurt many people, some deeply. There is a trail of unhappiness behind him." He watched Ryerson quite openly, but he saw no flicker of either anger or surprise in his face. It was as if Lovat personally did not matter to him.

"Unpleasant," he said with a frown. "But regrettably not unique. What are you suggesting? That some wronged husband could have shot him?" He bit his lip, as if to stop himself from laughing, however bitterly. "That's absurd, Pitt. I wish I could believe it, but what was this wronged man doing at Eden Lodge at three in the morning? What kind of women did Lovat pursue? Ladies? Parlor maids? Prostitutes?"

"Ladies, so far as I have heard," Pitt replied. "Young and unmarried." He did not take his eyes from Ryerson's face and saw the distaste in it. "The sort of women whom scandal would ruin," he added unnecessarily. His remark was driven by anger, not reason.

Ryerson finally threw his cigar into the fireplace, just missing and hearing it strike the brass surround with a thud. He ignored it. "And are you suggesting that the father of one of these women spent the night following Lovat until he caught up with him in the shrubbery of Eden Lodge, and then shot him? You have conducted many investigations of murder which have sooner or later led you to the withdrawing rooms of the aristocracy. You know better than to make such a preposterous suggestion." He looked closely at Pitt, as if to read some motive beyond the apparent absurdity. There was no contempt in his stare, only puzzlement and, very close beneath it, fear, real and biting deep.

Pitt realized something else also, with a sudden lurch of surprise, then instantly knew that he should have expected it.

"You have been enquiring about me!"

Ryerson shrugged very slightly. "Of course. I