Seven Dials Page 0,7

accepted, more out of curiosity than a desire for more coffee. There was a smell of spices in the air, and of strange-shaped loaves of bread cooling on a rack near the farther window. Unfamiliar fruit lay rich and burnished in a bowl on the table.

El Abd took only a few moments to heat the coffee to the desired temperature again and bring a tiny cup of it over to present to Pitt, offering him a seat and enquiring after his comfort. He was a lean man who moved with a silent grace that made his age difficult to estimate, but the weathered skin of his hands made Pitt guess him to be well over forty, perhaps closer to fifty.

Pitt thanked him for the coffee and sipped it. It was so strong as to be almost a syrup, and he did not care for it much, but he kept all expression from his face except polite enquiry.

"What happened here last night?" he asked.

El Abd remained standing, so Pitt was forced to look up at him.

"I do not know, sir," the manservant replied. "Something awakened me, and I arose to see if Miss Zakhari had called, but I could not find her anywhere in the house." He hesitated.

"Yes?" Pitt prompted him.

El Abd looked down at the floor. "I went to the window and I saw nothing to the front, so I went to the back, and I saw movement through the bushes, the ones with the flat, shining leaves. I waited a few moments, but there was no more sound, and I knew of no reason to suppose there was anything wrong. I thought then that perhaps it was only the sound of the door that had wakened me."

"What did you do then?"

He lifted his shoulders slightly. "I was not required, sir. I went back to my bed. I do not know how long it was until I heard the people speaking, and the police called me downstairs."

"Did they show you a gun?"

"Yes, sir."

"And ask you whose it was?"

"Yes, sir. I said it was Miss Zakhari's." He looked down at the floor. "I did not know then what it had been used for. But I clean it and oil it, so of course I know it well."

"Why does Miss Zakhari have a gun?"

"It is not my place to ask such questions, sir."

"And you don't know?"

"No, sir."

"I see. But you would know if she had ever fired it before, since you clean it."

"No, sir, she has not."

"Thank you. Did you know Lovat... the dead man?"

"I do not think he has been here before."

That was not precisely what Pitt had asked, and he was aware of the evasion. Was it deliberate, or simply a result of the fact that the man was speaking a language other than his own?

"Have you seen him before?"

El Abd lowered his eyes. "I have not seen him at all, sir. It is my understanding that the policeman knew who he was from his clothes and the things in his pockets."

So they had not asked el Abd if he had seen Lovat before. That was an omission, but perhaps not one that would make a great deal of difference. He was Miss Zakhari's servant. Now that he knew she was accused of murdering Lovat, he would probably deny knowledge of him anyway.

Pitt finished his coffee and rose to his feet. "Thank you," he said, trying to swallow the last of the sweet, sticky liquid and clean his mouth of the taste.

"Sir." El Abd bowed very slightly, no more than a gesture.

Pitt went out of the back door, thanking Constable Cotter as he passed him. Then he walked along the mews and around the corner into Connaught Square, where he looked for a hansom to take him back to Narraway.

"WELL?" Narraway looked up from the papers he was reading. His face was a little pinched, his eyes anxious.

"The police are holding the woman, Ayesha Zakhari, and completely ignoring Ryerson," Pitt told him. "They aren't investigating it too closely because they don't want to know the answer." He walked over and sat down in the chair in front of Narraway's desk.

Narraway breathed in deeply, and then out again. "And what are the answers?" he asked, his voice quiet and very level. There was a stillness about him, as if his attention were so vivid he dared not distract himself by even the slightest action.

Pitt found himself unconsciously copying, refraining from crossing one leg over the other.

"That Ryerson helped her, at least