Seven Dials Page 0,8

in attempting to dispose of the body," he replied.

"Indeed..." Narraway breathed out slowly, but none of the tension disappeared from him. "And what evidence told you that?"

"She is a slender woman, at the time wearing a white dress," Pitt replied. "The dead man was slightly over average height and weight. It took two mortuary attendants to lift him from the barrow into the wagon, although of course they may have been more careful with him than whoever was trying to dispose of him."

Narraway nodded, his lips tight.

"But her white dress was not stained with mud or blood," Pitt went on. "Only a little leaf mold from where she had knelt on the ground, possibly beside him where he lay."

"I see." Narraway's voice was tight. "And Ryerson?"

"I didn't ask," Pitt said. "The constable was quite aware of why I enquired, and of the obvious conclusions. Do you want me to go back and ask him? I can do so perfectly easily, but it will then-"

"I can work that out for myself, Pitt!" Narraway snapped. "No. I do not want you to do that... at least not yet." His eyes flickered for a moment, then he looked over at the far wall. "We'll see what happens."

Pitt sat still, aware of a curious, unfinished air in the room, as if elusive but powerful things were just beyond the edge of perception. Narraway had left something unsaid. Did it matter? Or was it just an accumulation of knowledge gathered over the years, a feeling of unease rather than a thought?

Narraway hesitated also, then the moment passed and he looked up at Pitt again. "Well, go on," he said, but with less asperity than before. "You've told me what you saw and what the constable reported. We'll save Ryerson from himself, if we can. The next move is up to the police. Go home and have breakfast. I might want you later."

Pitt stood up, still looking at Narraway, who stared back at him-his eyes bright, almost blank of emotion, but with deliberate concealment. Pitt was as certain of that as he was of the charge in the room, like electricity in the air on a sultry day.

"Yes, sir," he said quietly, and with Narraway still looking at him, he went out of the door.

WHEN HE GOT HOME, it was late morning. His children, Jemima and Daniel, were at school, and Charlotte and the maid, Gracie, were in the kitchen. He heard their laughter the moment he opened the front door. He smiled to himself as he bent and took off his boots. The sounds washed around him like a balm: women's voices, the clatter of pans, a kettle whistling shrilly. The house was warm from the kitchen stove, and there was an odor of freshly laundered cotton, still a little damp, clean wood from the scrubbed floor, and baking bread.

A marmalade-striped cat came out of the kitchen doorway and stretched luxuriously, then trotted towards him, tail up in a question mark.

"Hello, Archie," Pitt said softly, stroking the animal as it swiveled under his hand, pressing against him and purring. "I suppose you want half my breakfast?" he went on. "Well, come on then." He stood up and walked silently down to the doorway, the cat following.

In the kitchen, Charlotte was tipping bread out of its tin onto a rack to cool, and Gracie, still small and thin although she was now well over twenty, was putting clean blue-and-white china away on the Welsh dresser.

Sensing his presence rather than seeing him, Charlotte turned around, questions in her face.

"Breakfast," he replied with a smile.

Gracie did not ask anything. She was outspoken enough once she was involved. She did not regard that as impertinence, rather the role of helping and looking after him, which she had taken upon herself almost from the time she had arrived in the household, at the age of thirteen, half starved, and with all her clothes too big for her. Her hair had been scraped back off her bright little face, and although then she could neither read nor write, she had a wit as sharp as any.

Now she was far more mature, and considered herself to be an invaluable employee of the cleverest detective in England, or anywhere else, a position she would not have exchanged for one in service to the Queen herself.

"It's not the Inner Circle again, is it?" Charlotte said with an edge of fear in her voice.

Gracie stood frozen, the dishes in her hands. No one had forgotten