Jack waited for Pitt to speak. “Cornwallis asked me to conduct the investigation,” Pitt began, looking at Jack. “Will you telephone him in about fifteen minutes? He will have spoken to the Home Office by then. We have to keep everybody here ….”
Emily let out a little groan and went over to stand beside Jack.
“I’m sorry,” Pitt apologized. “I know it will be appalling, but I can’t let them go. Unless there was a break-in, and Tellman is looking at that now, then someone already here was responsible.”
“Even if there was a break-in, it could still involve someone here,” Jack said grimly. He put his hand up to Emily’s arm and gripped her. “We have no alternative, my dear, except to do everything we can to discover the truth as quickly as possible. At least Mrs. Greville has her brother and son here to care for her. It could have been worse. And Charlotte will help you with the others.” He turned to Pitt. “I suppose there is no further danger, is there?”
Emily stiffened till she was almost rigid.
Pitt hesitated. There was nothing they could guard against. Frightening them would serve no purpose.
“Certainly not for the moment. And we’ll do all we can to solve it as quickly as possible.”
Emily looked at him with disbelief. “Where can you even start?”
“Well, we know he was killed between twenty-five past ten and twenty to eleven, because of his valet’s evidence—”
“And you believe it?” Jack cut in.
“The man’s been with him nineteen years. But I will have Tellman check. It will be easy enough to know what time the water was taken up for the bath. And he couldn’t stay in it longer than a quarter of an hour before sending for more hot.”
“Why kill him in the bath?” Jack said, pulling a rueful face. “It seems to add indignity to death, poor devil.”
“Best place to be sure of finding him alone.” Emily had gathered her wits from her distress and begun to think. “And pretty defenseless. Anywhere else and he could have a valet with him, or someone catching a moment to put some point to him, or be with Eudora. It is the one place a person is alone, and with the door unlocked so more water could be brought. It makes sense, when you consider it. It wasn’t a break-in, was it, Thomas?” She said it with certainty. “It was someone here who chose their time very well.”
“Do you know where you were?” Pitt asked
“In my own bath,” Jack said with a shiver.
“So you don’t know where anyone else was?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Emily?”
“In my bedroom, with the door closed. After that awful day …” She smiled tightly, possibly thinking of the day before, then the present. “I was tired. I’m sorry, I can’t help either.”
Jack looked up at Pitt.
“Don’t forget to call Cornwallis.” Pitt smiled briefly, then went out again and almost bumped into Tellman. “No break-in,” he said, looking at Tellman’s expression.
“No break-in,” Tellman agreed.
Pitt told him what he had learned from the valet about the time of death.
“Narrows it a bit.” Tellman began to look a little more cheerful. At least he was now engaged in his proper employment, not pretending to be some servant. Pitt could see it in his eyes.
“We’ll leave Mrs. Greville until last, give her a little time to compose herself,” Pitt directed. Questioning the bereaved was one of the worst parts of an investigation. At least this time he did not have to break the news to her. And it was also a political matter, not a personal one, so she should fear no disclosure of ugly relationships and secrets she had not known. There would be no public revelations of dishonor. “See what you can learn from the servants.”
Tellman’s jaw set hard. “I’ll need to tell them who I am!” His look defied Pitt to order him otherwise.
Pitt nodded and Tellman took his leave, moderately satisfied.
Pitt went to find the first of the guests to question.
As he passed the dining room he saw Charlotte was no longer there, nor was Iona.
He went slowly upstairs and knocked on the McGinleys’ door. On hearing Lorcan’s voice, he opened the door and went in. Iona had returned and was standing by the window, apparently much more composed than when he had seen her in the dining room. Lorcan was sitting over a breakfast tray on the small center table. He had eaten quite well, judging by the empty plate.
“What can we do for you, Mr. Pitt?” Lorcan asked, a little more coolly. His thin face, with its very blue eyes, was full of nervous energy. There were hollows at the bridge of his nose and small lines beside his mouth. Pitt had not thought before of the weight of responsibility which must rest on each of the representatives of the sectarian interests, and the burden of criticism they would bear whatever they achieved, or failed to achieve. And now with Greville’s death it was all wasted. It could only be failure and disappointed hopes.
“I am afraid it is very unpleasant news,” he said, looking from one to the other of them. “I am with the—”
“I know Greville is dead.” Lorcan stood up, almost unfolding himself. He was painfully thin. “That is the end of the conference. We’re finished. Another disaster. We should be used to them, but each one still hurts.”
“That is not my decision, Mr. McGinley,” Pitt replied. “Another chairman might be found ….”
“Rubbish! Please don’t patronize me, Mr. Pitt! You cannot just substitute someone else at this point, even if you could find anyone with the courage and the skill of Ainsley Greville.”
“The courage might be hard,” Pitt agreed. “Especially when they know, as they will have to, that Mr. Greville was murdered.”
Iona froze, her eyes wide and suddenly truly afraid.
Lorcan looked up at Pitt slowly, as if trying to think of the right thing to say.
“Who told you that?” he asked. “And who the hell are you to come in here saying such a thing?”
“I’m with the police. And nobody told me, I saw it for myself.”
Lorcan’s eyes did not move from Pitt’s. “Are you … indeed?”
“What are you going to do?” Iona asked him. “Did someone break in after all? I thought there were men around to make sure we were safe. It’s the Protestants. They don’t want us to achieve Home Rule. It’s the same old thing! When they can’t win by reason or the law, they murder us. God knows, the soil of Ireland is steeped in the blood of martyrs—”
“Be quiet,” Lorcan said immediately. “If Mr. Pitt’s a policeman it’s surely a shame he didn’t manage to protect Greville, but since he didn’t, it is not for us to go flinging blame around. Keep a still tongue. At least you can do that much … unless, of course, you know something you should be telling him?” His lip curled. “Your friend Moynihan, for example?” His tone was cruel, sarcastic, but Pitt could hardly blame him for that.
Iona blushed furiously but did not retaliate.
“What time did you retire last night?” Pitt asked.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Lorcan replied.
“No one broke in, Mr. McGinley. Mr. Greville was killed by someone in this house. What time did you retire?”
“About quarter past ten, or close enough.” He looked back at Pitt with a cold, defiant stare. “I didn’t come out of my room again.” He swiveled to look at his wife, waiting for her to answer as well.
“Were you alone?” Pitt pressed, not hoping for any very helpful answer. A man’s wife could not be made to testify against him, and unsubstantiated testimony from her was of no value.
“No,” Lorcan said abruptly. “Hennessey, my manservant, was here some of the time.”
“Do you know when?”
“About quarter past ten until ten minutes to eleven,” Lorcan replied.