‘If it were administered while she was alive, then yes,’ Crowther said. ‘If she had been killed, and the wound made afterwards, it would only leak a little.’ He examined the papers in his hand once more. ‘That is the conclusion they seem to have reached. No bruises to show she was throttled. Hyoid bone intact. They suggest she was smothered.’
‘Is that possible? To smother someone and leave no bruises?’ Harriet frowned, concentrating.
‘Yes,’ Crowther said simply.
‘She did not defend herself at all?’
‘If so, it left no mark on her or on Daniel.’
‘Of course Daniel had no mark on him,’ Graves said. ‘He didn’t kill that woman.’
‘He was deranged when they found him, Graves,’ Crowther said. ‘And he is a strong man, he could have smothered her quite easily.’
‘I did not know you had come all this way to help put his head in a noose.’
‘He has killed before.’
‘In defence of my wards, in a fair fight! Good God, Crowther, if you were a younger man, I would call you out.’
‘Do not let my age hinder you, Graves.’
‘Gentlemen!’ Harriet said. ‘Peace, please. Graves, you know perfectly well Crowther believes Clode to be a victim of some evil here, just as Lady Martesen was. And Crowther, please, have some humanity. What of the wounds on Clode’s wrists?’
Crowther shook his head. ‘Nothing to suggest they were not self-inflicted, other than the fact they make no mention of hesitation marks.’
‘How could he have been in such a state that he would let someone slice his wrists! Even if he were dead drunk.’ Harriet bit her lip. ‘And do not say that perhaps he did do it himself or Graves will fly at you again.’ Crowther preserved a diplomatic silence. Harriet’s fingers rapped against her dress. ‘You said there was something strange here.’
‘Clode spoke about dreaming of water, did he not, in his first meeting with Krall?’
Graves breathed deeply and calmly replied, ‘Yes, he dreamed he was drowning. Then dreamed this devil creature was slicing his wrists. They do not believe him. They think he was driven suddenly mad by guilt and somehow magicked a razor into the air and slit his own wrists. They think this devil is his conscience.’
Crowther said softly, ‘A pinkish foam around the mouth is indicative of death by drowning.’
‘Drowning?’ Harriet said. ‘In a locked room?’
‘Colonel Padfield said in his letter that the key was not in the lock when he broke down the door. If a door does not fit well in its frame, it is easy enough to lock it from the outside, then slide the key back in under the bottom edge. I experimented with the door to the dining room in Caveley while you were bullying your maid, Mrs Westerman.’
‘There is a terrible draught in that room. I wondered why Mrs Heathcote was looking at you so severely.’
There was a rustling from Graves. ‘Mr Crowther, is this foam conclusive proof of drowning?’
Harriet watched Gabriel as he replied, and began to see how much the journey had tired him. There was a greyness in his skin. She had not realised how much she had asked of him. ‘No, not conclusive. There are a couple of other telling phrases in Krall’s description of the autopsy, his comments on the appearance of the lungs and so on. I think it was not his own drowning Daniel dreamed of, but hers.’
‘But how?’ Harriet exclaimed.
‘I do not know,’ Crowther said slowly. ‘It is possible to drown in a gutter, of course.’
‘I saw some who died like that, during the riots in eighty,’ Graves said. ‘But she would have been soaked to the skin, or at least her hair would have been wet if she had been held in even a basin of water.’
Harriet straightened the papers on her lap and struggled to think clearly. ‘Suppose she were placed in the chair, her head tilted back, water poured down her throat in that position?’
‘Possible,’ Crowther said, ‘but she would have resisted. Her hair and clothes would be soaked as she tried to avoid inhaling the water. She would have exerted herself against the necessary restraints … It is in our nature to fight death. She would have to have been unconscious, but there is no mention of a head wound, no smell of alcohol or sign of opiates here. Yet, the foam, the shape of the lungs … The report does not realise it tells us she died by inhaling water, but I believe it does.’
‘Dear God, what a foul death,’ Harriet said, and they were all silent for a while, until Graves cleared his throat.
‘But what could have caused this strange confusion in Clode? He sounds as if he was seeing visions.’
‘That I cannot say,’ Crowther replied. ‘He must have been drugged in some way, but the effects are not like anything with which I am familiar.’ Harriet watched him out of the corner of her eye. She suspected from the manner in which he held himself that his shoulder was paining him, but knew better than to enquire.
‘Still. At least we have made a beginning,’ she said determinedly. ‘Where did this razor come from? If we can demonstrate that she drowned, who would believe that a man, as stumbling and confused as they testify Daniel was, could manage such a thing? They cannot hang him with us asking these questions.’
‘They would probably behead him,’ Crowther said. His shoulder was definitely troubling him.
‘They will do neither, Mrs Westerman,’ Graves said. ‘We have money, we have reputation, and we have the support of King George. We will not lose him.’
The horses slowed to a walk and the company arrived at Ulrichsberg just as the church bells were ringing midday.
II.2
The same day, the Old Lecture Hall, Leuchtenstadt, Maulberg
A century of chalk-dust rather than incense, the silted spirits of many years of intense intellectual strain rather than devoted prayer, but the Old Lecture Hall did have the atmosphere of a cathedral, that reverential attention of the congregation listening while a single voice unfolded mysteries in Latin — though these mysteries were mathematical rather than metaphysical. It was usually silent, so when someone yawned very loudly then returned to gnawing the last flesh off his apple core, the sound echoed out like someone singing bawdy ballads at Communion. The Professor’s chalk ceased to move across the board. He abandoned Monsieur Clairaut’s explanation of the motion of the apsis to turn slowly towards the auditorium of students.
It was quickly obvious who the offender was. The significant glances of his more cowardly pupils guided the Professor’s gaze towards the centre of the room where a youth sat — no, not sat, lolled — core in hand and staring up at the plain, whitewashed ceiling above him. The Professor stared his famous Medusa-like stare until the boy, apparently aware that the low drone of his voice had ceased, turned towards him and grinned. He spoke in German, like a shopkeeper.
‘Sorry, Professor, do carry on. I think you were still on the second order effects, weren’t you?’ The youth yawned again, and the Professor found himself on the receiving end of what could only be described as an encouraging wink.
The boy who delivered it could not be more than twenty. His light brown hair was unpowdered and the eyes somewhere between grey and blue. It was not a very handsome face; the nose was snub and its expression was rather foolish, or rather innocent to the point of foolishness. He looked, the Professor’s mind rummaged through its clutter of equations and Latin maxims for the right word … fresh.
The silence in the room that followed this remark deepened as forty young men of good family and high expectations drew in their breath and waited for the explosion.
‘I would hate to think I am boring you, Mr …?’
‘Pegel, Herr Professor, Jacob Pegel at your service.’ He waved the remnants of his breakfast. ‘No, not boring me exactly, but this is all quite basic stuff, isn’t it? Good old Clairaut.’ He looked about him at the white, awe-struck faces of his fellow students, the same foolish grin on his face.