The Hyde Park Headsman by Anne Perry Page A

tell me, Sergeant,” Pitt said without a flicker, and watched le Grange’s surprise with satisfaction. “Now what has Mr. Tellman told you to do next?”
    “He said as I should come up to you, Mr. Pitt, and see what you said we should do, you being in charge, like.” The expression in his face had altered somewhat since he came in, but it was still cautious, that of a man whose old prejudices die hard.
    With an effort Pitt ignored it. “Have you spoken to all the neighbors yet?”
    “Yes sir. No one said anything helpful. One elderly lady did see ’im start ’is walk in the evening, but since we already know from Mrs. Winthrop what time it was, it ’ardly adds to anything.”
    “Yes it does,” Pitt contradicted. “It confirms that she is telling the truth.”
    “You didn’t suspect ’er, did you, sir?” le Grange said with disbelief and a touch of sarcasm, all under the veneer of respect. “She’s really quite a small woman, sir. Tall, an’ all that, but must weigh like a feather. No flesh to her at all.”
    “Not of doing it herself, Sergeant, but it is not impossible she was involved. A great many crimes of violence are domestic in origin.”
    “Oh. Yes, well I suppose you’re right about that,” le Grange conceded graciously. “But I wouldn’t have thought a lady like that … well—I suppose you know the gentry, sir.”
    “It is a possibility, le Grange, that’s all. I assume nobody saw him approached by anyone else?”
    “No sir.”
    “And all these neighbors and acquaintances, were they all at home themselves?”
    “Sir?”
    “Can they account for where they were all night until about three in the morning, Sergeant?”
    “I dunno, sir.”
    “Then that’s what you do next. Find out!”
    “Yes sir. Will that be all, sir?”
    “Until you can answer that, yes!”
    “Sir!” And le Grange turned on his heel smartly and went out, leaving Pitt irritated and knowing there was nothing he could do about it.
    There were other cases which required at least some of his attention, a major robbery, a fire which seemed like arson, an embezzlement from a company of stockbrokers. It was the afternoon of the next day when Pitt was told by a pale-faced and breathless sergeant that there was a gentleman from the Home Office to see him, and the moment after he stood back, with an anguished glance of apology, a tall, very distinguished man came into the room. The sergeant beat a hasty retreat.
    “Landon Hurlwood,” the man announced as Pitt rose to hisfeet. “Good afternoon, Superintendent. Forgive my calling upon you unannounced, but the matter is somewhat urgent, and I had a few moments I could spare.”
    “Good afternoon, Mr. Hurlwood,” Pitt replied levelly. “Please make yourself comfortable.” He indicated the chair he had so often sat in himself when Micah Drummond had occupied this office. As Hurlwood accepted, Pitt sat in the easy chair and looked across at his visitor expectantly.
    Hurlwood was tall, almost as tall as Pitt, of slender build and still trim, although Pitt would have judged him to be in his late fifties. His hair was unblemished pewter gray, thick, and curled up over his ears. He had excellent, very dark eyes, and patrician features. He sat back and crossed his legs, totally at ease.
    “This appalling murder of poor Captain Winthrop, Superintendent,” he began, regarding Pitt with a slight smile. “What do we know so far?”
    Pitt outlined the facts, keeping all speculation and deduction to himself.
    Hurlwood listened intently. “I see,” he said at last. “I confess, this is worse than I had thought. One discounts a great deal that the newspapers have to say. I fear they are more interested in sensation than truth, and cater to the lowest of minds. But in this instance it seems they are not inaccurate, even if their choice of language is a trifle hysterical. Tell me frankly, Superintendent, what are your prospects of finding the lunatic who did this?”
    “If it is