Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [46]
“Time of death. Cause?”
“Time fixed by the fact he was in the bath. Cause, being struck by a rounded, blunt instrument, probably a jar of bath salts, then held under the water until he drowned.”
“You found him under the water?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
Again there was silence.
“Sir?”
“Yes,” Cornwallis said with resolve. “Take charge of the investigation, Pitt. You have Tellman. If you can, do it without letting the news out for the time being. The Parnell-O’Shea divorce is coming to a climax. If they find against Parnell, it could ruin his career. The Irish Nationalists will be without a leader—until they find a new one. It could very well be one of the men now at Ashworth Hall. What have you told people?”
“Nothing yet, but I shall have to.”
“Where’s Radley?”
“With Emily.”
“Have him telephone me. You can’t proceed with the conference for the moment, out of decency, if nothing else. But neither must we abandon it if there is any way whatever of continuing.”
“Without Greville?” Pitt was startled.
“I’ll speak to the Home Office. Don’t let anyone leave.”
“Of course not.”
“You won’t need force to keep them there; to leave would be diplomatic suicide. But if you need assistance from the village police, you have the authority to require it. Have Radley call me in half an hour.”
“Yes sir.” He hung up the receiver feeling hollow and extraordinarily alone. His sole purpose there had been to keep Greville safe. He could hardly have failed more absolutely. And he had no idea who had killed him. He would have been better to have stayed in London and looked for Denbigh’s murderer.
He left the library and went back upstairs. Charlotte was nowhere in sight. Perhaps she was still helping Emily keep some sort of order among the guests, who were all aware of Greville’s death but not that it was anything other than a tragic accident … except perhaps one of them.
He saw the young Irish valet of Lorcan McGinley closing a bedroom door, a coat over his arm and a pair of boots in his hand. He looked very pale.
“Do you know where Mr. Greville’s man is?” Pitt asked him.
“Yes sir, I passed him not two minutes ago, making a cup o’ tea, sir. Two doors back that way.” He pointed.
Pitt thanked him and followed his directions to the small room where there was a kettle and gas ring for making tea. The man attending to it was in his middle forties, grave and ordinarily very much in command of events. His dark hair was smoothed off his brow and his cravat was perfectly tied, but he looked distinctly ill. He started when he heard Pitt’s voice and nearly spilled the jug of hot water he was holding.
“I’m sorry,” Pitt apologized. “What is your name?”
“Wheeler, sir. Can I get you something?”
“I’m a superintendent of police, Wheeler. The assistant commissioner has asked me to investigate Mr. Greville’s death.”
Wheeler set the jug down before he could spill it. His hands were shaking. He licked his lips.
“Yes … sir?”
“What time did you draw Mr. Greville’s bath yesterday evening?” Pitt asked.
“Ten twenty-five, sir.”
“And did Mr. Greville go to it immediately, do you know?”
“Yes sir, within a few moments. He has a great dislike … had a great dislike for a cold bath, and water cools off very fast in a big bathroom.”
“You saw him?”
Wheeler frowned. “Yes sir. Is there some problem, sir? I understood he slipped as he was getting out.” He clenched and unclenched his hands. “I should have been there. I blame myself. He didn’t ask for assistance, but if I’d been there, he’d never have slipped.”
Pitt hesitated only a moment. There was nothing to be gained by pretending.
“He didn’t slip. He was struck by someone.”
Wheeler stared at him as if he did not understand.
“How long did Mr. Greville usually spend in a bath before either getting out or sending for more hot water?” Pitt asked him.
“What? You mean … deliberate? Why?” Wheeler’s voice rose. “Who’d do such a fearful thing? One o’ them dammed Irish!” He struggled for breath as the full realization came to him of what Pitt was saying. “They murdered him! What