Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [158]
Pitt brushed aside their arguments. He was not on this occasion interested in the general excellence of the establishment, only had they recently interviewed a man answering the description he gave.
Unfortunately three managers said they had. But in each case the description was so general it could have been Urban, or any of a thousand others. It only highlighted the impossibility of proving Urban innocent, unless the managers were faced with the actual man, and their memories were clear enough to make a positive identification.
Finally he went back to the hall in Stepney where he knew Urban had worked and asked to see the manager. A large man with thin hair scraped across the top of his head, and graying at the temples, came out to see him. He was well dressed, and it flashed through Pitt’s mind that he possibly owned the building as well as ran it.
“Yes, Inspector? My name is Caulfield, Hosea Caulfield. What can I do for you?” he asked agreeably. His voice was light and his diction a little sibilant. “Always help the police, if I can. What is it this time? Not that bouncer fellow again, is it? Getting hisself into trouble? Police were ’ere asking about him.”
“Yes it is,” Pitt answered, watching the man’s face, noticing the way he stood. There was something about him that puzzled, something not what he expected.
“Oh dear.” Caulfield rubbed his hands together as if he were cold, although it was midsummer and humid. “I feared as much, since the other officer was here. But I can’t help you.” He shook his head. “He never came back. Scarpered, you might say. Suspicious that, in itself.”
Pitt struggled to place what it was in the man that troubled him. He had spoken to enough music hall managers. They were all civil, but they were not fond of the police, and were better pleased to see him leave than arrive. But Caulfield was almost eager. He stood on the balls of his feet and under his fair brows his eyes were sharp on Pitt’s face. He was waiting for something, and it was not for Pitt to go. He wanted something first. Was it to receive information, or to give it?
To give it. Pitt could tell him nothing he could not have found out from Innes, and by general inquiry. And there was some emotion in him far stronger than fear, at least than fear of Pitt.
“What is it I can tell you, Inspector?” Caulfield urged, his face eager, his manner wavering between the dignified and deferential, as though he was uncertain of his role. “I know very little of the man, except he did his job well. Never gave me any trouble. Although he was an odd one.” He shook his head, then when Pitt was silent, pursued his thoughts regardless. “Struck up some strange friendships, or perhaps acquaintances would be a better term for it. I suppose a music hall is a good place for meeting people casually, unobserved, as it were, if you know what I mean?” He looked at Pitt questioningly.
Pitt found himself disliking him, and instinct fought with reason. He was being unfair. The man was probably anxious for his livelihood. There had already been one policeman inquiring about his employees. If he now suspected there had been some criminal activity on his premises he had every reason to be worried. An innocent man would behave this way.
Caulfield was watching Pitt’s face closely.
“Do you want to see the room he used?” he asked, licking his lips.
“Used?” Pitt said with a frown. “For what purpose?