Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [85]
Pitt straightened up from the drawers where he had been sifting through papers yet again. “And what?” He frowned. “He and Weems had a quarrel and he saw the blunderbuss, went to the powder boxes, tipped the powder into the breach, picked up the gold coins from the desk, or wherever they were, loaded them, and then shot half Weems’s head off? What was Weems doing?”
Innes stood motionless.
“Well at least we know w’ere the gun came from,” he said defensively.
Pitt sighed. “We do,” he agreed. “Well done. Now we have to work out how in heaven’s name he managed to load it and fire it without Weems stopping him. What happened here, Innes? Can you think of anything—anything at ail-that would explain it?”
“No sir,” Innes said, pulling a face. “Maybe when we know who it is, we’ll understand.” He looked hopeful.
“Maybe,” Pitt agreed. “I was rather looking for it to be the other way, knowing what happened would lead us to who it is.”
Innes took a deep breath. “I don’t like to ’ave ter say this, sir, but could this nob o’ yours ’ave come ’ere, for whatever reason, an’ ’ad a quarrel with Weems, an’ ’is bein’ a nob, Weems don’t think ’e’d turn nasty, so ’E didn’t believe it when it ’appened. P’r’aps the nob—sorry sir—but not knowin’ ’is name I ’ave ter call ’im something, p’r’aps ’E admired the gun, casual like, and Weems, since ’E ’ad the upper ’and, Jus’ sat there an let ’im go on!”
Innes drew a deep breath. “An’ o’ course Weems knew ’E ’adn’t any shot for it, an’ ’E wouldn’t think o’ gold coin as bein’ ammunition. an’ the nob—sorry sir—’E quietly loads it, talking agreeable like, an’ keepin’ the gold coins in ’is pocket w’ere Weems don’t know about them—until the last moment when ’E shoved them down the barrel and lifted it up. And Weems were so surprised ’E didn’t believe it, till the gentleman fired, an’ it were too late!” He stood expectantly, waiting for Pitt’s comment.
“Doesn’t sound very probable,” Pitt said slowly. “But it’s better than anything else we’ve got so far. Pity we didn’t know Weems—only got other people’s ideas of him to know whether he was as complacent as that, or sure of having the whip hand.”
“From what I ’ear, ’E was,” Innes said with disgust. “ ’Ad a lot o’ power ’round ’ere—and liked the taste of it.”
Pitt pushed his hands into his pockets.
“Who did you get that from?” Pitt asked, realizing how little he had pressed Innes for the sources of his knowledge about the dead man. Perhaps he had been remiss. It was just conceivable the murder had been personal after all, and nothing to do with debt or blackmail, although it was so remote a possibility he did not believe it for a moment.
“We ’ad the errand chappie, Windy Miller, in again,” Innes replied, still holding the sheet of paper in his hand. “Nasty little beggar, but ’E certainly knew Weems pretty well. Got ’im summed up ter rights. Read ’im like a book, an’ ’ated ’im according.” Innes pushed out his lip. “Thought we might ’ave ’ad summink there, but ’e’s got twenty witnesses’ll swear ’E was in the Dog an’ Duck ’alf the night playin’ dominoes, and drunk under the table the other ’alf. Besides, ’E ’ad a good job wi’ Weems, and not like ter get another easy.”
Pitt sat down on the edge of the table.
“And he couldn’t tell you anything useful? Didn’t Weems have any female attachments, even just…” He hesitated, not sure how to phrase what he meant.
“No,” Innes answered for him with a wry grin. “Seems ’E ’adn’t no use fer women. Nor nobody else,” he added hastily. “Some people’s like that—not many, mind, but Weems were one of ’em. Liked money, an’ the power it give ’im. Windy said ’e’d always bin like that. ’is pa were a gambler, rich one day and dirt poor the next. died in debtors’ prison somewhere. Never knew ’is ma.”
“What did the housekeeper say about him?”
“Nothin’ much,” Innes said with a shrug. “Nasty piece o’ woik.”
“Mrs. Cairns?”
“No