Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [88]
“But you have encountered him?” he said with conviction.
“I’ve never met him,” Urban denied. He had chosen his words carefully, but his face was open and he met Pitt’s gaze easily. “Cyrus Street is out of my area—yours too, for that matter.” His eyebrows rose. “Why are you concerned anyway?”
Pitt told all the truth that he could. “Because of the people who may be involved.”
“Not on my account. Who else is on the list?” Urban asked, pointing to the chair near Pitt, and sitting down in his own chair behind the desk.
Pitt smiled ruefully. “Confidential,” he apologized.
“But important people,” Urban pressed. “Weems was killed several days ago now. I’m not the first you’ve come to see—and you’ve been handling the political cases this last year or so. There’s someone of considerable influence involved in this.” He was watching Pitt’s face and he knew he was right. It was beyond Pitt’s ability, or his desire, to conceal it.
“It was a large amount of money,” Pitt said instead.
“What? That Weems has me down for?” Urban looked puzzled. “But it’s irrelevant—I didn’t owe him anything. I never had anything to do with him.” He took in a breath as if to add something, then changed his mind.
“Why was the solicitor here?” Pitt asked abruptly.
“What?” Urban’s mouth tightened in irritation again. “Oh—that damned Osmar!” He shook his head. “They not only threw the case out of the magistrate’s court, you know, now the wretched man is charging that Crombie and Allardyce committed perjury in saying he behaved indecently in the park, and he wants them prosecuted for it. Can you credit it? I had the best solicitor I could find to see if we can reopen the case and try him again.”
“Osmar?”
“Yes. Why not? Parkins thinks there’s a good chance.”
Pitt smiled. “Good. At least save Crombie and Allardyce from charges.”
“I intend to. And I’d like to know why the magistrate threw it out.” This time it was Urban who saw the momentary evasion in Pitt’s eyes. He hesitated on the edge of asking him, then some professional instinct asserted itself and he remained silent.
“You have no idea why?” Pitt asked.
“None at all,” Urban replied, and Pitt knew he was lying.
“Thank you for your time,” he said. “I’ll have to go back to the list and see what else I can find.”
“Sorry I can’t help you,” Urban apologized again, and smiled courteously as Pitt took his leave.
Investigating Urban proved to be both as difficult and as distasteful as Pitt had expected. He began by going to Urban’s home. This time he took the public omnibus, as the route took him to within five hundred yards of the street, and he was in no particular hurry. Indeed the hot, noisy ride on the bus, sitting squashed between a thin woman in blue with a cold in her head and a large man smelling of beer, gave him an opportunity to let his thoughts roam. Not that it accomplished anything. He had liked Urban and the thought of prying into his private life was increasingly unpleasant. And because he was intelligent and forewarned, this would prove very difficult to accomplish without his becoming aware of it.
By asking him openly about Weems he had forewarned him that Pitt knew he was connected with the case. He was still feeling angry and miserable about Charlotte, furious with her for behaving as if she were a lady with leisure and money to do as she pleased, and for not making better use of her time than entertaining herself. And he was miserable because that was what she had been born to expect, and she was so easily and naturally enjoying the chance that Emily had given her and Pitt never could. And it hurt that she should still find these things so important. He had enjoyed the spectacle of the occasion himself. People had always interested him, people of every sort, and he had been enthralled watching the faces, and observing the ritual games they played with one another, and the passions behind the masks.
But this investigation