Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [98]
“You’ll take care of it, sir?” Innes said at last as they came to the crossroad with the main thoroughfare. They were obliged to wait several minutes for the traffic to ease.
“Yes,” Pitt answered, without any inner decision. Of course he must face Urban with it, but if in some way Urban could prove he had not killed Weems, if he had been in Stepney that night and had witnesses, then would Pitt still report his moonlighting? It was a decision he did not have to make today. If Urban was guilty of murder it would hardly matter.
Innes began across the road, dashing in and out of manure; there was no crossing sweeper. Pitt followed him, narrowly missed by a berline driven by a gentleman in a high temper.
“Mr. Pitt—” Innes began when they were over the street and on the far pavement.
“Yes?” Pitt knew he was going to ask if he had to report Urban.
“Ah—” Innes changed his mind. It was a question to which he did not really want to know the answer; he preferred to hope.
Pitt did not bother to pursue it. They both understood the justice, and the account.
Pitt found Urban in his office, and was angry because he liked the man, angry with the frailty that had made him sacrifice so much for a few pictures, no matter how lovely.
“What is it now?” Urban’s face was shadowed. He knew Pitt would not have returned yet again unless there was some unavoidable need, and perhaps he saw the emotions in Pitt’s all too readable face.
“Weems,” Pitt replied. “Still Weems. Are you sure you don’t want to tell me where you were the night he died?”
“It wouldn’t make any difference,” Urban answered slowly. “I can’t prove it, and you can’t accept my word without proof. But I didn’t kill him. I didn’t even know him.”
“If you were in Stepney you could prove it,” Pitt said quietly. “The management must keep records.”
Urban’s cheeks paled, but his eyes remained on Pitt’s face.
“You followed me? I didn’t see you, and I was prepared. I thought you might.”
“No,” Pitt said, biting his lip. “I had someone else do it. I’d have been a fool to try myself. Of course you’d have seen me. Is that where you were?”
“No.” Urban smiled, a sad, self-mocking expression. “I wish now I had been. I went to another hall, where I thought I might get a better rate, but I didn’t give my name. I didn’t want word out. I might lose what I had.”
“Why?” Pitt said harshly. “You’re paid enough here. Are a few paintings worth it—really?”
Urban shrugged. “I thought so at the time. Now perhaps not.”
He faced Pitt squarely, his eyes full of something that was half a question, half an apology. “Tomorrow I don’t suppose I’ll think so at all. I like being a policeman. But I did not kill Weems—I’d never heard of him until you came in here and told me about my name being on his list. Perhaps he intended blackmailing me, and was killed before he could—” He stopped, and once again Pitt had the powerful impression he was lying by omission.
“For God’s sake tell me!” Pitt said furiously, his voice husky. “It’s more than your career in jeopardy, man. It’s your life! You had the motive to kill Weems, you had the opportunity, and so far as we know, you had as much chance of the means as anyone. What is it? What is it you are hiding? You know something. Has it to do with Osmar and why Carswell let him off?”
“Osmar,” Urban said slowly, his smile becoming softer as if in some way at last he had given in. “I suppose I have nothing left to lose now, except my neck.” He moved his head jerkily as he spoke as if freeing it from some grip. “The Circle may do me a great deal of harm, but it won’t be as bad as the hangman …”
“Circle?” Pitt had no idea what he was talking about. “What circle?”
Urban sat down behind his desk and echoing his movement Pitt sat down also.
“The Inner Circle,” Urban said very quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper as if he was afraid even here of being overheard. “It is a secret society for mutual benefit, charitable work, and the righting of injustices.