Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [35]
“From the cupboard,” he said calmly. “They took all the sheets down to see which ones they could save.”
“But V R means they’s ’ers!” She stared up at him, exasperated at his obtuseness. “’Er own, like! An’ they weren’t folded like the rest of ’em in the cupboard, sir. They bin slept in! They was all creased and rankled up.”
Pitt looked very grave. “Are you certain, Gracie?”
“’Course I am! It din’t make no sense, but I’m certain sure for positive,” she was emphatic. “An’ that in’t all. There’s a table knife missing, one o’ the real sharp ones for cutting meat. Rob, the boot boy, says he saw an old man ’ere wot brought a big box, about midnight, an’ then took it away again.”
“When?” Pitt asked. “The night of the murder? Where?”
“Downstairs, going past the butler’s pantry and out into the yard,” she replied. “’E came wi’ a big wooden box. Edwards ’elped him carry it.”
“How big was the box?” Pitt said immediately.
“Dunno. But I can ask.”
“No,” he said quickly, grasping her arm. “Don’t ask. It doesn’t matter. See if you can find out if anyone else saw him, and how long he was here. Just possibly the woman’s death has nothing to do with the guests here after all.” He smiled suddenly, a glowing look, full of hope.
Gracie grinned back at him, satisfied she had helped him, really helped. Maybe even helped the Queen herself. Suddenly the scrubbing and the obedience were worth it. She heard footsteps below, and went on up the steps with light feet, leaving Pitt to go down.
CHAPTER
FOUR
PITT RECEIVED GRACIE’S information with a surge of optimism. He paced the room he had been given, turning it over in his mind. If it could be proved that the old man the boot boy had seen entering the Palace with the box delivered to Cahoon Dunkeld was guilty, then the case could be closed with no worse scandal than a certain laxity on the part of the guards who had allowed him in. But even that was something for which they could hardly be blamed. He had come because he was a carter delivering a box belonging to one of His Royal Highness’s guests. And if he had taken one of the dinner knives, the sudden opportunity presenting itself, then he had not arrived armed, or with the intent to commit murder.
So how on earth had he found the prostitute and persuaded her to go with him to the linen cupboard? What had happened to her clothes? No one had yet found them. And more than that, if he were a lunatic seeking a victim at random, why not one of the maids he met in a corridor?
He must have known the prostitute and deliberately sought her out. By the time he had gone upstairs he already had the knife, taken from downstairs because the dinner plates had long since been removed from the dining room.
It was imperative that they find out more about the woman: her nature, her background, even her other clientele. The crime could be personal after all. He must contact Narraway and tell him. Perhaps after all there was an escape from the appalling conclusion that the murderer had to be one of the guests.
He turned on his heel and went immediately to Tyndale to ask him for permission to use the telephone. Permission granted, he called Narraway and told him the latest development and the necessity of finding out as much as possible about the woman. Then he sent for the footman, Edwards, and questioned him again.
“This box that was delivered for Mr. Dunkeld between midnight and one o’clock on the morning of the murder,” he began.
Edwards looked uncomfortable but his gaze did not waver. “Yes?”
“Can you describe this carter?”
Edwards chewed his lip, moving his weight from one foot to the other. “Didn’t really look at ’im. I was too busy carryin’ that box up the stairs. ’E ’ad the back end of it.”
“How large was it?” Pitt asked.
“’Bout three feet long, maybe four, an’…” Edwards gestured with his rather large hands, describing the shape of an ordinary luggage chest, broader than it was deep. “Like that.”
“Heavy?”
“’Bout like yer’d expect with books an’ papers.”
“Lot of books?