Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [181]
“Did he appear ill?”
“No, merely thinking. At least that is how it seemed to me. With the wisdom of hindsight I appreciate that he may have felt unwell.” Livesey was watching Pitt now, and his blue eyes were amused. “Are you trying to ask me if I saw him drink from his flask? I don’t believe so, but I cannot swear. He did reach for something from his pocket, but I was not paying sufficient attention to see what it was. I am sorry.”
“It is not of importance. He did drink from it at some time, that is beyond question,” Pitt said flatly.
“Indeed, tragically, that is true.” Livesey frowned. “Tell me, Pitt, what is it you hope to learn? If I knew I might be better able to answer you. I confess, I don’t see what you believe there is that could help. We know the poison was in the flask, and that he died of it. What assistance would it be if someone had seen him actually drink? Surely it is inescapable that it did happen?”
“Yes, of course it is,” Pitt conceded. “I admit, I don’t know. I am simply fishing for anything I can find.”
“Well, I cannot think of anything further to add. I saw him drift into what I took at the time to be a sleep. It was not remarkable. He would certainly not be the first man to sleep in the theater!” Again the flash of humor crossed his face. “It was only when I saw Mrs. Stafford’s agitation that I realized he was ill. Then, of course, I rose and went out of my own box and into theirs, to see if I could offer any assistance. The rest you know yourself.”
“Not quite. There is the interval. Did you leave your box?”
“Yes. I went to find a little refreshment, and to stand. One gets stiff sitting for so long.”
“Did you see Stafford leave his box?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Did you go to the gentlemen’s smoking room?”
“Very briefly. I looked in, and then left again immediately. To tell the truth there were one or two people there I preferred not to see. They insist on speaking of legal matters, and I wanted to enjoy an evening away from such things.”
“And you didn’t see Stafford until you returned to your box?”
“No. I’m sorry.” Livesey rose to his feet, pushing himself up from the arms of his chair. “I am afraid there is nothing else I can tell you, Inspector. Nor could I usefully suggest anywhere further for you to look, except into poor Stafford’s domestic life.”
“Thank you for sparing me your time.” Pitt stood up also. “You have been very patient.”
“I am sorry I could be of no help.” Livesey held out his hand and Pitt shook it. It was an unusual courtesy from a judge to a policeman, and he appreciated it.
After luncheon he went to the offices of Adolphus Pryce and was obliged to wait nearly half an hour before Pryce was free to see him. The office was the same, comfortable, elegant, and individual. Pryce himself was just as graceful, but there was a tiredness in his face and his gestures looked habitual, devoid of the inner energy they had had before. He too was disappointed in himself: his dreams had been shown to be shallow, his emotions dishonest, and it hurt him where there was no evasion, and as yet no healing.
“Yes, Pitt? What can I do for you?” he said politely. “Do sit down.” He indicated the chair opposite. “I really feel I have already told you everything I know, but if there is something more, please ask me.” He smiled bleakly. “I should congratulate you for solving the Farriers’ Lane case. That was an excellent piece of work. You have certainly put the rest of us to shame. Poor Godman was innocent. That is a fact I shall not live with easily.”
“Nor, I imagine, will many others,” Pitt said grimly. “But you have nothing to reproach yourself for. Your duty was to prosecute