Half Moon Street - Anne Perry [48]
He spent the rest of the day visiting them, but learned nothing else that furthered his knowledge of Cathcart’s life.
In the morning he met with Tellman, and over a cup of tea in the kitchen they discussed the matter.
“Not a thing,” Tellman said dismally. He kept glancing at the door as if he half expected Gracie to come in any moment. He heard the marmalade cat, Archie, come trotting along the passage and look up hopefully at Pitt, then seeing he was unresponsive, go over to the laundry basket and hop in as well. He curled up half on top of his brother and went to sleep.
“Nor I,” Pitt replied. “He was brilliant, and I saw one of his competitors who acknowledged as much, but he was doing well enough.”
“You don’t murder someone because they’ve got a talent you haven’t,” Tellman said gloomily. “You might spread lies about them or criticize their work.” He shook his head, staring at his half-empty cup. “But this was personal. It wasn’t a matter of money, I’d swear to that.”
Pitt reached for the teapot and refilled his cup. “I know,” he said quietly. “Someone who merely wanted him out of the way wouldn’t do this. But I couldn’t find anything in his life to provoke this sort of emotion. We aren’t looking in the right place.”
“Well, I’ve been all around this day-to-day business,” Tellman said defensively, straightening his shoulders a little. “He lived pretty high! He’s got to have spent a lot more than he made taking pictures. And he bought that house, we know that. Where’d the money come from? Blackmail, if you ask me.”
Pitt was inclined to agree. They had already investigated the possibility of theft, using Cathcart’s knowledge of art and of the possessions of his clients. But none of the clients admitted to any losses.
“You must have talked to enough people.” He looked up at Tellman. “What did they say about him?”
Tellman reached for the teapot. “Spent a lot of money but paid his bills on time.” He sighed. “Liked good things—the best—but he wasn’t awkward to suit, like some folk. Always pleasant enough to the few that saw him, that is. Sent for a lot of things, or had them on regular order. Seems he worked pretty hard.”
“How hard?” Pitt asked, his mind turning over the clients he knew of from Cathcart’s list.
Tellman looked puzzled.
“Hours?” Pitt prompted. “He only took about one client a week, on average. Visited them maybe twice or three times, then had them to his studio for the actual photograph. That’s not ten hours a day, by any means.”
“No, it isn’t.” Tellman frowned. “Doesn’t exactly account for the time he seems to have been away, and people assumed he was working. Perhaps he wasn’t? Could have been doing anything. Wouldn’t be the first man that said he was working when he wasn’t.”
“Whatever he was doing, it made him money,” Pitt said grimly. “We need to know what it was.” He drank the last of his tea and stood up. “It’s about the only thing we’ve got.”
“Unless it was really the Frenchman and not Cathcart at all,” Tellman answered, standing as well. “That would explain everything.”
“Except where Cathcart is.” Pitt poured a little milk for Archie and Angus, and made sure they had food. Angus smelled the milk in his sleep and woke up, stretching and purring.
“Well, if it is Cathcart, where is the Frenchman?” Tellman continued. “He didn’t go on the boat from Dover, he came back on the train to London, but he’s not here now.”
“And as long as the people at the French Embassy maintain that they know where he is, that is not our problem.” Pitt made sure the back door was locked. “Let’s go and see Miss Monderell again. Maybe she knows where Cathcart spent the rest of his time.”
The door was opened to them by a startled maid who told them very firmly that Miss Monderell was not yet receiving visitors and if they cared to come back in an hour she would enquire whether Miss Monderell would see them then.
Tellman drew in his breath sharply, and only with difficulty waited for Pitt to speak. It was quarter to ten. In his opinion, plain already in his face, anyone who was not ill should have been out of bed