Paragon Walk - Anne Perry [47]
He was received with chilly civility at the Nash house and conducted to the morning room, where a few moments later Afton appeared. He looked tired, and there were harsh lines of irritation around his mouth. Afflicted by a summer cold that obliged him to keep dabbing at his nose, he looked at Pitt with disfavor.
“I presume you are now here with reference to my brother’s apparent disappearance?” he said, and sniffed. “I have no idea where he is. He gave no indication of intending to leave.” He pulled his mouth down. “Or of being afraid.”
“Afraid?” Pitt wanted to allow him room and time to say anything he would.
Afton looked at him with contempt.
“I am not going to avoid the obvious, Mr. Pitt. In view of what has happened here recently to Fanny, it is not impossible that Fulbert is also dead.”
Pitt sat sideways on the arm of one of the chairs.
“Why, Mr. Nash? Whoever killed your sister cannot possibly have had the same motive.”
“Whoever killed Fanny did so to keep her silent. Whoever killed Fulbert, if indeed he is dead, will have done so for the same reason.”
“You think Fulbert knew who that was?”
“Don’t treat me like a fool, Mr. Pitt!” Afton dabbed at his nose again. “If I knew who it was, I would have told you. But it is only rational to consider the possibility that Fulbert knew, and was killed for it.”
“We will have to find a body or some trace of it before we can assume murder, Mr. Nash,” Pitt pointed out. “So far there is nothing to indicate that he did not simply choose to go away.”
“With no clothes, no money, and alone?” Afton’s pale eyes widened. “Unlikely, Mr. Pitt.” His voice was soft, weary with Pitt’s stupidity.
“He may have done quite a few things we had thought unlikely,” Pitt pointed out. But he knew that, even when people change the major direction of their lives, they do not often alter the small thing: a man will still keep his personal habits, his tastes in food, the pleasures that entertain or bore him. And he doubted Fulbert was careful enough, or desperate enough, to have left without thought for his creature comfort. He had been used to clean clothes all his life and a valet to lay them out for him. And if he were leaving London he would assuredly need money.
“Still,” Pitt agreed, “you’re probably right. Who was the last person to see him, that you know of?”
“His valet, Price. You can speak to the man if you want, but I’ve already questioned him, and he can’t tell you anything of use. All Fulbert’s clothes and personal possessions are still here, and he had no engagement that evening that Price knew of.”
“And I presume he would know, because he would be required to set out Mr. Fulbert’s clothes, if he were going out?” Pitt added.
Afton looked slightly surprized that Pitt should know such a thing, and it irritated him. He dabbed at his nose and then winced; it was becoming raw with the constant friction.
Pitt smiled, not enough for levity, but enough to let Afton know he had understood.
“Quite,” Afton agreed. “He left here at about six in the evening, saying he would be back for dinner.”
“But he didn’t say where he was going?”
“If he had, Inspector, I should have told you!”
“And he didn’t come back, nor did anyone see him again?”
Afton glared at him.
“I imagine someone saw him!”
“He could have walked to the end of the road and taken a cab,” Pitt pointed out. “There are quite often hansoms even around here.”
“Where to, for heaven’s sake?”
“Well, if he is still in the Walk, Mr. Nash, where is he?”
Afton looked at him with slow comprehension. Apparently he had not considered it before, but there were no rivers or wells, no woods, no gardens large enough for one to dig unnoticed, no untenanted cellars or sheds. There were always gardeners, footmen, butlers, kitchenmaids or boot-boys to find something left. There was nowhere to hide a body.