Pentecost Alley - Anne Perry [105]
Augustus was not interested, and certainly not about to be placed in obligation to an inferior who had done no more than his duty.
“If you have a point, Superintendent, please arrive at it. If you wish my thanks, I am obliged you handled the matter with discretion. I trust you do not expect further of me than that?”
It was grossly offensive.
“I did not expect even that!” Pitt snapped. “I perform my duty for myself, for no one else. There was no personal favor involved to consider. Similarly, I find it my duty to discover who could have placed your son’s belongings at the scene of a crime, presumably with the intention of having him at the very best involved in a scandal and his reputation damaged—at the worst hanged.” He said the word distinctly and with pleasure. “I would have expected you to wish the answer known even more fervently than I do.”
Augustus’s eyes narrowed. He had obviously not anticipated such a retort, and his reaction was unprepared.
“And if the Hellfire Club badge which was discovered in your pocket, sir,” Pitt went on, turning to Finlay, “was your original one, then someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to see you blamed. It also raises the question not only why they had a second badge made with your name on it, but how they knew to make it so exactly similar to the first! The only way even a jeweler can tell them apart is by the very slight variation in the script behind the pin.”
Finlay’s composure disappeared. He looked pale and the confidence went from his eyes, leaving them glittering and nervous. He turned slowly and looked at his father.
For a moment Augustus was also caught off balance. He had no answer ready. His resentment that Pitt should have caused him discomfort was hard in his mouth, the tightening of his lips.
Finlay drew breath to speak, looked back at Pitt, then at his father again, and changed his mind.
“Did you have the badge made yourself, sir?” Pitt asked. “It would be understandable in the circumstances, and not require any explanation before the law.”
“N-no,” Finlay stuttered, then swallowed. “No, I didn’t.” He looked profoundly unhappy now.
A long clock by the far wall chimed the quarter hour. Through the window Tallulah was still visible in the swing seat.
“I did, Superintendent,” Augustus said at last. “As to the first badge, I can only presume it was lost or stolen years ago, as my son has already said. Similarly the cuff link. No one has seen that in five years either. One can only presume the same person had both of them.”
“And chanced to use Ada McKinley’s services and leave them both there, either on the same occasion or on two separate occasions?” Pitt finished, unable to keep the disbelief from his voice.
Augustus’s features were expressionless, except for a swift flicker of rage there, and then gone again.
“It would seem so,” he said coldly.
Pitt turned to Finlay.
“Then that narrows down the possibilities a great deal,” he reasoned. “There cannot be many of your acquaintances who had the opportunity to find by chance, or to steal from you, two such intimate articles and then accidentally to lose them in Pentecost Alley the night of Ada’s murder.”
“The cuff link could have been there for any amount of time,” Augustus pointed out, his face tight with anger. “You said it was hidden from view, down the back of a chair. It might have been there for years.”
“Exactly,” Pitt agreed. “And the badge could only have been there since the previous customer. Any new person in the bed must have felt it.”
“All very puzzling,” Augustus granted. “But it is not a problem with which anyone in my family can assist you. And frankly, since you know beyond question who killed the wretched woman, I would have thought you had better pursuits with which to occupy your time. Are you not rather a senior officer to be concerned with the possible theft of a cuff link and a badge, neither of them intrinsically worth more than a guinea or two, and perfectly easily replaced?