Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [4]
“What did the family say?” he asked.
“The two ladies had been out to dinner with friends. They’d come home about eleven and gone straight up to bed,” Mowbray replied. “Servants confirmed that. Robert York had been out on some business; he worked at the Foreign Office, and he quite often had business in the evenings. He came home after the ladies, they don’t know when. Neither did the servants. They’d been told not to wait up, by York himself.
“It looks as if he was still awake when the burglar broke in. He must have come downstairs, interrupted the intruder in the library, and then got killed.” Mowbray pulled a face. “Don’t know why. I mean, why didn’t the burglar simply hide, or better still, get out that window again? The latch was open. Unnecessary. Very unprofessional.”
“What did you conclude, finally?”
Mowbray’s eyebrows rose. “Case unsolved,” he said, then hesitated for several seconds, as though weighing whether to commit himself further.
Pitt finished his tea and set the empty mug on the hearth. “Odd case,” he said casually. “Man knows exactly when to break in without P.C. Lowther seeing him coming or going, even though Lowther passes every twenty minutes; yet instead of going round the back, away from the street, and using a snakesman to wriggle through the pantry bars, or a ratchet and pinion to loosen them, he breaks a front window—and doesn’t even star-glaze it to stop the noise and hide the hole. Yet he knows enough to find a first-edition Swift, which is not an obvious thing at all—Lowther said it was on the shelf with other books—but on the other hand he’s so clumsy he makes enough noise to disturb Robert York, who comes down and catches him. And when York does come, instead of hiding or running away, the intruder attacks him so fiercely he kills him.”
“And doesn’t sell any of his haul,” Mowbray finished. “I know. Rum, very rum. Wondered if it were someone Mr. York knew personal like, some gentleman ’ard up turned to robbin’ ’is friends. Started lookin’ in that line, very discreet like. Even looked very casual at young Mrs. York’s acquaintances—and got told very gracious and very cool by the powers that be as I should keep to me place and not add to the distress o’ them as is already sufferin’ ’orrible bereavement. Nobody actually said as I was to mark it unsolved; nothin’ so blunt. Just an expression o’ sympathy for the family, and a cold eye on me. But I don’t need to ’ave it spelled out for me.”
It was what Pitt had expected; he had experienced the same unspoken but unmistakable sort of thing himself. It did not necessarily indicate any suspicion of guilt; just a deference for breeding, money, and the vast indefinable power that went with it.
“I suppose I had better pursue the next line.” Pitt stood up reluctantly. It was raining outside; he could see the long wet streaks beating against the window, blurring the shadows of the roofs and gables outside. “Thank you for your help, and the tea.”
“Don’t envy you,” Mowbray said wryly.
Pitt smiled back. He liked Mowbray and resented having to retrace the man’s steps as though he were in some way incompetent. Damn Ballarat and the Foreign Office!
Outside Pitt turned up his coat collar, tightened his muffler, and put his head down against the rain. He walked for a little while, feet sloshing up spurts of water, hair dripping down his forehead, thinking over what he had just learned. What was the Foreign Office after? A decent resolution of a case which involved one of their own, so it would cause no future embarrassment, as Ballarat had said? The widow of Robert York was informally betrothed to one Julian Danver. If Danver were headed for an ambassadorship, or higher, no shadow must touch the reputation of any of his family, especially his wife.
Or had some new discovery pertaining to the murder of Robert York