Southampton Row - Anne Perry [46]
Tellman stiffened at Pitt’s bluntness.
Kingsley took in a deep breath. He looked distinctly shaken. He invited Pitt and Tellman to be seated, and then sank into one of the large leather chairs himself. He offered nothing, waiting for them to begin.
“Will you tell us what happened, sir, from the time of your arrival at Southampton Row?” Pitt asked.
Kingsley cleared his throat. It seemed to cost him an effort. Pitt thought it odd that a military man who must surely be accustomed to violent death should be so disturbed by murder. Was not war murder on a grand scale? Surely men went into battle with the express intention of killing as many of the enemy as possible? It could hardly be that this time the dead person was a woman. Women were all too often the victims of the violence, looting and destruction that went with war.
“I arrived at a few minutes after half past nine,” Kingsley began. “We were due to begin at a quarter to ten.”
“Were the arrangements long-standing?” Pitt interrupted.
“They were made the previous week,” Kingsley answered. “It was my fourth visit.”
“With the same three people?” Pitt said quickly.
Kingsley hesitated only a moment. “No. It was only the third with exactly the same.”
“Who were they?”
This time there was no hesitation at all. “I don’t know.”
“But you were there together?”
“We were there at the same time,” Kingsley corrected. “In no sense were we together, except that . . . that it helps to have the force of several personalities present.” He added no explanation as to what he meant.
“Can you describe them?”
“If you know I was there, Superintendent, my name and where to find me, do you not also know the same of them?”
A flash of interest crossed Tellman’s face. Pitt saw it in the corner of his vision. Kingsley was at last behaving like the leader of men he was supposed to be. Pitt wondered what shattering thing had happened to him that he had ever thought of turning to a spiritualist. It was painful and repellent intruding into the wounds of people’s lives, but the motives of murder were too often hidden within terrible events in the past, and to understand the core of it he had to read it all. “I know the name of the woman,” he replied to the question. “Not the third person. Miss Lamont designated him in her diary only by a little diagram, a cartouche.”
Kingsley frowned slightly. “I have no idea why. I can’t help you.”
“Can you describe him to me . . . or her?”
“Not with any accuracy,” Kingsley replied. “We did not go there as a social event. I had no desire to be more than civil to anyone else present. It was a man of average height, as far as I recall. He wore an outdoor coat in spite of the season, so I don’t know his build. His hair seemed light rather than dark, possibly gray. He remained in the shadows towards the back of the room, and the lamps were red, so the light distorted. I imagine I might know him if we were to meet again, but I am not certain.”
“Who was the first to arrive?” Tellman cut across.
“I was,” Kingsley replied. “Then the woman.”
“Can you describe the woman?” Pitt interrupted, thinking of the long, pale hair around Maude Lamont’s sleeve button.
“I thought you knew who she was?” Kingsley retorted.
“I have a name,” Pitt explained. “I would like your impression of her appearance also.”
Kingsley resigned himself. “She was tall, taller than most women, very elegant, with pale blond hair dressed in a sort of . . .” He gave up.
Pitt felt a knot tighten almost to suffocation inside himself. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Please continue.”
“The other man was the last to come,” Kingsley resumed obediently. “As far as I can recall, he was last on the other occasions as well. He came in through the garden doors, and left before