The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [123]
Pitt was thoughtful. “Then how did he know who you were? You are quite sure there was no one else?”
“Another man did come up as we were leaving,” Jack replied “But all we said to him was that we were unhurt.”
“There were other people approaching as well,” Emily added. “I had screamed as loudly as I was able. I imagine it attracted the attention of several people—I surely hope so. I tried hard enough.”
“But I was not within a mile of Hyde Park,” Jack pointed out. “And I know nothing about Winthrop or Arledge. Why me?”
“I don’t know.” Pitt sounded thoroughly discouraged and Emily was so sorry for him that for a moment she forgot her own anger.
“Jack thinks it might not have been the Headsman,” she said very gravely. “He did have an ax, though, because I saw it quite distinctly. Do you suppose it could have been political?”
Pitt stared at her.
She looked embarrassed. Perhaps it was a foolish question. Pitt rose to his feet and thanked them for the tea. “I want to find out how Uttley knew about it,” he said with a frown. “It doesn’t make sense.”
He expected to have some trouble locating Nigel Uttley, considering that the political campaign was in full swing, but actually it turned out to be quite easy. Uttley was at his home just off Manchester Square and received Pitt without any prevarication, choosing to come out to the hall to meet him rather than invite him into a library or study.
“Good morning, Superintendent,” he said briskly, smiling and putting his hands into his pockets. “What can I do for you? I am afraid my knowledge of last night’s affray is very secondhand and I can think of nothing to tell you which you could not easily discover for yourself.”
“Good morning, Mr. Uttley,” Pitt said grimly. “That may be so. However, I should like to know directly from you the facts you wrote in the Times and seem to be so familiar with.”
Uttley’s eyebrows rose. “I detect a certain note of sarcasm in your tone, Superintendent” He smiled as he spoke, and rocked very slowly back and forth on the balls of his feet. The hall was handsome, very classical, with a Romanesque frieze around the walls just below the ceiling. The front door was still standing wide open and the sun streamed in. A young man stood on the steps outside, apparently awaiting Uttley’s attention.
Pitt would very much rather have discussed the matter in private, but Uttley apparently chose not to. He was going to wring the last possible political advantage out of it.
Pitt ignored the jibe. “How did you know about it, Mr. Uttley?”
“How?” Uttley seemed amused. “The local constable mentioned it. Why? Surely that cannot matter, Superintendent?”
Pitt was furious. What irresponsible constable had spoken to a civilian about the case? To have discussed it with anyone at all would have been bad enough, but to have chosen a politician who was building his platform upon his accusations of police incompetence was a breach of loyalty and duty beyond excusing.
“What was his name, Mr. Uttley?”
“Who? The constable?” Uttley’s eyes were very wide. “I have no idea. I didn’t ask him. Really, Superintendent, aren’t you wasting your time over quite the wrong thing? Perhaps he should not have confided in me, but it is just possible he is as concerned as the general public about the violence in our midst.” He hunched his shoulders and drove his hands deeper into his pockets. His voice was loud and very distinct when he continued. “I don’t think you seem to realize, Superintendent, just how deeply alarmed people are. Women are terrified to go out and many are ill with fear for their husbands and fathers, begging them not to leave home after nightfall. The parks are deserted. Even theaters are complaining that their patronage is falling off because no one wishes to have to return home in the dark.”
There were all sorts of answers Pitt might have given, but none of them countered the fact that the fear was real, however exaggerated. There was a smell of panic in the streets