The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [139]
“So he didn’t walk there,” Tellman corrected with a grimace. “Carvell killed him in his home and took him there in some sort of conveyance. Could even have been his own carriage. Do you want to arrest him, or shall I?”
Pitt rose to his feet, his limbs suddenly very tired, as though his body were of enormous weight. He should have been relieved there was an end to the mystery, if not the terror or the tragedy of it; but he felt no sense of ease at all.
“I’ll go.” He went to the hat stand and took his hat, even though it was a fine morning. “You’d better come with me.”
“Yes sir.”
It was still before nine when Pitt and Tellman presented themselves at the front door of the house in Green Street. Pitt rang the bell, but it was several moments before it was answered.
“Yes sir?” A footman with untidy fair hair looked at him with anxiety.
“I would like to speak with Mr. Carvell, if you please,” Pitt said, but his voice was a command, not a request.
The footman was startled. “I’m sorry sir, I’m not sure Mr. Carvell has risen yet,” he said apologetically. “Could you call again at about ten o’clock?”
Tellman made as if to speak, but Pitt cut across him.
“I’m afraid it will not wait. The matter is of the utmost gravity. Will you tell him that Superintendent Pitt and Inspector Tellman are here and require to see him immediately.”
The footman paled. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then changed his mind and turned away without remembering to ask them to wait, or direct them to a more suitable place than the hall.
Within a few moments Carvell appeared in a dressing robe, his hair standing in spikes, his face pale and filled with fear.
“What has happened, Superintendent?” he said to Pitt, ignoring Tellman. “Is there something wrong? What brings you at this hour?”
Again Pitt felt the tug of reluctance and the familiar pity inside him.
“I am sorry, Mr. Carvell, but we require to search your premises and question your staff. I know it will inconvenience you, but it is necessary.”
“Why?” Carvell was now extremely anxious, his hands opened and closed at his sides and his face was ashen. “What has happened? For God’s sake, tell me what is wrong. Has—has there been another …?”
“Yes. Your butler, Albert Scarborough.” Pitt was obliged to step forward and steady Carvell as he swayed. He caught him by the elbow and steered him backwards to the fine oak settle a yard or so behind him. “You had better sit down.” He turned to the footman standing helplessly. “Get your master a small glass of brandy,” he ordered. Then, as the youth still stood rooted to the spot, eyes wide: “Jump to it!”
“Yes—yes, sir.” And the unfortunate young man ran out of the hall and disappeared, calling for the housekeeper in a shaking voice.
Pitt looked at Tellman.
“Go and start your search.”
Tellman had only been awaiting the order. He departed briskly, his face grim.
Pitt looked at Carvell, who appeared as if he might well be sick.
“You think I did it?” Carvell said huskily. “I can see it in your face, Superintendent. Why? Why in God’s name should I murder my butler?”
“I’m afraid the answer to that is unfortunately obvious, sir. He is in a perfect position to be aware of your liaison with Mr. Arledge, and of your possible involvement in his death. If that were so, you might well have felt it imperative, for your own safety, to be rid of him.”
Carvell struggled to speak, and failed. He stared up at Pitt for long, dreadful seconds, then with utter hopelessness, sank his head into his hands.
Pitt felt brutal. Tellman’s voice was drumming in his head, his contempt for Pitt’s squeamishness, Farnsworth’s charge that he was running away from his responsibility, both to his superiors, who had believed in him and had given him promotion, and to his juniors, whose loyalty he expected, and above all to the public.