The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [142]
Pitt said nothing.
“Are you still thinking about Mitchell?” Tellman went on. “It makes no sense. Maybe he had a reason for killing Winthrop, but not the others; and certainly not the butler. Why on earth would Mitchell have anything to do with Carvell’s butler?”
“The only reason for anyone killing Scarborough is because he knew something,” Pitt answered. “But no, I can’t see any connection with Mitchell.”
“Then you are going to arrest Carvell?”
“Have you searched the house yet?”
“No, of course I haven’t. I’ve looked in Scarborough’s pantry and I’ve been upstairs to his room. There’s nothing there, but I didn’t expect anything.”
“Papers?”
Tellman looked surprised. “Papers? What sort of papers?”
“Record of money,” Pitt replied. “If he was blackmailing Carvell there should be something to show for it.”
“Over Arledge? Maybe he only just tried it after the murder, and met his payment last night.”
“Why would he wait that long? It’s been days since Arledge was killed.”
“I didn’t find anything, but I didn’t have time to read all the letters and things. I’ve questioned the cook about her meat cleaver, and looked in the garden shed for an ax. There isn’t one. They get their kindling wood ready cut.”
“What about the cleaver?”
“Can’t tell.” Tellman dismissed it with his tone. “Cook says it is exactly where she left it. Turned a very funny color, but I think she was telling the truth. Seems a well-disciplined sort of woman, no screaming or outrage. Sensible kind of person.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what he did with the weapon. I expect we’ll find it when we get a whole lot of men down here. My opinion, sir, Carvell will break when we get him in a cell and he realizes he can’t get away with it anymore. He’ll panic and tell us the bits we don’t know.”
“Possibly,” Pitt said, but he did not believe it, and it was there in his voice.
Tellman looked sour. He was fed up with Pitt’s prevarication and he took no trouble to conceal it.
“We’ve no reason not to now! We may not know all the details yet, but that’s only a matter of time. Even if we can’t get him for the bus conductor, we’ve got him for Arledge and Scarborough.” He turned and moved a step away. “Shall I send for the wagon, or can we take him in a hansom? I don’t think he’ll give any trouble. Not the sort.”
“Yes,” Pitt agreed reluctantly. “Take him in a hansom.” He was about to add not to force on him any unnecessary indignity, then realized how foolish that was, and how unlikely to affect Tellman in the way he acted.
“You’re not coming?” Tellman said in surprise, already the sneer in his eyes that Pitt would not do it himself.
“I’ll arrest him,” Pitt said. “You take him to the station. I want to stay here and see what else I can find.”
Carvell was not surprised when he saw them return. He was still sitting in the hall where they had left him, looking pale and sick. He raised his head when he recognized Pitt’s step. He said nothing, but the question was plain in his eyes.
“Jerome Carvell.” Pitt hated the sound of his voice as he said the familiar words. The change in tone, the sudden complete formality presaged what he was going to say, and Carvell’s face suddenly took a numb, almost bruised look, all his fear become reality. “I am arresting you for the murder of Albert Scarborough.”
“I didn’t kill him,” Carvell said quietly, without hope of being believed. He rose to his feet and held out his hands. He looked at Pitt. “Or any of the others.”
There was nothing for Pitt to say. He wanted to believe him, and some small fraction of him did, but the evidence could no longer be ignored.
“Inspector Tellman will take you to the station. There is no need for manacles.”
“Thank you,” Carvell said almost under his breath, and dutifully, shoulders stooped, face white, he went across the hall with Tellman and out of the front door. He made no attempt to move suddenly, still less to loose himself from Tellman’s grip. The passion, even the life, seemed to have