The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [163]
“How badly is he hurt?” he said with dry lips.
“Hard to say,” Tellman replied. “He’s still senseless. Could be anything.”
“Well, what injuries has he?” Pitt heard his voice, rough and with a note of panic undisguisable.
“Doesn’t appear anything except hit on the head,” Tellman answered.
“Anyone know what happened?”
“No. Except, of course, common sense says it was the Headsman. He wasn’t on duty in the park, or anywhere near it. He was still chasing after Carvell’s statement that he was at the concert, where you sent him.” Still his eyes did not flicker from Pitt’s. “Looks as though he may have found something after all.”
There was no possible answer to that. Pitt rose to his feet. “Where is he?”
“They took him to the Samaritan Free Hospital, in Manchester Square. It’s only half a mile or so from where he was found.” He took a breath and let it out slowly. “Do you want me to arrest Carvell again?”
“Not until I have seen Bailey.”
“He can’t tell you anything.”
Pitt did not bother to reply, but walked past Tellman without looking at him, and ignoring his hat and coat, went out of the door. He took the stairs two at a time, passed the desk without speaking and went out. It took him nearly five minutes to find a hansom and direct it to Manchester Square.
He felt wretched. There was now no longer any reasonable doubt that it was Carvell. It was Carvell’s presence, or absence, at the concert Bailey had been checking. But the thought hurt. He had liked Carvell, felt an instinctive respect for him and a sympathy with his grief, which he still believed was real. And just as deep was his disillusion with himself, an awful sense of failure because he had been so deceived. His judgment had been fatally flawed.
He was guilty of Bailey’s injury, and if he died, of his death.
How could he have been so stupid, so unaware? And even now, riding along in the hansom, he still could not see it plainly, only the evidence made it no longer escapable.
The hansom stopped and he alighted, telling the driver to wait for him. Inside he found the long ward where Bailey was lying stiff, white-faced and motionless. He was dressed in a rough calico nightshirt and covered with a sheet and a gray blanket. By the side of his cot stood a young doctor, frowning and pursing his lips.
“How is he?” Pitt asked, dreading the answer.
The doctor looked at him wearily. “Who are you?”
“Superintendent Pitt, Bow Street. How is he?”
“Hard to say.” The doctor shook his head. “Hasn’t stirred since they brought him in, but he’s warmed up to a decent temperature at last. His breathing is near normal and his heart is beating quite strongly.”
“He’ll be all right?” It was more a hope than a belief.
“Can’t say. Possibly.”
“When might he be able to speak?”
The doctor shook his head, and looked up at Pitt at last. “I can’t say, Superintendent. Can’t even say for sure that he will. And even if he does, he may not remember anything. Could be in a very poor state of mind. You’ll have to be prepared for that. I would go on with your investigation without relying on him, if I were you.”
“I see. Do everything you can for him, won’t you? Don’t worry about the cost.”
“Of course.”
Pitt left feeling even more wretched and discouraged, and acutely guilty.
He arrived back at Bow Street to find Giles Farnsworth in his office, his face pale, his hands clenched by his sides.
“You let Carvell go again,” he said between his teeth. “Now he has as near as dammit murdered one of your own men.” He paced to the mantelpiece and turned. “I always feared this job was too big for you, but Drummond was adamant. Well, he was wrong. Worst misjudgment of his career. I’m sorry Pitt, but your incompetence is not acceptable.”
He crossed the floor again and swung back.
“You are dismissed. You will complete the background work on this case, then return to your previous rank. You’d better move to another station. I’ll think which one when I have time. Maybe somewhere on the outskirts.” And without waiting for Pitt to reply, he went to the door. He hesitated with his hand on the knob.