The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [93]
“Anyone see Yeats after he left the bus?”
Tellman shook his head.
“No one that’ll say so. Driver saw him off, said good-night, and said Yeats started along Silgrave Road. He lives in Osman Gardens, about four or five streets away.”
“Did anyone else get off the bus at the same time?”
“Half a dozen people.” Tellman pulled a face. “Says he can’t remember any of them because he had his back to them throughout the journey, and at the end all he could think of was getting home and putting his feet in a bowl of Epsom salts.”
“What about regular passengers?” Pitt asked. “They will have noticed if there was anyone unusual. What do they say?”
“Could only find one regular,” Tellman said grimly. “It’s not the sort of time for anyone who works, or goes to any place of trade or entertainment. It’s later than the theaters. Anyway, who goes to the city theaters from Shepherd’s Bush on a bus?”
Pitt was losing patience. “What did your one regular say? Have you learned anything at all, man?”
“As far as he could remember, there were six or seven people on the bus by the time it got to Shepherd’s Bush. At least four of them were men, one young, three older, and as far as he could tell, biggish. He couldn’t recall any of them. He was tired and had a toothache.” Tellman’s chin came up and his long face was tight. “And what have you learned … sir? Anything that would be of help to us?”
“I think Arledge kept a mistress, and I expect to find her within the next day or two,” Pitt replied, rather rashly.
“Ah …” It was hard to know from Tellman’s wince if he were interested or not. “Could explain Arledge’s death, if the lady was married, but why Winthrop? Or was he her lover as well?”
“I won’t know that until I have found her,” Pitt answered, standing up and walking over towards the window. “And before you ask, I don’t know what Yeats has to do with it either, unless in some way he knew something and was a blackmailer.” Below him in the street a hansom had stopped and a large man was alighting with difficulty. An urchin with a broom did not bother to hide his amusement.
Tellman raised his eyebrows. “The lady lived in Shepherd’s Bush?” he asked sarcastically.
“But a madman who kills without any pattern at all doesn’t make sense either,” Pitt replied.
“It has something to do with the park,” Tellman said decisively. “Or why bring Yeats all the way back in a gig? Much safer simply to leave him in Shepherd’s Bush. Why put him in the gig at all, for that matter?”
“Perhaps he didn’t want him left where he was,” Pitt suggested, leaving the window and sitting on the edge of the desk. “Maybe he brought him back to Hyde Park because that’s where our murderer lives.”
Tellman opened his mouth to argue, then changed his mind. “Maybe. Arledge’s mistress and her husband, I suppose? Perhaps she’s a very loose principled woman, and she was Winthrop’s mistress too? But surely not the fat little conductor’s?” His lantern face broke into a hard smile. “I’ll be entertained to meet this woman.”
Pitt stood up. “Then I had better get on and find her. You find out where Yeats and Arledge were killed.”
“Yes sir.” And still smiling to himself, Tellman stood up and went to the door.
But it was another two long days of painstaking work with petty details of discussions, meetings and partings, half-heard conversations and glimpses of people, before Pitt had traced a dozen or so of Arledge’s acquaintances and begun to eliminate them from any suspicion. He was losing heart. They were all very properly accounted for, and their relationships were above reproach.
Tired, sore footed and discouraged, Pitt presented himself at the door of a much respected businessman who had contributed funds to the small orchestra which Aidan Arledge had frequently conducted. Perhaps Mr. Jerome Carvell had a beautiful wife?
The door was opened by a tall butler with a long, curved nose and a supercilious mouth.
“Good evening, sir.” He looked Pitt up and down questioningly. Apparently he was uncertain of what he saw. The weariness and confidence