The Whitechapel Conspiracy - Anne Perry [80]
There were several other people out, some in twos and threes, strolling together, one not far off, a man alone. Remus hesitated in his step, peered forward, then seemed satisfied and moved urgently again.
Tellman went after him as close as he dared.
Remus stopped next to the man.
Tellman ached to know what was said, but they spoke in voices little above a whisper. Even starting forward, hat pulled over his brow and walking within ten feet of them, he caught no distinct words, but he noticed their expressions. Remus was fiercely excited and listened to the other man with total attention, not even glancing around as Tellman passed on the other side of the path.
The other man was extremely well dressed, of more than average height, but his bowler hat was drawn so far forward and his coat collar so high that half his face was hidden. All Tellman could see for certain was that his boots were polished leather, beautifully cut, and his coat was fine and fitted him perfectly. It would have cost more than a police sergeant earned in months.
He continued to walk along the Outer Circle to the turnoff back to Albany Street, then went as far as the next omnibus stop to take him home. His mind was whirling. None of it fitted into a pattern, but now he was certain that there was one. He simply had to find it.
The next morning he slept later than he had meant to and arrived at Bow Street only just in time. There was a message waiting for him to report to Wetron’s office. He went up with a sinking heart.
This was Pitt’s office, even though his personal books and belongings had been removed and replaced already with Wetron’s leather-bound volumes. A cricket bat, presumably of some personal significance, hung on the wall, and there was a silver-framed photograph of a fair-haired woman on the desk. Her face was soft and pretty and she wore a pale lace dress.
“Yes sir?” Tellman said without hope.
Wetron leaned back in his chair, his colorless eyebrows raised.
“Would you care to tell me where you were yesterday, Sergeant? Apparently you found it outside your ability to inform Inspector Cullen …”
Tellman had already decided what to say, but it was still difficult. He swallowed hard. “I didn’t have the opportunity to tell Inspector Cullen yet, sir. I was following a suspect. If I’d stopped, I’d have lost him.”
“And the name of this suspect, Sergeant?” Wetron was staring at him fixedly. He had very clear blue eyes.
Tellman pulled a name out of memory. “Vaughan, sir. He’s a known handler of stolen goods.”
“I know who Vaughan is,” Wetron said tartly. “Did he have the Bratbys’ jewels?” There was deep skepticism in his voice.
“No, sir.” Tellman had considered embroidering the account, and decided it offered too much scope for being caught out. It was unfortunate that Wetron knew of Vaughan. He had not expected that. Please heaven no one could prove Vaughan had been in custody in some other station!
Wetron’s mouth closed in a thin line. “You surprise me. When did you last see Superintendent Pitt, Sergeant Tellman? And your answer had better be the exact truth.”
“The last day he was here at Bow Street, sir,” Tellman said swiftly, allowing offense to bristle in his tone. “Nor have I written to him or had any other communication, before you ask.”
“I hope that is the truth, Sergeant.” Wetron’s voice was icy.
“Your instructions were very clear.”
“Very,” Tellman agreed stiffly.
Wetron did not blink. “Perhaps you would like to tell me why you were seen by the beat constable calling at Superintendent Pitt’s house late in the afternoon two days ago?”
Tellman felt the cold shudder through him. “Certainly, sir,” he replied steadily, hoping his color had not changed. “I’m courting the Pitts’ maid, Gracie Phipps. I called on her. No doubt the constable reported that I went to the kitchen door. I had a cup of tea there, and then I left. I did not see Mrs. Pitt. I believe she was upstairs with the children.”
“You’re not being watched, Tellman!” Wetron said, the faintest color mounting his cheeks. “It was chance that