The Hyde Park Headsman (37 page)

“I don’t know what you mean, what to do! You must report it to the police—preferably to Thomas. He has to know.” She leaned on her elbow, staring at him.

“Thomas, of course,” he agreed. “But I don’t think anyone else.”

“I don’t understand. Why not anyone else? It is hardly a private thing to be attacked in the street!” Absentmindedly she poured the tea for both of them and passed his across.

“I think it might be better if I didn’t mention it,” he replied, accepting the tea and taking a slice of toast.

“What? What on earth do you mean?” Her voice rose in incredulity. “No one is going to blame you for it! In fact quite the contrary, they will be highly sympathetic.”

“To me, perhaps,” he said thoughtfully. “Although there may be those who will wonder if I had some secret connection with the murdered men, and no doubt speculation would be rife. My enemies would—”

“You cannot keep silent in case someone speaks ill of you!” she said quickly. “Those that are of that bent will do so anyway. You cannot run away from it.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” he argued. “I was thinking of Thomas.”

“But it might help him,” she protested reasonably. “The more information he gets, the better chance he will have of finding the Headsman.”

The parlormaid returned with the haddock, inquired if there were anything else, and on being told there was not, took her leave.

“I’m not sure it was the Headsman,” Jack said as soon as the door was closed.

Emily was stunned. “What do you mean? I saw him. He had an ax! Jack—I saw him!”

“I know that,” he said gently. “You saw a man with an ax,
but that doesn’t mean he was the Headsman. As you just said, I have no connection with Winthrop or Arledge or the bus conductor, nor was I near the park.” He took a mouthful of the fish. “And he attacked me when I was in company with someone else. It is not the Headsman’s pattern.”

“He has no pattern!” Emily said vehemently, ignoring the food.

He looked at her very seriously. “I shall tell Thomas, of course, but I don’t think I shall tell the local police. Can’t you imagine what the newspapers will say with another attack? It will play right into Uttley’s hands.”

“Oh.” She sat back in her chair, momentarily robbed of anger. “Yes, of course. I hadn’t thought of that. We must not give him anything at all. He would use it as another weapon, wouldn’t he?”

“I’ll send a message to Thomas.” Jack ignored the rest of his breakfast and rose, pushing his chair back.

The butler came in behind him, a bundle of newspapers over his arm. He looked very somber.

“I’ll look at them later.” Jack made as if to walk past him. “I must go and write a note to Superintendent Pitt.”

“I think he may already be aware of your misadventure, sir,” the butler said gravely.

“There is no way he could,” Jack replied, continuing on towards the door. “I did not tell the man who came to help us anything except that I lived not far away. It was too dark for him to have recognized me, even if he were minded to tell anyone, which he wouldn’t.”

The butler cleared his throat and set the newspapers down on the edge of the table. “I am sorry to say, sir, but you are mistaken in him. It is headlined in several of the newspapers this morning, most especially the
Times.
Mr. Uttley has written a very critical piece about the police force, I am afraid.”

“What?” Jack strode back and seized the top newspaper, holding it up to stare at it in horror. “This is absurd! How could Uttley possibly have known in time to have written this? In fact, how could he have known at all?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, sir. Do you still wish to send a note to Superintendent Pitt, sir?”

“Yes—no.” Jack sat down again hard, scratching his chair legs on the polished wooden floor. “This is damnable!”

Before Emily could reply there was a knock on the door and
the maid opened it. “Superintendent Pitt is here to see you, sir. Shall I tell him as you’re in, sir?”

“Yes. Yes of course I’m in,” Jack said angrily. “Get him another cup and some more tea. And some fish, if he wants it.”

“Yes sir.”

Pitt came in almost as soon as she had withdrawn. He looked tired and profoundly worried.

“Are you all right?” he said quickly, looking from one to the other of them. “What happened?
Why
in Hell’s name didn’t you tell me last night?”

Emily swallowed hard and looked away.

“Sit down.” Jack pointed to a third chair not far from the table. “There’s more tea coming. Would you like something to eat? Smoked haddock? Eggs?”

“No thank you,” Pitt dismissed the offer totally, but accepted the seat.

Jack continued talking. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t tell anyone last night,” he explained. “We came straight home and went to bed. No one knows but the servants.” He smiled in self-mockery. “One cannot keep much from them, especially when one is covered with bruises and limping around like the Ancient of Days. But I was going to send you a note just now, when Jenkins brought in the newspapers and said it was all over the front pages. I’m damned if I know how.”

“What happened?” Pitt asked wearily.

In careful and very precise detail, and without interruption from Emily, Jack recounted the events of the previous evening from the time he and Emily had left the reception until they had reached their home and closed the door on the street, with its sudden, inexplicable violence and fear.

The maid had brought a further cup and Emily had poured the tea, which Pitt sipped as he listened. Finally he put it down and regarded Jack with furrowed brows.

“Are you sure you haven’t forgotten anything?”

Jack looked at Emily.

“Nothing,” she replied. “That is exactly what happened.”

“Who was the man who came to your rescue?” Pitt looked from one to the other.

“I don’t know,” Emily said quickly. “I didn’t ask his name, nor did I give him mine.”

“Would you know him if you were to meet him again?”

“Possibly.” This time it was Jack who answered. “I’m not certain. The street was very ill-lit and I was considerably
shaken. Added to which he was not dressed as one customarily meets someone.”

“How were you dressed?”

“Evening clothes, black and white.” Jack shrugged. “I did not have an overcoat because the evening was very mild.” He glanced at Emily. “Emily was in a deep green gown, but she did have a cloak, one with a hood, which she had up over her head”

“Could he have recognized you?” Pitt asked her thoughtfully.

Emily shook her head. “I’ve never met him before, so far as I can think. Anyway, why should he recognize me? I’m not running for Parliament.” She shook her head even more vehemently. “No, no, I was on the ground some of the time, and while he was helping Jack I did stand up, but my face was towards Jack. I don’t think I ever really looked at the man.”

Pitt was thoughtful. “Then how did he know who you were? You are quite sure there was no one else?”

“Another man did come up as we were leaving,” Jack replied “But all we said to him was that we were unhurt.”

“There were other people approaching as well,” Emily added. “I had screamed as loudly as I was able. I imagine it attracted the attention of several people—I surely hope so. I tried hard enough.”

“But I was not within a mile of Hyde Park,” Jack pointed out. “And I know nothing about Winthrop or Arledge. Why me?”

“I don’t know.” Pitt sounded thoroughly discouraged and Emily was so sorry for him that for a moment she forgot her own anger.

“Jack thinks it might not have been the Headsman,” she said very gravely. “He did have an ax, though, because I saw it quite distinctly. Do you suppose it could have been political?”

Pitt stared at her.

She looked embarrassed. Perhaps it was a foolish question. Pitt rose to his feet and thanked them for the tea. “I want to find out how Uttley knew about it,” he said with a frown. “It doesn’t make sense.”

He expected to have some trouble locating Nigel Uttley, considering that the political campaign was in full swing, but actually it turned out to be quite easy. Uttley was at his home just off Manchester Square and received Pitt without any prevarication,
choosing to come out to the hall to meet him rather than invite him into a library or study.

“Good morning, Superintendent,” he said briskly, smiling and putting his hands into his pockets. “What can I do for you? I am afraid my knowledge of last night’s affray is very secondhand and I can think of nothing to tell you which you could not easily discover for yourself.”

“Good morning, Mr. Uttley,” Pitt said grimly. “That may be so. However, I should like to know directly from you the facts you wrote in the
Times
and seem to be so familiar with.”

Uttley’s eyebrows rose. “I detect a certain note of sarcasm in your tone, Superintendent” He smiled as he spoke, and rocked very slowly back and forth on the balls of his feet. The hall was handsome, very classical, with a Romanesque frieze around the walls just below the ceiling. The front door was still standing wide open and the sun streamed in. A young man stood on the steps outside, apparently awaiting Uttley’s attention.

Pitt would very much rather have discussed the matter in private, but Uttley apparently chose not to. He was going to wring the last possible political advantage out of it.

Pitt ignored the jibe. “How did you know about it, Mr. Uttley?”

“How?” Uttley seemed amused. “The local constable mentioned it. Why? Surely that cannot matter, Superintendent?”

Pitt was furious. What irresponsible constable had spoken to a civilian about the case? To have discussed it with anyone at all would have been bad enough, but to have chosen a politician who was building his platform upon his accusations of police incompetence was a breach of loyalty and duty beyond excusing.

“What was his name, Mr. Uttley?”

“Who? The constable?” Uttley’s eyes were very wide. “I have no idea. I didn’t ask him. Really, Superintendent, aren’t you wasting your time over quite the wrong thing? Perhaps he should not have confided in me, but it is just possible he is as concerned as the general public about the violence in our midst.” He hunched his shoulders and drove his hands deeper into his pockets. His voice was loud and very distinct when he continued. “I don’t think you seem to realize, Superintendent, just how deeply alarmed people are. Women are terrified to go out and many are ill with fear for their husbands and fathers, begging them not to leave home after nightfall. The parks are deserted. Even theaters are complaining that their patronage is
falling off because no one wishes to have to return home in the dark.”

There were all sorts of answers Pitt might have given, but none of them countered the fact that the fear was real, however exaggerated. There was a smell of panic in the streets and he had felt it himself.

“I am aware of it, Mr. Uttley,” he replied as civilly as he could. It was not that Uttley was pointing it out to him that stirred his anger, but the pleasure that gleamed in the man’s eyes as he did it. “We are doing everything we can to apprehend the man.”

“Well it is patently not enough,” Uttley said penetratingly.

Outside on the step the young man was joined by a second.

“What did the constable tell you, Mr. Uttley?” Pitt kept the temper out of his voice as well as he could, but was not completely successful.

“That Radley had been attacked by a man with an ax who tried to kill him,” Uttley replied, looking beyond Pitt to the man on the step. “I shall be with you in a moment, gentlemen!” He looked back at Pitt, the smile on his lips broader. “Really, Superintendent, is this the best you can do? Surely a man of your rank can think of something more profitable to pursue than asking me for secondhand information, which I cannot help but think you want for the purpose of victimizing some wretched junior for having told me what you perhaps wish to keep secret.”

The young men outside came closer.

“Certainly if I find him, Mr. Uttley,” Pitt replied between his teeth, “I shall criticize him for having told you rather than me. That was a dereliction of duty which requires a good deal of explanation!”

“Not told you?” Uttley was amazed. “Good heavens!” His face filled with surprise, and then delighted amusement, so open as to be on the edge of laughter. “Do you mean you are here to find the facts, because your own police force has not told you? My God! Your incompetence exceeds all imagination. If you think I have criticized you so far, my dear man, I assure you, I have hardly begun.”

“No, Mr. Uttley, I am not here to find out the facts,” Pitt spat back. “I have those from Mr. Radley, including the fact that he gave no one his name and did not call the police.”

“Didn’t call the police?” Uttley’s face fell and he looked totally
confused. “What do you mean? He was attacked in the street and damn nearly killed. Of course he called the police.”

“He was attacked.” Pitt was now also raising his voice. “But he was in perfect health this morning, and I understand from Mrs. Radley that he saw off the assailant fairly quickly, sustaining nothing more than a few bruises.”

“Is that what he says?” Uttley’s expression changed again to one of derision. “How brave of him—and loyal to his rather eccentric position of defending the police.”

“Is it not the truth?” Pitt inquired, suddenly softly.

“He was attacked by the Hyde Park Headsman, I heard,” Uttley said, not quite so blandly now. “Surely any man with a shred of responsibility would report that instantly to the police, whether he was actually hurt or not?”

“He reported it to me,” Pitt replied, stretching the truth very considerably—in fact, if not in spirit.

Uttley shrugged, pulling a face, and turned away. “Well then I assume you know all that you need to. That makes it rather unpleasantly obvious that you are asking me only in order to persecute this wretched constable, doesn’t it?”

“If he was the officer at the scene of the crime, it is important that I speak to him,” Pitt replied, gaining confidence every second. “Since Mr. Radley left immediately upon his escape from the attacker, waiting only long enough to assure his rescuer that he was unhurt, it is possible the constable may have found something of interest, for example the ax.”