Belgrave Square (19 page)

“I apologize to my learned friend,” the prosecution said with a touch of sarcasm. “Constable, how would you describe the state of dress of Miss Giles?”

“Well sir—” Crombie glanced at Carswell, uncertain now how to proceed in what he was permitted to say. His face was burning red.

Osmar shifted in the dock, his face shining with satisfaction.

The prosecution smiled drily.

“Constable, did her state of dress embarrass you?”

“Yes sir! That it did!”

Beulah Giles hid a smirk less than satisfactorily.

The Q.C. was on his feet again. “My lord, that is surely irrelevant?”

“No it is not,” the prosecution insisted, still smiling. “P.C. Crombie is part of the general public, and his reaction may be an acceptable indication of what other passersby might have felt when they saw this spectacle of a man and woman in such a degree of intimacy on a park bench for all to see.”

“My lord, that has yet to be proved!” The Q.C. simulated outrage. “It may be argued that P.C. Crombie’s susceptibilities
are the sole issue here. It was he who arrested my client, and therefore he has something of an interest in the outcome of this case. He cannot be considered an unbiased witness. The prosecution’s argument is circular.”

Now the spectators in the room were agog, every face staring, bright with attention.

Carswell looked at the prosecution.

“Is this all you have, Mr. Clyde? If so, it seems very thin.”

“No sir, there is also P.C. Allardyce.”

“Then you had better call him.”

Accordingly P.C. Crombie was excused and P.C. Allardyce was called. He was an older man by some three or four years, and married. He was less easily embarrassed, and as soon as he spoke the Q.C. realized it. He did not challenge his evidence but let it remain. He made no counterclaim when Allardyce described the struggle Horatio Osmar had made upon his arrest, his less than gentlemanly language and his arrival purple faced and furious at the police station, nor Miss Giles’s similar state of dishabille.

He began his defense by calling Horatio Osmar himself to testify. He yanked his clothes straighter, stretched his neck as if to settle his collar, then faced Carswell directly for a moment before turning to the prosecution and waiting with polite inquiry for him to begin.

“Would you give us your account of this deplorable affair, please, Mr. Osmar,” the Q.C. asked courteously.

Pitt watched with interest to see how Osmar would dress it in some form of respectability. The whole thing had been a miserable and excruciatingly silly affair, but for his dignity Osmar could not admit it here. How much easier if he had simply pleaded guilty and accepted a fine. Carswell would surely not have given him more than a caution, and a sum to pay he would easily afford. Whoever had advised him to employ a Queen’s Counsel was either extremely foolish, or was secretly desiring his downfall.

Osmar put his shoulders back and stared defiantly at the spectators in the room, and they fell silent, not entirely out of respect, Pitt thought, but more largely so as not to miss anything.

Osmar’s whiskers bristled and he cleared his throat importantly
and sniffed. Then he began. “Certainly sir, I shall do that. I was taking the air in the park when I encountered Miss Giles, a young lady of my acquaintance. I greeted her and asked after her health, which she informed me was excellent.”

The prosecution began to fidget and Carswell glared at him.

“Please continue, Mr. Osmar,” he directed with a tight smile.

“Thank you, sir. I shall.” He too glared at the prosecution, then straightened his tie ostentatiously.

There was a movement around the court and someone laughed.

Osmar began again. “I also asked after her family, as was only civil, and she began to tell me of their condition. I suggested that we might take a seat, which was nearby, rather than stand in the middle of the path. She accepted that it was a good idea so we adjourned to the bench upon which we were seated when the two constables saw us.”

“And were you struggling with Miss Giles, sir?”

“Certainly not!” Osmar sniffed and his expression registered his contempt for the idea. “I had asked after a nephew of hers, and she showed me a picture of the child which was in a locket around her neck. She had to fumble a moment to open the catch, it was very small and not easy to find.” He glanced around at the crowd. “I assisted her with it as it was quite naturally not in a position in which she could see it.”

Pitt’s opinion of Osmar’s invention went up, and of his veracity went down. He looked at Carswell to see how he took this vivid piece of fabrication, and was startled to see an expression of total sobriety on his face.

“An innocent enough pastime,” Carswell said with raised eyebrows and a look of irritation at the prosecution.

The prosecution looked puzzled, caught off guard, but it was not prudent for him to speak now and he knew it. He sat back in his seat, biting his lip.

“And was your dress in disarray, sir?” the Q.C. asked Osmar.

“Of course not!” Osmar said sententiously. “I am not a tidy man, as you may observe—” There was a titter around the room. “I had been searching my pockets for a note which
I had mislaid,” Osmar went on. “I am afraid I was somewhat hasty in my efforts, and may well have looked in disarray when I was accosted by the constables, but I was untidy, not more—and that is not yet a crime against anything but good taste.”

The prosecution pulled a face of disbelief, the Q.C. smiled and Beulah Giles kept her face in a sober expression with obvious difficulty. For the first time Carswell looked faintly uncomfortable.

“And did you explain this to the constables, Mr. Osmar?” the Q.C. inquired, his eyes wide, his voice eminently reasonable.

“I attempted to.” Osmar looked hurt. “I told them who I was, sir.” At this his shoulders straightened even further back and his chin lifted. “I am not unknown in certain circles—I have a reputation, and many years of honorable service to my Queen and country.”

“Indeed,” the Q.C. said hastily. “But the constables would not listen to you?”

“Not a word,” Osmar said with an acute sense of injury. “They were very rough with me, which is objectionable enough, but what I cannot forgive is the appalling way in which they treated Miss Giles, a young woman of respectable family and unspotted reputation.”

Someone in the crowd shifted noisily. Beulah Giles colored and Osmar’s face darkened.

“Forgive me, Mr. Osmar,” the Q.C. said with a very slight smile. “But we have only your word for this—this order of things—so different from the account given to us by Constables Crombie and Allardyce.”

“Ha!” Osmar’s voice quivered and his cheeks puffed out. “That is not true, sir; not true at all. There was another witness—a man who was only a short distance away. He saw it all, because he observed that in my distress when I was arrested, I left behind the attaché case which I had with me. He picked it up and at a later hour he went to the police station and turned it in, so that I might reclaim it.”

There was an audible sucking in of breath around the room.

“He was close enough to observe this?” The Q.C. feigned amazement. “And why did the police not call him as a witness here, now?”

Osmar assumed an expression of injured innocence, his little eyes wide open.

“I can give no answer to that, sir, which is not critical. It would be better that they answered for themselves.”

“If they can.” The Q.C.’s voice was now unctuous. He turned to Carswell. “My lord, I respectfully submit that the police have been negligent in their duty; they have not called a witness to the event who could perhaps have cleared my client. Now he cannot be called because there is no record of his name or whereabouts. Therefore I request that the case be dismissed and my client leave without a stain on his character.”

Constable Crombie swiveled to stare in consternation at Constable Allardyce, and the prosecution half rose from his seat, but Carswell stopped them all with an imperious gesture.

“Your request is granted, Mr. Greer. The case is dismissed.” And he banged his gavel on its rest to indicate the end of the matter.

Pitt was dumbfounded. They had not even called Beulah Giles. There had been no opportunity to question her, and she must surely be the best witness of all. It was an extraordinary procedure, and Osmar had got away with it. Certainly it was a trivial offense, causing embarrassment at the most. No one was injured or robbed, and in the circumstances very probably no one had even been discomfited, as there appeared to have been no other passersby at the time. But that was not the issue. The police had been made to look foolish and ineffectual, and Osmar had defied the law.

And perhaps most serious of all as far as Pitt was concerned, Carswell had behaved unaccountably. Only the crowd was satisfied, and that not because they were partisan in the case, simply that they had been thoroughly and unexpectedly entertained.

On the way out Pitt passed the two constables looking confused and angry. He caught Crombie’s eye and the unspoken message of understanding flashed between them. Neither knew the reason for such acts, but both shared the emotions.

The Q.C. strode along the passage, gown tails flapping, features composed in lines of deep thought. He no longer
had the oozing satisfaction he had had in the courtroom. Either his own feelings were mixed, or else his attention was already upon the next case. Horatio Osmar was nowhere to be seen, nor the handsome Miss Giles.

Pitt had another half hour to wait around the corridors before Carswell retired to his chambers and Pitt was able to see him.

“Yes Mr. Pitt?” he said, looking up from his desk, his face furrowed with mild irritation. Obviously he had considered the matter concluded at their last interview, and had no wish to have to turn his mind to it now. “I am afraid I must ask you to be brief,” he went on. “I have many other affairs that require my time.”

“Then I will proceed immediately,” Pitt said very quietly. He hated this, but it was inescapable. “Are you sure you would not care to tell me where you were on the night William Weems was murdered?”

Carswell’s face darkened, and his voice had an edge to it. “I am quite sure. I do not require to account for myself, sir. I did not know the man or have any dealings with him whatever. I have no idea who killed him, nor, beyond my civic duty, do I care. Now if that is all, please attend to your calling, and leave me to mine.”

“Weems was also a blackmailer.” Pitt stood perfectly still.

“Indeed? How unpleasant.” A look of distaste crossed Cars well’s face, but there was no start of anxiety or sudden fear. “I grieve for his death still less,” he said tersely. “But I did not know him, sir. I have already said so, and do not intend to waste my valuable time repeating it to you. You may believe me or not, as you choose, but since it is the truth, you will not find proof of anything different. Now if you please, prosecute your inquiries somewhere else!”

“Are you quite sure you do not care to tell me where you were that night?”

Carswell half rose from his seat, his face deep pink.

“I do not, sir! Now do you leave like a gentleman, or do I summon the ushers and remove you like a felon?”

Pitt sighed and took a deep breath. He did not dislike Carswell, and he hated having to do this to him.

“Perhaps Miss Hilliard was acquainted with him, and gave your name as collateral for a loan?” he suggested quietly and
very levelly. “Neither she nor her brother are in such fortunate circumstances—”

Carsweirs face went white as the blood fled from it, and then blushed scarlet again, and his legs seemed to fold under him. He collapsed back into his chair and stared helplessly, unable to clear his thoughts or muster any argument to deny.

“Did Miss Hilliard know Weems?” Pitt repeated, not because he thought Theophania Hilliard guilty of murder for an instant, but he did not want to prejudice Carswell’s answers by suggesting them in the form of his questions.

“No! No—” Carswell’s voice sank again. “No, of course not. It is—” He took a deep, shuddering breath and let it go. “It is I—it—” He looked up at Pitt, his eyes anguished. “I did not kill Weems.” He pushed the words between his teeth. “I had no occasion to. Before God, I swear to you, I never knew the man, and I was not there that night!”

“What is your relationship with Miss Hilliard, sir?”

Carswell seemed to hunch inside himself, almost to grow smaller in his chair.

“She is—she is—my mistress.” It was so hard for him to say it came out in a whisper.

Was there any point in asking if Weems was blackmailing him? The cause for it was only too obvious. And what would a denial be worth? It would surely be instinctive, a man protecting himself, denying guilt automatically.

“And Weems knew?”

Carswell’s face tightened.

“I am saying nothing more, except that I did not kill him. And if you have any humanity in you, any justice at all, you will not involve Miss Hilliard. She knows nothing whatever of any part of it—please—” The word was almost strangled in his throat. It was a measure of his distress that he could bring himself to speak it at all. His hands were clenched on the desk top and his body looked hunched and beaten.

“Miss Hilliard is under no suspicion,” Pitt said before he considered the wisdom of telling him. “It is not a crime a woman might have committed, nor is there anything to connect Miss Hilliard with Weems.” Then to salvage something of his advantage, “It was your name we found on his books.”

Carswell sat back in his chair, pale, tired, his body slowly relaxing into limpness. He opened his mouth to say something,
perhaps even thanks, then changed his mind and closed it again.

Pitt inclined his head in a small bow, and excused himself. There was nothing more to say and it was a pointless cruelty to stand and watch the man’s embarrassment. He would learn nothing new from it. He would like to have asked him why on earth he had ruled as he had on the case of Horatio Osmar, but that was a privileged decision which Pitt had no authority to investigate. There were no grounds to suppose it was corrupt, only eccentric and inexplicable.