Bethlehem Road by Anne Perry Read Free Book Online

that is why you chose me for the case—sir.”
    Drummond’s mouth quivered. “Get out,” he said quietly.
    Pitt took a hansom along the Strand, Fleet Street and Ludgate Hill past St. Paul’s and up to Cheapside, along Cheapside and down Threadneedle Street past the Bank of England to Bishopsgate Street Within and the offices of Hamilton and Verdun. He presented his card, an extravagance he had indulged in a while ago and indeed found useful.
    “ ‘Inspector Thomas Pitt, Bow Street,’ ” the clerk read with patent surprise. Policemen did not carry calling cards, any more than did the ratcatcher or the drain man. Standards had declined appallingly lately! What was the world coming to?
    “I would like to speak with Mr. Charles Verdun, if I may,” Pitt continued. “About the death of Sir Lockwood Hamilton.”
    “Oh!” The clerk was considerably sobered—and a little elated, in spite of himself. There was a certain grisly glamor in being connected with a famous murder. He would tell Miss Laetitia Morris all about it this evening, over a glass of stout at the Grinning Rat. That should make her sit up and take notice! She would not find him boring after this. Harry Parsons would not seem half so interesting with his common bit of embezzlement. He looked at Pitt.
    “Well if you wait ’ere, I’ll see what Mr. Verdun says. ’E don’t see people just for the askin’, you know. Perhaps I could tell you somethin’? I saw Sir Lockwood reg’lar. I ’ope you’re well on your way to catchin’ the criminal what done this. Per’aps I saw ’im—without knowin’, like?”
    Pitt read him like one of the clerk’s own copperplate ledgers. “I shall know better what to ask you after I’ve seen Mr. Verdun.”
    “Course. Well I’ll go and see wot ’e says.” And dutifully the clerk retired, to come back in a few moments and usher Pitt into a large untidy room with a good fire, which was smoking a little, and several armchairs in green leather, comfortable and polished to a shine by use. Behind an antique and battered desk piled with papers sat a man of anything between fifty and seventy, with a long face, tufted gray eyebrows, and a benign and whimsical expression. He composed his features into an expression of suitable gravity and waved his hand towards a chair, inviting Pitt to sit down. Then he wandered over himself, took a look at the fire, and swung his arms round as if to dispel the smoke.
    “Damn thing!” He glared at it. “Can’t think what’s the matter with it! Maybe I’d better open a window?”
    Pitt prevented himself from coughing with difficulty and nodded his head. “Yes sir. A good idea.”
    Verdun strolled back behind the desk and yanked on the lower half of the sash window. It shot up with a thump, letting in a gust of cool air.
    “Ah,” he said with satisfaction. “Now, what can I do for you? Police fellow, eh? About poor Lockwood’s death. Shocking thing to happen. I suppose you’ve no idea who did it? No, you wouldn’t have—too soon, eh?”
    “Yes sir. I understand Sir Lockwood was in business partnership with you?”
    “Yes, in a manner of speaking.” Verdun reached for a humidor and took out a cigar. He lit it with a spill from the fire and blew out a smoke so pungent it made Pitt gasp.
    Verdun mistook his expression entirely.
    “Turkish,” he said with satisfaction. “Have one?”
    Camel dung, Pitt thought. “Very kind of you, but no thank you, sir,” he replied. “In what manner of speaking, sir?”
    “Ah.” Verdun shook his head. “Wasn’t in here much. Keener on his politics—had to be. Parliamentary Private Secretary, and all that. One has a duty.”
    “But he had a financial interest in the company?” Pitt persisted.
    “Oh yes, yes. You could say that.”
    Pitt was puzzled. “Was he not an equal partner?” His name had been first on the plate outside the door.
    “Certainly!” Verdun agreed. “But he didn’t come here more than once a week at most,