Pentecost Alley by Anne Perry Read Free Book Online Page B

indiscretion, but no more. It was the first thread-thin whisper of doubt in Pitt’s mind as to his involvement.
    “Out. I … I went out with Courtney Spender. Went toa couple of clubs, gambled a bit, not much. Thought of going to a music hall, and changed our minds.” He looked at Pitt ruefully. “Didn’t see any crimes, Inspector. And to be frank, haven’t had anything to do with the other club members in years. I’m sorry to be of no use to you.”
    Pitt did not bother to correct him as to his rank. He was almost certain Finlay was lying, not only because of the badge but because he so perfectly answered the description of the man Rose and Nan had both seen. There was a faint flush in his cheeks, and his eyes met Pitt’s, steady and overbright.
    FitzJames moved restively, but did not interrupt, and Finlay did not look at him.
    “Would you be good enough to give me Mr. Spender’s address, sir?” Pitt asked politely. “Or better still, if he has a telephone, we can clear up the matter instantly.”
    Finlay’s mouth fell slack. “I … I … can give you his address. No idea if he has a … if he has a telephone.”
    “I daresay your butler would know,” Pitt said quickly. He turned to FitzJames. “May I ask him?”
    FitzJames’s face froze.
    “Are you saying that my son is telling you less than the truth, Mr. Pitt?”
    “I had not thought so,” Pitt said, sitting in a mirror position in his own chair, hands on the arms. Finlay sat upright, on the edge of his seat.
    FitzJames drew in his breath sharply, then changed his mind. He reached for the bell.
    “I … I think that may have been the day before. Is it yesterday evening we are enquiring about?” Finlay looked confused. His cheeks were red and he clenched his hands, fidgeting and moving uncomfortably.
    “Where were you last night, sir?” Pitt could not afford to relent.
    “Ah … well … to tell you the truth, Inspector …” He looked away, then back at Pitt again. “I … I drank rather too much, and I can’t remember precisely. Around theWest End. I know that. Weren’t anywhere near the East End. No reason. Not my sort of place, you know?”
    “Were you alone?”
    “No! No, of course not.”
    “Then who was with you, sir?”
    Finlay shifted in his seat a little.
    “Oh—various people—different times. Good God, I don’t keep a list of everyone I see! Most fellows take a night out occasionally. Do the odd club and hall, you know? No, I don’t suppose you do know.” He was not sure whether he intended it as an insult or not; the uncertainty was clear in his face.
    “Perhaps you will let me know if you should be fortunate enough to remember,” Pitt said with controlled politeness.
    “Why?” Finlay demanded. “I didn’t see anything.” He laughed a little jerkily. “Wouldn’t make a decent witness in my state, anyway!”
    FitzJames finally broke in. “Mr. Pitt, you have come into my home unannounced and at a most inconvenient hour. You said there has been a new murder somewhere in the East End … a large and nonspecific area. You have not told us who is dead nor what it has to do with anyone in this house, beyond the fact that a badge has been found of some club or other of which my son was a member several years ago and is not presently. To the best of our knowledge, it no longer exists. You require some better reason to continue to take of our time.”
    “The murder was in Pentecost Alley, in Whitechapel,” Pitt answered. He turned again to Finlay. “When did the Hellfire Club last meet, Mr. FitzJames?”
    “For God’s sake, man!” Finlay protested, still no more than irritated. “Years ago! What does it matter? Anyone could have dropped a badge in the street. Or—in a club, for that matter.” He gestured with his hands. “Doesn’t mean a thing! Could have been there for … I don’t know … months … even years!”
    “There’s rather a sharp pin on it,” Pitt pointed out.