The Whitechapel Conspiracy

Synopsis:
In 1892, the grisly murders of Whitechapel prostitutes four years earlier by a killer dubbed Jack the Ripper remain a terrifying enigma. And in a packed Old Bailey courtroom, Superintendent Thomas Pitt's testimony causes distinguished soldier John Adinett to be sentenced to hang for the inexplicable murder of a friend. Instead of being praised for his key testimony, Pitt is removed from his station command and transferred to Whitechapel, one of the East End's most dangerous slums. There he must work undercover investigating alleged anarchist plots. Among his few allies are his clever wife, Charlotte, and intrepid Gracie, the maid who can travel unremarked in Whitechapel. But none of them anticipate the horrors to be revealed.

CHAPTER ONE
The courtroom at the Old Bailey was crowded. Every seat was taken and the ushers were turning people back at the doors. It was April 18, 1892, the Monday after Easter, and the opening of the London Season. It was also the third day in the trial of distinguished soldier John Adinett for the murder of Martin Fetters, traveler and antiquarian.

The witness on the stand was Thomas Pitt, superintendent of the Bow Street police station.

From the floor of the court Ardal Juster for the prosecution stood facing him.

"Let us start at the beginning, Mr. Pitt." Juster was a dark man of perhaps forty, tall and slender with an unusual cast of feature. He was handsome in some lights, in others a trifle feline, and there was an unusual grace in the way he moved.

He looked up at the stand. "Just why were you at Great Coram Street? Who called you?"

Pitt straightened up a little. He was also a good height, but he resembled Juster in no other way. His hair was too long, his pockets bulged, and his tie was crooked. He had testified in court since his days as a constable twenty years before, but it was never an experience he enjoyed. He was conscious that at the very least a man's reputation was at stake, possibly his liberty. In this case it was his life. He was not afraid to meet Adinett's cold, level stare from the dock. He would speak only the truth. The consequences were not within his control. He had told himself that before he climbed the short flight of steps to the stand, but it had been of no comfort.

The silence had grown heavy. There was no rustling in the seats. No one coughed.

"Dr. Ibbs sent for me," he replied to Juster. "He was not satisfied with all the circumstances surrounding Mr. Fetters's death. He had worked with me before on other matters, and he trusted me to be discreet should he be mistaken."

"I see. Would you tell us what happened after you received Dr. Ibbs's call?"

John Adinett sat motionless in the dock. He was a lean man, but strongly built, and his face was stamped with the confidence of both ability and privilege. The courtroom held men who both liked and admired him. They sat in stunned disbelief that he should be charged with such a crime. It had to be a mistake. Any moment the defense would move for a dismissal and the profoundest apologies would be offered.

Pitt took a deep breath.

"I went immediately to Mr. Fetters's house in Great Coram Street," he began. "It was just after five in the afternoon. Dr. Ibbs was waiting for me in the hall and we went upstairs to the library, where the body of Mr. Fetters had been found." As he spoke the scene came back to his mind so sharply he could have been climbing the sunlit stairs again and walking along the landing with its huge Chinese pot full of decorative bamboo, past the paintings of birds and flowers, the four ornate wooden doors with carved surrounds, and into the library. The late-afternoon light had poured in through the tall windows, splashing the Turkey rug with scarlet, picking out the gold lettering on the backs of the books that lined the shelves, and finding the worn surfaces of the big leather chairs.

Juster was about to prompt him again.

"The body of a man was lying in the far corner," Pitt continued. "From the doorway his head and shoulders were hidden by one of the large leather armchairs, although Dr. Ibbs told me it had been moved a little to enable the butler to reach the body in the hope that some assistance could be given-"

Reginald Gleave for the defense rose to his feet. "My lord, surely Mr. Pitt knows better than to give evidence as to something he cannot know for himself? Did he see the chair moved?"

The judge looked weary. This was going to be a fiercely contested trial, as he was already uncomfortably aware. No point, however trivial, was going to be allowed past.

Pitt felt himself flushing with annoyance. He did know better. He should have been more careful. He had sworn to himself he would make no mistake whatever, and already he had done so.

He was nervous. His hands were clammy. Juster had said it all depended upon him. They could not rely absolutely on anyone else.

The judge looked at Pitt.

"In order, Superintendent, even if it seems less clear to the jury."

"Yes, my lord." Pitt heard the tightness in his own voice. He knew it was tension but it sounded like anger. He cast his mind back to that vivid room. "The top shelf of books was well above arm's reach, and there was a small set of steps on wheels for the purpose of making access possible. It lay on its side about a yard away from the body's feet, and there were three books on the floor, one flat and closed, the other two open, facedown and several pages bent." He could see it as he spoke. "There was a corresponding space on the top shelf."

"Did you draw any conclusions from these things which caused you to investigate further?" Juster asked innocently.

"It seemed Mr. Fetters had been reaching for a book and had overbalanced and fallen," Pitt replied. "Dr. Ibbs had told me that there was a bruise on the side of his head, and his neck was broken, which had caused his death."

"Precisely so. That is what he has testified," Juster agreed. "Was it consistent with what you saw?"

"At first I thought so..."

There was a sudden stirring of attention around the room, and something that already felt like hostility.

"Then, on looking more closely, I saw several small discrepancies that caused me to doubt, and investigate further," Pitt finished.

Juster raised his black eyebrows. "What were they? Please detail them for us so we understand your conclusions, Mr. Pitt."

It was a warning. The entire case rested upon these details, all circumstantial. The weeks of investigation had uncovered no motive whatsoever for why Adinett should have wished harm to Martin Fetters. They had been close friends who seemed to have been similar in both background and beliefs. They were both wealthy, widely traveled, and interested in social reform. They had a wide circle of friends in common and were equally respected by all who knew them.

Pitt had rehearsed this in his mind many times, not for the benefit of the court, but for himself. He had examined every detail minutely before he had even considered pursuing the charge.

"The first thing was the books on the floor." He remembered stooping and picking them up, angry that they had been damaged, seeing the bruised leather and the bent pages. "They were all on the same subject, broadly. The first was a translation into English of Homer's Iliad, the second was a history of the Ottoman Empire, and the third was on trade routes of the Near East."

Juster affected surprise. "I don't understand why that should cause your doubt. Would you explain that for us."

"Because the rest of the books on the top shelf were fiction," Pitt answered. "The Waverley novels of Sir Walter Scott, a large number of Dickens, and a Thackeray."

"And in your opinion the Iliad does not go with them?"

"The other books on the middle shelf were on the subjects of Ancient Greece," Pitt explained. "Particularly Troy, Mr. Schliemann's work and discourses, objects of art and historical interest, all except for three volumes of Jane Austen, which would more properly have belonged on the top shelf."

"I would have kept novels, especially Jane Austen, in a more accessible place," Juster remarked with a shrug and a tiny smile.

"Perhaps not if you had already read them," Pitt argued, too tense to smile back. "And if you were an antiquarian, with particular interest in Homeric Greece, you would not keep most of your books on that subject on the middle shelves but three of them on the top with your novels."

"No," Juster agreed. "It seems eccentric, to say the least, and unnecessarily inconvenient. When you had noticed the books, what did you do then?"

"I looked more closely at the body of Mr. Fetters and I asked the butler, who was the one who found him, to tell me exactly what had happened." Pitt glanced at the judge to see if he would be permitted to repeat it.

The judge nodded.

Reginald Cleave sat tight-lipped, his shoulders hunched, waiting.

"Proceed, if it is relevant," the judge directed.

"He told me that Mr. Adinett had left through the front door and been gone about ten minutes or so when the bell rang from the library and he went to answer it," Pitt recounted. "As he approached the door he heard a cry and a thud, and on opening it in some alarm, he saw Mr. Fetters's ankles and feet protruding from behind the large leather chair in the corner. He went to him immediately to see if he was hurt. I asked him if he had moved the body at all. He said he had not, but in order to reach it he had moved the chair slightly."

People began to shift restlessly. This all seemed very unimportant. None of it suggested passion or violence, still less murder.

Adinett was staring steadily at Pitt, his brows drawn together, his lips slightly pursed.

Juster hesitated. He knew he was losing the jury. It was in his face. This was about facts, but far more than that it was about belief.

"Slightly, Mr. Pitt?" His voice was sharp. "What do you mean by 'slightly'?"

"He was specific," Pitt replied. "He said just as far as the edge of the rug, which was some eleven inches." He continued without waiting for Juster to ask. "Which meant it would have been at an awkward angle for the light either from the window or the gas bracket, and too close to the wall to be comfortable. It blocked off access to a considerable part of the bookshelves, where books on travel and art were kept, books the butler assured me Mr. Fetters referred to often." He was looking directly at Juster. "I concluded it was not where the chair was normally kept, and I looked at the rug to see if there were indentations from the feet. There were." He took a deep breath. "There were also faint scuff marks on the pile and when I looked again at Mr. Fetters's shoes, I found a piece of fluff caught in a crack in the heel. It seemed to have come from the rug."

This time there was a murmur from the court. Reginald Gleave's lips tightened, but it looked more like anger and resolution than fear.

Again Pitt went on without being asked. "Dr. Ibbs had told me he assumed Mr. Fetters leaned too far, overbalanced, and fell off the steps, cracking his head against the shelves on the corner. The force of the blow, with his body weight behind it, not only caused bruising severe enough for him to lose consciousness, but broke his neck, and this was the cause of his death. I considered the possibility that he had been struck a blow which had rendered him insensible, and then the room had been arranged to look as if he had fallen." There was a sharp rustling in the front row, a hiss of indrawn breath. A woman gasped.

One of the jurors frowned and leaned forward.

Pitt continued without change of expression, but he could feel the tension mounting inside him, his palms sweaty.

"Books he would be likely to read had been pulled out and dropped. The empty spaces left by them had been filled from the top shelf, to explain his use of the ladder. The chair had been pushed close to the corner, and his body placed half concealed by it."

A look of comic disbelief filled Gleave's face. He gazed at Pitt, then at Juster, and finally at the jury. As playacting it was superb. Naturally he had long known exactly what Pitt would say.

Juster shrugged. "By whom?" he asked. "Mr. Adinett had already left, and when the butler entered the room there was no one there except Mr. Fetters. Did you disbelieve the butler?"

Pitt chose his words carefully. "I believe he was telling the truth as he knew it."

Gleave rose to his feet. He was a broad man, heavy shouldered. "My lord, Superintendent Pitt's thoughts as to the butler's veracity are irrelevant and out of place. The jury has had the opportunity to hear the butler's testimony for themselves, and to judge whether he was speaking the truth or not and whether he is an honest and competent person."

Juster kept his temper with obvious difficulty. There was a high color in his cheeks. "Mr. Pitt, without telling us why, since it seems to annoy my honorable friend so much, will you please tell us what you did after forming this unusual theory of yours?"

"I looked around the room to see if there was anything else that might be of relevance," Pitt replied, remembering, describing exactly. "I saw a salver on the small table at the far side of the library, and a glass on it half full of port wine. I asked the butler when Mr. Adinett had left the house and he told me. I then asked him to replace the chair where it had been when he came in, and to repeat his actions as exactly as he was able to." He could see in his mind's eye the man's startled expression and his unwillingness. Very obviously he felt it to be disrespectful to the dead. But he had obeyed, self-consciously, his limbs stiff, movement jerking, his face set in determined control of the emotions which raged through him.

"I stood behind the door," Pitt resumed. "When the butler was obliged to go behind the chair in order to reach Mr. Fetters's head, I went out of the door and across the hall and in through the doorway opposite." He stopped, allowing Juster time to react.

Now all the jurors were listening intently. No one moved. No one's gaze wandered.

"Did the butler call out after you?" Juster also chose his words with exactness.

"Not immediately," Pitt answered. "I heard his voice from the library speaking in quite normal tones, then he seemed to realize I was not there, and came out to the landing and called me again."

"So you deduced that he had not seen you leave?"

"Yes. I tried the experiment again, with our roles reversed. Crouched behind the chair, I could not see him leave."

"I see." Now there was satisfaction in Juster's voice and he nodded very slightly. "And why did you go into the room opposite, Mr. Pitt?"

"Because the distance between the library door and the stairs is some twenty feet," Pitt explained, seeing the stretch of landing again, the bright bars of sunlight from the end window. He could remember the red and yellow of the stained glass. "Had the butler rung the bell for assistance, I would almost certainly have met with someone coming up before I could have made my way out of the house."

"Assuming you did not want to be seen?" Juster finished for him. "Which had you left rather ostentatiously some fifteen minutes earlier, and then returned through the side door, crept upstairs, and contrived to make murder look like an accident, you would..."

There were gasps and rustles around the room. One woman gave a muffled shriek.

Gleave was on his feet, his face scarlet. "My lord! This is outrageous! I..."

"Yes! Yes!" the judge agreed impatiently. "You know better than that, Mr. Juster. If I allow you such latitude, then I shall be obliged to do the same for Mr. Gleave, and you will not like that!"

Juster tried to look penitent, and did not remotely succeed. Pitt thought he had not tried very hard.

"Did you see anything unusual while you were in the room across the hall?" Juster enquired artlessly, turning gracefully back towards the jury. "What manner of room was it, by the way?" He raised his black eyebrows.

"A billiard room," Pitt replied. "Yes, I saw that there was a very recent scar on the edge of the door, thin and curving upwards, just above the latch."

"A curious place to damage a door," Juster remarked. "Not possible while the door was closed, I should think?"

"No, only if it were open," Pitt agreed. "Which would make playing at the table very awkward."

Juster rested his hands on his hips. It was a curiously angular pose, and yet he looked at ease.

"So it was most likely to be caused by someone going in or coming out?"

Gleave was on his feet again, his face flushed. "As has been observed, it was awkward to play with the door open, surely that question answers itself, my lord? Someone scratched the open door with a billiard cue, precisely because, as Mr. Pitt has so astutely and uselessly pointed out, it was awkward." He smiled broadly, showing perfect teeth.

There was complete silence in the courtroom.

Pitt glanced up at Adinett, who was sitting forward in the dock now, motionless.

Juster looked almost childlike in his innocence, except that his unusual face was not cast for such an expression. He looked up at Pitt as if he had not thought of such a thing until this instant.

"Did you enquire into that possibility, Superintendent?"

Pitt stared back at him. "I did. The housemaid who dusted and polished the room assured me that there had been no such mark there that morning, and no one had used the room since." He hesitated. "The scar was raw wood. There was no polish in it, no wax or dirt."

"You believed her?" Juster held up his hand, palm towards Gleave. "I apologize. Please do not answer that, Mr. Pitt. We shall ask the housemaid in due course, and the jury will decide for themselves whether she is an honest and competent person... and knows her job. Perhaps Mrs. Fetters, poor woman, can also tell us whether she was a good maid or not."

There was a rumble of embarrassment, irritation and laughter from the court. The tension was broken. For Gleave to have spoken now would have been a waste of time, and the knowledge of that was dark in his face, heavy brows drawn down.

The judge drew in his breath, then let it out again without speaking.

"Then what did you do, Superintendent?" Juster said lightly.

"I asked the butler if Mr. Adinett had carried a stick of any description," Pitt replied. Then, before Gleave could object, he added, "He did. The footman confirmed it."

Juster smiled. "I see. Thank you. Now, before my honorable friend asks you, I will ask you myself. Did you find anyone who had overheard any quarrel, any harsh words or differences of opinion, between Mr. Adinett and Mr. Fetters?"

"I did ask, and no one had," Pitt admitted, remembering ruefully how very hard he had tried. Even Mrs. Fetters, who had come to believe her husband had been murdered, could think of no instance when he and Adinett had quarreled, and no other reason at all why Adinett should have wished him harm. It was as utterly bewildering as it was horrible.

"Nevertheless, from these slender strands, you formed the professional opinion that Martin Fetters had been murdered, and by John Adinett?" Juster pressed, his eyes wide, his voice smooth. He held up long slender hands, ticking off the points. "The moving of a library armchair, three books misplaced on the shelves, a scuff mark on a carpet and a piece of fluff caught in the crack of a heel, and a fresh scratch on a billiard room door? On this you would see a man convicted of the most terrible of crimes?"

"I would see him tried for it," Pitt corrected, feeling the color hot in his face. "Because I believe that his murder of Martin Fetters is the only explanation that fits all the facts. I believe he murdered him in a sudden quarrel and then arranged it to look like-"

"My lord!" Gleave said loudly, again on his feet, his arms held up.

"No," the judge said steadily. "Superintendent Pitt is an expert in the matter of evidence of crime. That has been established over his twenty years in the police force." He smiled very bleakly, a sad, wintry humor. "It is for the jury to decide for themselves whether he is an honest and competent person."

Pitt glanced over at the jury, and saw the foreman nod his head very slightly. His face was smooth, calm, his eyes steady.

A woman in the gallery laughed and then clapped her hands over her mouth.

Gleave's face flushed a dull purple.

Juster bowed, then waved his hand to Pitt to continue.

"To look like an accident," Pitt finished. "I believe he then left the library, locking the door from the outside. He went downstairs, said good-bye to Mrs. Fetters and was shown out by the butler, and observed to leave by the footman also."

The foreman of the jury glanced at the man beside him, their eyes met, and then they both returned their attention to Pitt.

Pitt went on with his description of events as he believed them.

"Adinett went outside, down the road a hundred feet or so, then came back through the side entrance to the garden. A man answering his general description was seen at exactly that time. He went in through the side door of the house, upstairs to the library again, opened it, and immediately rang the bell for the butler."

There was utter silence in the courtroom. Every eye was on Pitt. It was almost as if everyone had held their breath.

"When the butler came, Adinett stood where the open door would hide him," he continued. "When the butler went behind the chair to Mr. Fetters, as he had to, Adinett stepped out, going across the hall to the billiard room in case the butler should raise the alarm and the other servants came up the stairs. Then, when the landing was empty, he went out, in his haste catching his stick against the door. He left the house, this time unseen."

There was a sigh around the room and a rustle of fabric as people moved at last.

"Thank you, Superintendent." Juster bowed very slightly. "Circumstantial, but as you said, the only answer which fits all the facts." He looked across at the jury for a moment, then back again. "And while it would be convenient for us to tell the court why this dreadful thing happened, we are not obliged to-only to demonstrate to them that it did. That I think you have done admirably. We are obliged to you." Very slowly he swung around and invited Gleave to step forward.

Pitt turned to Gleave, his body tense, waiting for the attack Juster had warned him would come.

"After luncheon, I think, my lord," Gleave said with a smile, his heavy face tight with anticipation. "I shall take far longer than the mere quarter of an hour which is available to us now."

That did not surprise Pitt. Juster had said over and over again that the essence of the case depended upon his testimony, and he should expect Gleave to do what he could to tear it apart. Still, he was too conscious of what awaited him to enjoy the mutton and vegetables that were offered him at the public house around the corner from the court, and uncharacteristically he left them half eaten.

"He will try to ridicule or deny all the evidence," Juster said, staring across the table at Pitt. He too had little relish for his food. His hand lay on the polished wooden surface, moving restlessly as if only courtesy kept him from drumming his fingers. "I don't think the maid will stand up to him. She's frightened enough of just being in a courtroom, without a 'gentleman' questioning her intelligence and her honesty. If he suggests she can't tell one day from another, she's very likely to agree with him."

Pitt took a small drink from his cider. "That won't work with the butler."

"I know," Juster agreed, pulling his lips into a grimace. "And Gleave will know it too. He'll try a different approach altogether. If it were me, I would flatter him, take him into my confidence, find a way of suggesting that Fetters's reputation depended on his death having been an accident rather than murder. Gleave will do the same, I'd wager money on it. Reading character, finding weaknesses is his profession."

Pitt would have liked to argue, but he knew it was true. Gleave's subtle face was that of a man who saw everything and scented vulnerability like a bloodhound on a trail. He knew how to flatter, threaten, undermine, probe, whatever was needed.

Gleave's skill made Pitt angry. The hard lump inside which prevented him from eating was outrage as well as fear of failure. He was certain Martin Fetters had been murdered, and if he did not convince this jury of it, then Adinett would walk away not only free but vindicated.

He returned to the witness stand expecting an attack and determined to face it, to keep his temper and not allow Gleave to fluster or manipulate him.

"Well now, Mr. Pitt," Gleave began, poised in front of him, shoulders squared, feet slightly apart. "Let us examine this curious evidence of yours, on which you hang so much weight and from which you draw so villainous a story." He hesitated, but it was for effect, to allow the jury to savor his sarcasm and prepare for more. "You were sent for by Dr. Ibbs, a man who seems to be something of an admirer of yours."

Pitt nearly retaliated, then realized that was exactly what Gleave would like. Too easy a trap.

"A man who apparently wished to make sure he did not miss any significant fact," Gleave went on, nodding very slightly and pursing his lips. "A nervous man, uncertain of his own abilities. Or else a man who had a desire to cause mischief and suggest that a tragedy was in fact a crime." His tone of voice dismissed Ibbs as an incompetent.

Juster stood up. "My lord, Mr. Pitt is not an expert in the morals and emotions of doctors, in general or in particular. He can have no expert knowledge as to why Dr. Ibbs called him. He knows only what Dr. Ibbs said, and we have heard that for ourselves.

He believed the explanation of accident did not entirely fit the facts as he saw them, so he quite rightly called the police."

"Your objection is sustained," the judge agreed. "Mr. Cleave, stop speculating and ask questions."

"My lord," Cleave murmured, then looked up sharply at Pitt. "Did Ibbs tell you he suspected murder?"

Pitt saw the trap. Again it was obvious. "No. He said he was concerned and asked my opinion."

"You are a policeman, not a doctor, correct?"

"Of course."

"Has any other doctor ever asked you for your medical opinion? As to cause of death, for example?" The sarcasm was there under his superficial innocence.

"No. My opinion as to interpretation of evidence, that's all," Pitt answered cautiously. He knew another trap lay ahead somewhere.

"Just so." Cleave nodded. "Therefore, if Dr. Ibbs called you because he was dissatisfied, then you surely have sufficient intelligence to deduce that he suspected that the death was not merely an accident but might be a criminal matter... one that would involve the police?"

"Yes."

"Then when you said he did not tell you he suspected a crime, you were being a trifle disingenuous, were you not? I hesitate to say you were less than honest, but it inevitably springs to mind, Mr. Pitt."

Pitt could feel the blood heat up his face. He had seen one trap, and sidestepped it directly into another, making him seem evasive, prejudiced-exactly as Cleave had intended. What could he say now to undo it, or at least to not make it worse?

"Discrepancy of facts does not necessarily mean crime," he said slowly. "People move things for many reasons, not always with evil intent." He was fumbling for words. "Sometimes it is an attempt to help, or to make an accident look less careless, to remove the blame from those still alive or to hide an indiscretion. Even to mask a suicide."

Cleave looked surprised. He had not expected a reply.

It was a small victory. Pitt must not allow it to weaken his guard.

"The scuff marks on the carpet," Cleave said, returning to the attack. "When did they happen?"

"At any time since the carpet was last swept, which the maid told me was the previous morning," Pitt answered.

Cleave assumed an air of innocence. "Could they have been caused by anything other than one man dragging the dead body of another?"

There was a titter of nervous laughter in the court.

"Of course," Pitt agreed.

Cleave smiled. "And the tiny piece of fluff on Mr. Fetters's shoe, is that also capable of alternative explanations? For example, the carpet was rumpled at the corner and he tripped? Or he was sitting in a chair and slipped his shoes off? Did this carpet have a fringe, Mr. Pitt?"

Cleave knew perfectly well that it did.

"Yes."

"Exactly." Cleave gestured with both hands. "A slender thread, if you will excuse the pun, on which to hang an honorable man, a brave soldier, a patriot and a scholar such as John Adinett, don't you think?"

There was a murmur around the room, people shifting in their seats, turning to look up at Adinett. Pitt saw respect in their faces, curiosity, no hatred. He turned to the jury. They were more guarded, sober men taking their responsibilities with awe. They sat stiffly, collars high and white, hair combed, whiskers trimmed, eyes steady. He did not envy them. He had never wanted to be the final judge of another man. Even the smooth-faced foreman looked concerned, his hands in front of him, fingers laced.

Cleave was smiling.

"Would it surprise you to know, Mr. Pitt, that the maid who dusted and polished the billiard room is no longer certain that the scratch you so providentially noticed was a new one? She now says it may well have been there earlier, and she had merely not noticed it before."

Pitt was uncertain how to reply. The question was awkwardly phrased.

"I don't know her well enough to be surprised or not," he said carefully. "Witnesses sometimes do alter their testimony... for a variety of reasons."

Cleave looked offended. "What are you suggesting, sir?"

Juster interrupted again. "My lord, my learned friend asked the witness if he was surprised. The witness merely answered the question. He made no implication at all."

Cleave did not wait for the judge to intervene. "Let us see what we are left with in this extraordinary case. Mr. Adinett visited his old friend Mr. Fetters. They spent a pleasant hour and a half together in the library. Mr. Adinett left. I presume you are in agreement with this?" He raised his eyebrows enquiringly.

"Yes," Pitt conceded.

"Good. To continue, some twelve or fifteen minutes later the library bell rang, the butler answered it, and as he was approaching the library door he heard a cry and a thud. When he opened the door, to his distress, he saw his master lying on the floor and the steps over on their side. Very naturally, he concluded that there had been an accident-as it turned out, a fatal one. He saw no one else in the room. He turned and left to call for assistance. Do you agree so far?"

Pitt forced himself to smile. "I don't know. Since I had not yet given my evidence, I wasn't here for the butler's testimony."

"Does it fit with the facts you know?" Gleave snapped above another ripple of laughter.

"Yes."

"Thank you. This is a most serious matter, Mr. Pitt, not an opportunity for you to entertain the onlookers and parade what you may perceive to be your sense of humor!"

Pitt blushed scarlet. He leaned forward over the rail, his temper boiling.

"You asked me an impossible question!" he accused Gleave. "I was pointing that out to you. If your folly entertained the gallery, that is your own fault-not mine!"

Gleave's face darkened. He had not expected retaliation, but he covered his anger quickly. He was nothing if not a fine actor.

"Then we have Dr. Ibbs being overzealous, for what reason we cannot know," he resumed as if the interruption had never occurred. "You answered his call and found all these enigmatic little signs. The armchair was not where you would have placed it had this beautiful room been yours." His tone of voice was derisive. "The butler thinks it sat somewhere else. There was an indentation on the carpet." He glanced at the jury with a smile. "The books were not in the order that you would have placed them had they been yours." He did not bother to keep the smile from his face. "The glass of port was not finished, and yet he sent for the butler. We shall never know why... but is it our concern?" He looked at the jury. "Do we accuse John Adinett of murder for that?" His face was filled with amazement. "Do we? I don't! Gentlemen, these are a handful of miscellaneous irrelevancies dredged up by an idle doctor and a policeman who wants to make a name for himself, even if it is on the death of one man, and the monstrously wrong accusation against another, who was his friend. Throw it out as the farrago of rubbish it is!"

"Is that your defense?" Juster said loudly. "You appear to be summing up."

"No, it is not!" Gleave retorted. "Although I hardly need more. But have your witness back, by all means."

"Not a great deal to say," Juster observed, taking his place. "Mr. Pitt, when you first questioned the housemaid, was she certain about the scratch on the billiard room door?"

"Absolutely."

"So something has caused her to change her mind since then?"

Pitt licked his lips. "Yes."

"I wonder what that could be?" Juster shrugged, then moved on quickly. "And the butler was certain that the library chair had been moved?"

"Yes."

"Has he since changed his mind?" Juster spread his hands in the air. "Oh, of course you don't know. Well, he hasn't. The boot-boy is also quite certain he cleaned his master's boots sufficiently thoroughly that there were no tufts or threads caught in them from the center of the carpet or the fringes." He looked as if he had suddenly had an idea. "By the way, was the piece you found a thread from the fringe or a piece of soft fluff, as from the pile?"

"Soft fluff, of the color from the center," Pitt replied.

"Just so. We have seen the shoes, but not the carpet." He smiled. "Impractical, I suppose. Nor can we see the library shelves with their mismatched books." He looked puzzled. "Why would a traveler and an antiquarian, interested most especially in Troy, its legends, its magic, its ruins that lie at the very core of our heritage, place three of its most vivid books on a shelf where he is obliged to climb steps to reach them? And obviously he did want them, or why would he have incurred his own death climbing up for them?" He lifted his shoulders dramatically. "Except, of course, that he didn't!"

***

That evening Pitt found it impossible to settle. He walked around his garden, pulling the odd weed, noticing the flowers in bloom and those in bud, the new leaves on the trees. Nothing held his attention.

Charlotte came out beside him, her face worried, the late sunlight making a halo around her hair, catching the auburn in it. The children were in bed and the house was quiet. The air was already growing chilly.

He turned and smiled at her. There was no need to explain. She had followed the case from the first days and knew why he was anxious, even if she had no idea of the foreboding he felt now. He had not told her how serious it could be if Adinett were found not guilty because the jury believed Pitt was incompetent and driven by personal emotions, creating a case out of nothing in order to satisfy some ambition or prejudice of his own.

They spoke of other things, trivia, and walked slowly the length of the lawn and back again. What they said did not matter, it was the warmth of her beside him he valued, the fact that she was there and did not press with questions or allow her own fears to show.

***

The following day Cleave began his defense. He had already done all he could to dismiss the evidence of Dr. Ibbs, of the various servants who had seen the tiny changes Pitt had spoken of, and of the man in the street who had observed someone roughly answering Adinett's description going into the side gate of Fetters's house. Now he called witnesses to the character of John Adinett. He had no shortage from which to choose, and he allowed the whole courtroom to know it. He paraded them one after another. They were drawn from many walks of life: social, military, political, even one from the church.

The last of them, the Honorable Lyall Birkett, was typical. He was slender, fair-haired, with an intelligent, aristocratic face and a quiet manner. Even before he spoke he impressed a certain authority upon his opinions. He had no doubt whatever that Adinett was innocent, a good man caught in a web of intrigue and misfortune.

Since he had given his evidence, Pitt was now permitted to remain in the court, and since he was in command of the Bow Street station he was not answerable to anyone else to return to it. He chose to hear the rest of the trial from a place on the benches.

"Twelve years," Birkett said in answer to Cleave's question as to how long he had been acquainted with Adinett. "We met at the services Club. You can usually be pretty sure of who you meet there." He smiled very slightly. It was not a nervous smile, not ingratiating, certainly not humorous, merely a gesture of good nature. "Small world, you see? Field of battle tests men. You get to know pretty quickly who's got the mettle, who you can rely on when there's anything to lose. Ask around a bit and you'll run into someone who knows your man."

"I think we can all understand that," Cleave said expansively. He too smiled, at the jury. "Nothing better tests a man's true worth, his courage, his loyalty and his honor in battle than the threat to his own life, or perhaps something worse, the fear of maiming without death, of being left crippled and in permanent pain." An expression of great grief filled his face. He turned slowly so the gallery as well as the jurors might see it. "And did you hear anything ill of John Adinett among all your fellows at the Services Club, Mr. Birkett? Anything at all?"

"Not a word." Birkett still treated the matter lightly. There was no amazement or emphasis in his voice. To him this seemed all a rather silly mistake which was going to be cleared up within a day or two, possibly less.

"But they did know Mr. Adinett?" Cleave pressed.

"Oh, yes, of course. He had served with particular distinction in Canada. Something to do with the Hudson Bay Company and a rebellion of some sort inland. Actually, Fraser told me about it. Said Adinett was more or less co-opted in because of his courage and his knowledge of the area. Vast wilderness, you know?" He raised fair eyebrows. "Yes, of course you know. Up in the Thunder Bay direction. No use for a man unless he has imagination, endurance, utter loyalty, intelligence and courage beyond limit."

Cleave nodded. "How about honesty?"

Birkett looked surprised at last. His eyes widened. "One takes that for granted, sir. There is no place whatever for a man who is not honest. Anyone may be mistaken in one way or another, but a lie is inexcusable."

"And loyalty to one's friends, one's fellows?" Cleave tried to look as if the question were casual and he did not know the answer. But he was in no danger of overplaying his hand. No one else in the room, except Juster, Pitt, and the judge, was sophisticated enough in courtroom histrionics to be aware of his tactics.

"Loyalty is more precious than life," Birkett said simply. "I would trust John Adinett with all I possess-my home, my land, my wife, my honor-and have not a moment's concern that I stood in danger of losing any of it."

Cleave was pleased with himself, as well he might be. The jury were regarding Birkett with admiration, and several of them had looked up at Adinett squarely for the first time. He was winning, and he tasted it already.

Pitt glanced at the jury foreman and saw him frown.

"Did you know Mr. Fetters, by any chance?" Cleave enquired conversationally, turning back to the witness.

"Slightly." Birkett's face darkened and a look of sadness came into it that was so sharp no one could question its reality. "A fine man. It is a bitter irony that he should travel the world in search of the ancient and beautiful in order to uncover the glories of the past, and slip to his death in his own library." He let out his breath silently. "I've read his papers on Troy. Opened up a new world for me, I admit. Never thought it so... immediate, before. I daresay travel and a passionate interest in the richness of other cultures were what drew Fetters and Adinett together."

"Could they have had a conflict of any sort over it?" Cleave asked, and the certainty of the answer shone in his eyes.

Birkett was startled. "Good heavens, no! Fetters was a skilled man; Adinett is merely an enthusiast, a supporter and admirer of those who actually made the discoveries. He spoke very highly of Fetters, but he had no ambition to emulate him, only to take joy in his achievements."

"Thank you, Mr. Birkett," Cleave said with a slight bow. "You have reinforced all that we have already heard from other men of distinction such as yourself. No one has spoken ill of Mr. Adinett, from the highest to the most humble. I don't know if my learned friend has anything to put to you, but I have nothing further."

Juster did not hesitate. The jury was slipping away from him, and Pitt could see that he knew it. But the shadow of indecision was in his face for only a moment before it was masked.

"Thank you," he said graciously, then turned to Birkett.

Pitt felt a tightening of anxiety in his chest; Birkett was unassailable, as all the character witnesses had been. In the last two days, by association with the men who admired him and were willing to swear friendship to him, even to appear in a court where he was accused of murder, Adinett had been placed almost beyond criticism. To attack Birkett would alienate the jury, not convince them of the few slender facts.

Juster smiled. "Mr. Birkett, you say that John Adinett was absolutely loyal to his friends?"

"Absolutely," Birkett affirmed, nodding his agreement.

"A quality you admire?" Juster asked.

"Of course."

"Ahead of loyalty to your principles?"

"No." Birkett looked slightly puzzled. "I did not suggest that, sir. Or if I did, it was unintentional. A man must place his principles before everything, or he is of no value. A friend would expect as much. At least any man would that I should choose to call friend."

"I too," Juster agreed. "A man must do what he believes to be right, even if it should prove to be at the terrible cost of the loss of a friend, or of the esteem of those he cares for."

"My lord!" Cleave said, standing up impatiently. "This is all very moral sounding, but it is not a question! If my learned friend has a point in all this, may he be asked to reach it?"

The judge looked at Juster enquiringly.

Juster was not perturbed. "The point is very important, my lord. Mr. Adinett was a man who would place his principles, his convictions, above even friendship. Or to put it another way, even friendship, however long or deep, would have to be sacrificed to his beliefs if the two were in opposition. We have established that the victim, Martin Fetters, was his friend. I am obliged to Mr. Cleave for establishing that friendship was not Adinett's paramount concern, and he would sacrifice it to principle, were such a choice forced upon him."

There was a murmur around the room. One of the jurors looked startled, but there was a sudden comprehension in his face. The foreman let out his breath in a sigh, and something within him relaxed.

"We have not established that there was any such conflict!" Cleave protested, taking a pace forward across the floor.

"Or that there was not!" Juster rejoined, swinging around to him.

The judge silenced them both with a look.

Juster thanked Birkett and returned to his seat, this time walking easily, with a slight swagger.

***

The following day Cleave began his final assault upon Pitt. He faced the jury.

"This whole case, flimsy and circumstantial as it is, depends entirely upon the evidence of one man, Superintendent Thomas Pitt." His voice was heavy with contempt. "Discount what he says and what have we left? I don't need to tell you-we have nothing at all!" He ticked off on his fingers. "A man who saw another man in the street, turning in towards one of the gardens. This man might have been John Adinett, or he might not." He put up another finger. "A scratch on a door which could have been there for days, and was probably caused by a clumsily wielded billiard cue." A third finger. "A library chair moved, for any number of reasons." A fourth finger. "Books out of place." He shrugged, waving his hands. "Perhaps they were left out, and the housemaid is not a reader of classical Greek mythology, so she put them back wherever she thought they fitted. Her mind was on tidiness of appearance, not order of subject. Very possibly she cannot read at all! A thread of carpet in a shoe." He opened his eyes very wide. "How did it get there? Who knows? And most absurd of all, half a glass of port wine. Mr. Pitt would have us believe this means that Mr. Fetters had no occasion to ring for the butler. All it really means is that Mr. Pitt himself is not accustomed to having servants-which we might reasonably have guessed, since he is a policeman." He pronounced the last word with total scorn.

There was silence in the courtroom.

Gleave nodded.

"I propose to call several witnesses who are well acquainted with Mr. Pitt and will tell you what manner of man he is, so you may judge for yourselves what his evidence is worth."

Pitt's heart sank as he heard Albert Donaldson's name and saw the familiar figure cross the open well of the court and mount the witness stand. Donaldson looked heavier and grayer than he had when he was Pitt's superior fifteen years before, but the expression in his face was just as Pitt recalled, and he knew Donaldson's contempt was still simmering just below the exterior.

The testimony went exactly as he expected.

"You are retired from the Metropolitan Police Force, Mr. Donaldson?" Gleave asked.

"I am."

Gleave nodded slightly.

"When you were an inspector at the Bow Street station was there a Constable Thomas Pitt working there?"

"There was." Donaldson's expression already betrayed his feelings.

Gleave smiled. His shoulders relaxed.

"What sort of a man was he, Mr. Donaldson? I presume you had occasion to work with him often-in fact, he was answerable to you?"

"He wasn't answerable to anybody, that one!" Donaldson retorted, darting a glance towards Pitt where he sat in the crowd. It had taken Donaldson only a moment to pick him out in the front rows. "Law to himself. Always thought he knew best, and wouldn't be told by no one."

He had waited years for his chance to get revenge for the frustration he had felt, for Pitt's insubordination, for the flouting of rules Pitt had viewed as petty restrictions, for the cases Pitt had worked on without keeping his seniors informed. Pitt had been at fault. Even Pitt knew it now, when he had command of the station himself.

"Would arrogant be a fair word to describe him?" Gleave enquired.

"A very fair one," Donaldson answered quickly.

"Opinionated!" Gleave went on.

Juster half rose, then changed his mind.

The foreman of the jury leaned forward, frowning.

Up in the dock, Adinett sat motionless.

"Another good one." Donaldson nodded. "Always wanted to do things his own way, never mind the official way. Wanted all the glory for himself, and that was plain to see from the start."

Gleave invited the witness to give examples of Pitt's arrogance, ambition and flouting of the rules, and Donaldson obeyed with relish, until even Gleave decided he had had enough. He seemed a trifle reluctant to offer Donaldson to Juster, but he had no choice.

Juster took on his task with some satisfaction.

"You did not like Constable Pitt, did you, Mr. Donaldson?" he said ingenuously.

It would have been absurd for Donaldson to deny his feelings. Even he was sensible of that. He had shown them far too vividly.

"Can't like a man who makes your job impossible," he replied, the defensiveness sharp in his voice.

"Because he solved his cases in an unorthodox manner, at least at times?" Juster asked.

"Broke the rules," Donaldson corrected.

"Made mistakes?" Juster stared very directly at him.

Donaldson flushed slightly. He knew Juster could trace the records easily enough, and probably had.

"Well, no more than most men."

"Actually, less than most men," Juster argued. "Do you know of any man, or woman, convicted on Mr. Pitt's evidence, who was subsequently found to be innocent?"

The foreman of the jury relaxed.

"I don't follow all his cases!" Donaldson objected. "I've got more to do with my time than trace cases of every ambitious constable on the force."

Juster smiled. "Then I'll tell you, since it is part of my job to know the men I trust," he replied. "The answer is no, no one has been wrongly convicted on Superintendent Pitt's evidence in all his career in the force."

"Because we have good defense lawyers!" Donaldson glanced sideways at Gleave. "Thank God!"

Juster acknowledged the point with a grin. He knew better than to display temper before a jury.

"Pitt was ambitious." He allowed it to be a statement more than a question.

"I said so. Very!" Donaldson snapped.

Juster put his hands in his pockets casually. "I presume he must be. He has reached the rank of superintendent, in charge of a most important station, Bow Street. Rather higher than you ever reached, isn't it?"

Donaldson flushed darkly. "I didn't marry a well-born wife with connections."

Juster looked surprised, his black eyebrows shooting up. "So he excelled you socially as well? And I hear she is not only wellborn but intelligent, charming and handsome. I think we understand your feelings very well, Mr. Donaldson." He turned away. "Thank you. I have nothing further to ask you."

Gleave stood up. He decided he could not retrieve the situation, and sat down again.

Donaldson left the stand, his face dark, his shoulders hunched, and he did not look towards Pitt as he passed on his way to the door.

Gleave called his next witness. This man's opinion of Pitt was no better, if rooted in different causes. Juster could not shake him so easily. His dislike of Pitt was born of Pitt's handling of a case long ago in which a friend of the witness had suffered from public suspicion until being proved not guilty rather late in the affair. It had not been one of Pitt's more skilled or well-conducted investigations.

A third witness recited instances that were capable of unflattering interpretation, making Pitt seem both arrogant and prejudiced. His early years were described unkindly.

"He was the son of a gamekeeper, you say?" Gleave asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Pitt felt cold. He remembered Gerald Slaley, and he knew what was coming next, but he was powerless to prevent it. There was nothing he could do but sit still and endure it.

"That's right. His father was deported for stealing," Slaley agreed. "Always held a grudge against the gentry, if you ask me. Gone after us on purpose, made something of a crusade of it. Check his cases and you'll see. That's why he was promoted by the men who chose him: to prosecute where the powerful and well-to-do were concerned... where they thought it politic. And he never let them down."

"Yes." Gleave nodded sagely. "I too have been examining Mr. Pitt's record." He glanced at Juster, and back to Slaley again. "I've noticed how often he has specialized in cases where people of prominence are concerned. If my learned friend wishes to contest the issue, I can rehearse them easily enough."

Juster shook his head. He knew better than to allow it. Too many of them had been notorious cases and might well be resented by members of the jury. One could not know who had been their friends, or men they admired.

Gleave was satisfied. He had painted Pitt as an ambitious and irresponsible man, motivated not by honor but by a long-held bitterness and hunger for revenge because his father had been convicted of a crime of which he still believed him innocent. That was one issue Juster could not retrieve.

The prosecution summed up.

The defense had the final word, again reminding the jurors that its case hung upon Pitt's evidence.

The jury retired to consider their verdict.

They did not find one that night.

The following morning they finally reappeared four minutes before midday.

"Have you reached a verdict?" the judge asked grimly.

"We have, my lord," the foreman announced. He did not look up at the dock; or at Juster, sitting rigidly, black head a little bowed; or at Gleave, smiling confidently. But there was an ease in his bearing, an erectness in the carriage of his head.

"And is it the verdict of you all?" the judge asked him.

"It is, my lord."

"Do you find the prisoner, John Adinett, guilty or not guilty of the murder of Martin Fetters?"

"Guilty, my lord."

Juster's head jerked up.

Gleave let out a cry of outrage, half rising to his feet.

Adinett was set like stone, uncomprehending.

The gallery erupted in astonishment, and journalists scrambled to get out and report to their newspapers that the unbelievable had happened.

"We'll appeal!" Gleave's voice could be heard above the melee.

The judge commanded order, and as the court finally settled to order again, and a kind of terrible silence, he sent the usher for the black cap he would place on his head before he pronounced sentence of death upon John Adinett.

Pitt sat frozen. It was both a victory and a defeat. His reputation had been torn to shreds for the public, whatever the jury had believed. It was a just verdict. He had no doubt Adinett was guilty, even though he had no idea why he had done such a thing.

And yet in all the crimes he had ever investigated, all the hideous and tragic truths he had uncovered, there had never been one for which he would willingly have hanged a man. He believed in punishment; he knew it was necessary, for the guilty, for the victim and for society. It was the beginning of healing. But he had not ever believed in the extinction of a human being, any human being-not John Adinett.

He left the courtroom and went out and walked up to Newgate Street with no sense of victory.