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unthinkable—there were only four of them: Cahoon, Julius, Hamilton, and Simnel. What this policeman was saying seemed inescapable, and yet it was also ridiculous. He did not know them, or he would not even imagine it.
    But how well did she know them? She had been married to Cahoon for over seven years, lived in his house, sometimes intimately, at other times as strangers, misreading each other, saying the same words and meaning different things. She knew his mind. He was lucidly clear. But she had never known his heart.
    Hamilton Quase was charming when he wished to be, but Liliane was obviously afraid for him. She leaped to defend him as if he were uniquely vulnerable. Memories flashed into Elsa’s mind of looks between Liliane and Julius, a sudden pallor on Hamilton’s face, and a smile on Cahoon’s, then a thinning of the lips, an unnatural change of subject.
    â€œI would help you if I could, Mr. Pitt,” she said, struggling to sound resolute and in control. “This is an appalling thing to have happened, for all of us, but of course mostly for the poor woman. I retired a little after nine. I have no knowledge of what happened after that. You will have to ask my husband, and the other gentlemen.”
    â€œI have done, Mrs. Dunkeld,” Pitt replied. “Each says that after the…entertainment…was finished, he retired alone. Except Mr. Sorokine. He says he left them early, and they all confirm that he did, as do the servants. Unfortunately, since he did not share a room with Mrs. Sorokine, or see her again until morning, that is of little value to us in excluding him.”
    She felt her face burn. “I see. So you know nothing, except that it was one of us?”
    â€œYes. I am afraid that is exactly what I mean.”
    She could think of no reply, not even any protest or question. The silence lay in the room like a covering for the dead.

CHAPTER
THREE
    O N THE DAY the murder was discovered at the Palace, Gracie Phipps had been the all-purpose maid at the Pitts’ home for nearly eight years. She was twenty-one now and engaged to marry Police Sergeant Samuel Tellman. Gracie was intensely proud of working for such a remarkable man as Pitt. She had no doubt whatever that he was the best detective in England.
    When she began in his service, she had been four feet ten inches tall and could neither read nor write. She had not considered the possibility of ever doing either. However, Charlotte Pitt had offered to teach her. Now Gracie could not only read newspapers but even books and, more than that, she enjoyed it. She had also grown a whole inch and a half.
    She was reading in her bedroom with the attic windows open to the rustling of leaves and the distant sounds of traffic, when there was a knock on the door. She was startled. It was dark outside and must be late. She had lost count of time in the adventure on the pages.
    She stood up quickly and went to answer the knock.
    Charlotte was on the landing, still fully dressed but with her hair rather less than tidily pinned, as if she had put it back up again in haste.
    â€œYes, ma’am?” Gracie said with a flutter of alarm. “Is something wrong?” Her mind went instantly to Pitt, having been called out in an emergency early that morning. There had been no message from him since. “Is Mr. Pitt all right?”
    â€œYes, perfectly, I believe,” Charlotte said with an oddly rueful smile. “Mr. Narraway, from Special Branch, would like to see you. He has something to ask you.” Her expression softened. “Please feel perfectly at liberty to answer him as you wish to. Whatever you say will be acceptable to me, and I shall see that your decision is respected.”
    â€œWot…wot’s ’e gonna say?” Gracie asked with panic rising inside her. She knew Narraway was Pitt’s superior. He was a strange man, quietly spoken and elegant in a lean, very dark sort of way. But Gracie