Bedford Square Read Online Free PDF

chair opposite Cornwallis’s desk. He was comfortable in this room with its watercolor seascapes on the walls, the polished brass sextant on the shelf next to the books, not only on police matters but also a Jane Austen novel and a copy of the Bible, and several volumes of poetry: Shelley, Keats and Tennyson.
    “Do you know who he is?” Cornwallis asked, placing his elbows on the desk and making a steeple of his fingers.
    “Not yet, but Tellman is working on it,” Pitt answered. “There was a receipt for three pair of socks in his pocket. There’s a chance it might help. They were bought only two days before he was killed.”
    “Good.” Cornwallis seemed to be unconcerned over the matter, or perhaps he was occupied with something else.
    “The snuffbox in his pocket belonged to General Balantyne,” Pitt repeated.
    Cornwallis frowned. “Presumably he stole it. Doesn’t mean he met his death in Balantyne’s home. I imagine—” He stopped. “Yes, I see what you mean. Unpleasant … and puzzling. I … know Balantyne, slightly. A good man. Can’t imagine him doing anything so … stupid.”
    Pitt had a strong sense of Cornwallis’s anxiety, but it seemed to have been present since before Pitt had come in, as if something else held his attention so strongly he was unable to put his mind fully to what Pitt was saying.
    “Nor I,” Pitt agreed.
    Cornwallis jerked his head up. “What?”
    “I can’t imagine General Balantyne doing anything so stupid as putting a corpse outside his own front door rather than simply calling the police,” Pitt said patiently.
    “Do you know him?” Cornwallis looked at Pitt as if he had walked into the middle of a conversation and was aware he had missed the beginning.
    “Yes. I investigated two previous cases in which he was concerned … indirectly. As a witness.”
    “Oh. I didn’t know that.”
    “Is there something troubling you?” Pitt liked Cornwallis, and while aware of his lack of political knowledge, he had a profound respect for his honesty and his moral courage. “It’s not this Tranby Croft business, is it?”
    “What? Good heavens, no!” For the first time since Pitt had come in, Cornwallis relaxed, on the verge of outright laughter. “I’m sorry for them all. I’ve no idea whether Gordon-Cumming was cheating or not, but the poor devil will be ruined now, either way. And my opinion of the Prince of Wales, or anyone else who spends his time drifting from one house party to another, doing nothing more useful than playing cards, is better unexpressed, even in private.”
    Pitt was uncertain whether to ask again, or if that had been a polite way of evading the issue. Yet he was certain that Cornwallis was worried to a degree that it intruded into his thoughts even when he wished to put his entire mind to a present issue.
    Cornwallis pushed back his chair and stood up. He walked over to the window and pulled it closed sharply.
    “Terrible noise out there!” he said with irritation. “Keep me informed how you progress with this Bedford Square case.”
    It was dismissal. Pitt stood up. “Yes sir.” He walked towards the door.
    Cornwallis cleared his throat.
    Pitt stopped.
    “I …” Cornwallis began, then hesitated.
    Pitt turned around to look at him.
    There was a faint flush of color in Cornwallis’s lean cheeks. He was profoundly unhappy. He made the decision.
    “I’ve … I’ve received a blackmail letter ….”
    Pitt was astonished. Of all the possibilities that had come to his mind, this seemed the most outlandish.
    “Words cut out from the
Times,”
Cornwallis went on in the prickling silence. “Pasted on a piece of paper.”
    Pitt scrambled his thoughts together with difficulty.
    “What do they want?”
    “That’s it.” Cornwallis’s body was rigid, his muscles locked. He stared at Pitt. “Nothing! They don’t ask for anything at all! Just the threat.”
    Pitt loathed asking, but not to would be to walk away from a man whose