Midnight at Marble Arch Read Online Free PDF

pulling out a circular piece large enough to let a hand pass through to undo the latch. “Star-glazing, they call it,” he finished.
    “Do you know that from working in Special Branch?” Quixwood asked curiously, as if it puzzled him.
    “No, I learned it from a friend of mine who used to be in the regular police.” Narraway went on reciting other tricks Pitt had mentioned at one time or another: small details about forgers of many different sorts, about pickpockets, card sharps, fencers of all the different qualities of stolen goods. Neither of them cared about it but Quixwood listened politely. It was better than thinking about what was going on in the hall only feet away.
    Narraway was just about out of explanations of the criminal underworld of which Pitt had educated him, when at last there was a knock on the door. At Quixwood’s answer, Knox came in, closing it behind him.
    “Excuse me, my lord,” he said to Narraway, then turned to Quixwood. “The surgeon’s left, sir, and taken Mrs. Quixwood’s body with him. Would you mind if I ask you one or two questions, just to get things straight? Then … I don’t know if you wish to stay here, or perhaps you’d rather find somewhere else for the night? Do you have any friends you’d like to be with?”
    “What? Oh … I’ll … just stay here, I think.” Quixwood looked bemused, as if he had not even considered what he was going to do.
    “Wouldn’t you rather go to your club?” Narraway suggested. “It would be more comfortable for you.”
    Quixwood stared at him. “Yes, yes, I suppose so. In a little while.” He turned to Knox. “What happened to her? Surely you must know now?” His face was white, his eyes hollow.
    Knox sat down in the chair opposite Quixwood and Narraway. He leaned forward a little.
    Narraway could not help wondering how often the inspector had done this, and if anything ever prepared him for it, or made it any easier. He thought probably not.
    “I’d rather not have to tell you this, sir,” Knox began. “But you’re going to know it one way or another; I’m sorry, Mrs. Quixwood was raped, and then killed. We’re not quite sure how she died; thesurgeon will tell us that when he’s had time to make an examination in his offices.”
    Quixwood stared at him, eyes wide, his hands shaking. “Did … did you say ‘raped’?”
    “Yes, sir. I’m sorry,” Knox said unhappily.
    “Did she suffer?” Quixwood’s voice was hardly audible.
    “Probably not for very long,” Knox said. His tone was gentle, but he would not lie.
    Quixwood rubbed his hand over his face, pushing his hair back, hard. His skin was ashen. There was no blood in it, and the darkness of his hair and brows looked almost blue. “How did it happen, Inspector? How did anyone get in here to do that? Where were the servants, for God’s sake?”
    “We’re looking into that, sir,” Knox answered.
    “Who found her?” Quixwood persisted.
    Knox was patient, knowing the answers were needed, no matter what they were.
    “The butler, Mr. Luckett. It seems he frequently goes for a short walk along the street and over the square before retiring. He found her when he checked the front door last thing before going to bed himself, sir.”
    “Oh …” Quixwood looked at the floor. “Poor Catherine,” he murmured.
    “I presume he locked the front door, then left for his walk through the side door and up the area steps?” Narraway asked Knox.
    “Yes, sir. And returned the same way, bolting the door after him for the night.”
    “And saw no one?” Narraway asked.
    “No, sir, so he says.”
    “It’ll be the truth,” Quixwood interjected. “Been with us for years. He’s a good man.” His eyes widened. “For God’s sake, you can’t think he had anything to do with this?”
    “No, sir,” Knox said calmly. “It’s just practice to check everything we can, from every angle.”
    “Does Luckett know what time he returned to the house?” Narraway