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‘I have something,’ Daniel said.
‘Oh, yes?’ Kitteridge rubbed his eyes. ‘What?’ He was trying to be polite, but there was no interest in his voice.
‘Come and have a cup of tea,’ Daniel suggested. ‘And I’ll tell you.’
Kitteridge looked weary. ‘We haven’t time for cups of tea. There are only eight and a half days left to get the appeal in! Can’t you count?’
‘It will be enough, if you listen to me and help,’ Daniel said urgently. He did not mean to crow. He needed Kitteridge’s help if he were to trap Graves without letting his book be published, and that was far more important to him than anything Kitteridge was pursuing.
Kitteridge stood up awkwardly; his legs had been too long to fold easily underneath the stool.
They walked out of the reading room in silence, along the hallway, out of the double doors and into the street. Kitteridge was not prepared to listen until they had reached the tea room and had sat down.
‘What is it?’ he said at last.
‘Graves isn’t guilty of killing Ebony,’ Daniel insisted. ‘It’s beyond any doubt at all – because Ebony isn’t dead.’
Kitteridge’s face tightened. ‘I’m not in the mood for humour, Pitt. They’re going to hang Graves, unless we find a way to take this to appeal.’
‘Ebony isn’t dead,’ Daniel repeated. ‘The dead woman was Winifred Graves, his first wife – well, only wife, as it happens. Graves was a bigamist. She found out about the inheritance and came to cash in on it—’
‘Damn!’ Kitteridge said savagely. ‘Then who killed her? Ebony? I can’t entirely blame her! God damn him!’
‘It was an accident,’ Daniel said earnestly. ‘And I think we can prove it. By the way, her X-rays show that she was pretty consistently beaten over twenty years. Scars, too. And I want to put him in prison for bigamy.’
‘An accident? We’ll have to work hard to prove that. Ebony had every reason to kill this woman.’ Kitteridge’s face was twisted in an odd expression of pity. He believed it, and it hurt him.
Daniel liked him the better for it. ‘It won’t be easy,’ he admitted. ‘But we have to try. Much as we might like to, we can’t hang him for killing a woman we know is alive.’
‘It would be deeply embarrassing for him when his first wife showed up. I don’t suppose there’s any chance he killed her, is there?’ Kitteridge asked hopefully.
‘No, unfortunately not. He’d have dealt with it before now, and made sure Ebony paid for it, or someone else other than himself. Got rid of the body, probably. It’s about the only sensible thing.’
‘But there was a body, we know, so Ebony didn’t do that?’ Kitteridge said.
‘That’s why it was burned,’ Daniel pointed out. ‘To pass it off as her.’
‘And have Graves hang. Nice.’ From Kitteridge’s face, it was impossible to know how much the last was said sarcastically, and how much bitterly. ‘Why are you telling me now?’
‘Because I need your help.’
‘Marcus will probably take this case himself. He was pretty outstanding in his day. One last hurrah, and all that,’ Kitteridge said.
‘Possibly,’ Daniel agreed. ‘With your assistance. Anyway, let us just get him to see that Graves is charged with bigamy, for the family’s sake. Once his first wife’s existence is established, they’re pretty well ruined anyway. But there’s something else I must do, and it’s even more important to me than . . .’
Kitteridge was about to protest, but he saw something in Daniel’s face, perhaps in his eyes. ‘But?’
‘This book he’s writing,’ Daniel said quietly. ‘I told you it’s an exposé of several people, but mostly two people I care about, even if they’re dead now, and of course, my father, who is very much alive.’
‘You mentioned Lord Narraway and his wife . . .’
‘Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould—’
‘Lady Vespasia Narraway,’ Kitteridge corrected.
‘Most of my life I knew her as Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould.’
Kitteridge’s eyes widened. ‘You knew her? Really?’
