“You are here to find out what happened to poor Unity and see that some justice is done her!” It was more a challenge than a question. Her lips trembled and she controlled herself with difficulty, but her overriding emotion at the moment was anger. Grief would probably follow soon.

“I am going to try to, Miss Parmenter,” he answered, turning to face her. “Do you know anything that can be of help in that?”

“Mrs. Whickham,” she corrected, her mouth tightening a little. “I am a widow.” The expression with which she said the last word was unreadable. “I didn’t see it, if that’s what you mean.” She came forward, the light falling bright on her hair as she passed under the chandelier. She looked very English in this exotic room. “I don’t know what I could tell you, except that Unity was one of the bravest, most heroic people in the world,” she went on, her voice charged with emotion. “At whatever the cost, she should be avenged. She, of all the victims of violence and oppression, deserves justice. It’s ironic, isn’t it, that one who fought for freedom so fiercely and honestly should be stabbed in the back?” She gave a sharp little shudder, and her face was very white. “How tragic! But I wouldn’t expect you to understand that.”

Pitt was startled. He had not been prepared for this reaction.

“She fell down the stairs, Mrs. Whickham…” he began.

She looked at him witheringly. “I know that! I meant it in a higher sense. She was betrayed. She was killed by those she trusted. Are you always so literal?”

His instinct was to argue with her, but he knew it would defeat his purpose.

“You seem very certain it was deliberate, Mrs. Whickham,” he said almost casually. “Do you know what happened?”

She gulped air. “She didn’t fall; she was pushed.”