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This window will be a monument to him, towards which people will raise their eyes every Sunday, and through which God’s holy light will pour in upon them.”
    “For heaven’s sake, man, the light would come through whatever window you put in the wall,” Shaw snapped at last. “In fact you’d get most of it if you stood outside in the graveyard in the fresh air.”
    “I was speaking figuratively,” Hatch replied with suppressed fury in his eyes. “Must you see everything in such earthbound terms? At least in this terrible time of bereavement, lift your soul to eternal things.” He blinked fiercely, his lips white and his voice trembling. “God knows, this is dreadful enough.”
    The momentary quarrel vanished and grief replaced anger.Shaw stood motionless, the first time he had been totally still since Pitt had arrived.
    “Yes—I—” He could not bring himself to apologize. “Yes, of course. The police are here. It was arson.”
    “What?” Hatch was aghast. The blood fled from his face and he swayed a little on his feet. Lindsay moved towards him in case he should fall. Prudence swung back and held out her arms, then the meaning of what Shaw had said struck her and she also stood appalled.
    “Arson! You mean someone set fire to the house intentionally?”
    “That is right.”
    “So it was”—she swallowed, composing herself with difficulty—“murder.”
    “Yes.” Shaw put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, my dear. But that is what the police are here for.”
    For the first time both she and Hatch turned their attention to Pitt with a mixture of alarm and distaste. Hatch squared his shoulders and addressed Pitt with difficulty, ignoring Murdo.
    “Sir, there is nothing whatsoever that we can tell you. If indeed it was deliberate, then look to some vagabond. In the meantime, leave us to bear our grief in private, in the name of humanity.”
    It was late and Pitt was tired, hungry and weary of pain, the stench of stale smoke, and the itch of ash inside his clothes. He had no more questions to ask. He had seen the forensic evidence and learned what little there was to be concluded from it. It was no vagabond responsible; it was carefully laid with intent to destroy, probably to kill—but by whom? Either way the answer would lie in the hearts of the people who knew Stephen and Clemency Shaw, perhaps someone he had already seen, or heard mentioned.
    “Yes sir,” he agreed with a sense of relief. “Thank you for your attention.” He said this last to Shaw and Lindsay. “When I learn anything I shall inform you.”
    “What?” Shaw screwed up his face. “Oh—yes, of course. Goodnight—er—Inspector.”
    Pitt and Murdo withdrew and a few minutes later were walking up the quiet street by the light of Murdo’s lantern, back towards Highgate Police Station, and for Pitt a long hansom ride home.
    “Do you reckon it was Mrs. Shaw or the doctor they were after?” Murdo asked after they had gone a couple of hundred yards and the night wind was blowing with a touch of frost in their faces.
    “Either,” Pitt replied. “But if it was Mrs. Shaw, then it seems so far only Mr. and Mrs. Dalgetty, and the good doctor himself, knew she was at home.”
    “Lot of people might want to kill a doctor, I suppose,” Murdo said thoughtfully. “I imagine doctors get to know a lot of folks’ secrets, one way or another.”
    “Indeed,” Pitt agreed, shivering and quickening his pace a little. “And if that is so, the doctor may know who it is—and they may try again.”

2
    C
HARLOTTE HAD DONE
half the linen and her arm was tired with the weight of the flatiron. She had stitched three pillowcases and mended Jemima’s best dress. Now she had stuffed it in her needlework basket and pushed it all away where it could not be seen, at least not at a casual glance, which was the most Pitt would give the corner of the room when he came in.
    It was already nearly nine o’clock and she had long been straining