Traitors Gate

10

PITT COULD NOT SLEEP. At first he lay silently in bed, uncertain whether Charlotte was also awake and loath to disturb her, but eventually he decided she was asleep and would not be aware if he got up and left the room.

He crept downstairs and stood in the parlor looking at the soft light of the quarter moon over the garden. He could dimly see the pale drift of the apple blossom and the dark shadow of the tree on the grass. There were shreds of cloud in the sky, masking some of the stars. Others he could see in tiny pinpoints of light. The night air was warm. In a few weeks it would be midsummer and there were hardly any fires lit in all the million houses, only the cooking ranges, the gasworks and factory chimneys. Even the slight wind smelled clean.

Of course it was nothing like Brackley, where you could breathe in the scent of hay and leaves and damp woods and turned earth all in one great gasp. But it was better than usual, and there was a stillness that should have brought a sense of calm. In other circumstances it would have.

But tomorrow he would have to go and confront Ransley Soames. There really was no alternative. He knew all the information which had been passed from the Treasury. Matthew himself had given him that. Soames had been privy to all of it. So had several others, but he could recount precisely what he had overheard him say, and the specific reference to Simonstown and the Boers, even the exact words he had used regarding Pitt himself.

It would be an ugly scene; it was bound to be. Tomorrow was Saturday. Pitt would find him at his home, which was about the only good thing in the whole matter. He could be arrested and charged discreetly, not in front of his colleagues.

Of course for Harriet it would be close to unbearable. But then, anyone’s fall hurt others. There was always a wife, a child or a parent, someone to be horrified, disillusioned, torn with amazement and grief and shame. One could not allow it to impinge too far, or one would be so racked with pity it would be impossible to function.

It was after nine o’clock when Pitt stood in Ransley Soames’s hallway. The butler looked at him with curiosity.

“I am afraid it is a matter which cannot wait,” Pitt said gravely. He had brought Tellman with him, in case the scene became uglier than he could handle alone, but he had left him outside, reluctant to call him unless it became unavoidable.

“I will see if Mr. Soames is able to receive you,” the butler replied. It was not the customary euphemism, but it served the same purpose.

He was gone only a few moments and returned with an expressionless face.

“If you care to come this way, sir, Mr. Soames will see you in the study.”

But actually it was a further ten minutes before Soames appeared. Pitt waited in the quiet, pale green room set with ornate furniture, too many pictures and photographs, and a potted plant which had been overwatered. Normally he might have looked at the bookcases. They were usually indicative of a man’s character and interests. But today he could not concentrate his mind on more than the immediate future. He saw two rather idealistic books concerning Africa. One was a novel by H. Rider Haggard, the other a collection of letters from a missionary.

The door opened and Soames came in, closing it behind him. He looked mildly irritated, but not concerned.

“How may I help you, Mr. Pitt?” he said tersely. “I imagine it is urgent, or you would not have come to my home on a Saturday morning.”

“Yes, Mr. Soames, it is,” Pitt acknowledged. “There is no pleasant way of dealing with this, so I shall be direct. I have cause, sir, to know that it is you who has been passing financial information from the Treasury to someone in the Colonial Office, for them to pass on to the German Embassy.”

The blood rushed scarlet to Soames’s face, and then after a moment of terrible silence, fled, leaving him pasty white. He opened his mouth to say something, perhaps a denial, but the words died on his tongue. He might have had some conception of the guilt in his face, and how futile, even ridiculous, such a denial would be.

“It—it’s not …” he began, and then faltered to a stop. “You don’t understand,” he said wretchedly. “It’s not …”

“No,” Pitt agreed. “I don’t.”

“It is not accurate information!” Soames looked as if he were in danger of fainting, his skin was so white, and there was a chill sweat standing out on his lip and brow. “It was to mislead Germany!”

Pitt hovered for a moment on the edge of believing him, then realized how easy that was to say, and how unlikely.

“Indeed,” he said coldly. “Perhaps you will give me the names of the government ministers who are aware of this. Regrettably they do not include the Foreign Secretary, the Colonial Secretary, or the Prime Minister.”

“It was not done … like … like that.” Soames looked agonized and his eyes were desperate, and yet there was somewhere a shred of honesty in them. Was it a terrified last attempt to convince himself?

“Then you had better explain precisely how it was done, and who else is involved,” Pitt suggested.

“But you know …” Soames stared at him, for the first time realizing that he did not know just how much Pitt was aware of, nor had he so far explained how he had learned it.

“If it is not what I think, Mr. Soames, then you will have to tell me precisely what it is,” Pitt said, retrenching his position quickly. “It looks to me like simple treason, the handing over of privileged government information to someone you knew would pass it to Britain’s enemies, or at best rivals. What consideration you received in return is a matter yet to be discovered.”

“None!” Soames was indignant. “Good God, there is … that is a heinous suggestion! I passed on information to a man of subtlety and brilliance who distorted it just sufficiently to be misleading, but not so much as to be unbelievable. Not against Britain’s interests, but very much to preserve them, in both East and Central Africa, but also in the North Sea. I would not expect you to understand….”

“Heligoland,” Pitt said succinctly.

Soames was transparently surprised. “Yes. Yes, that is right.”

“You gave this man correct information for him to distort it?”

“Precisely.”

Pitt sighed. “And how do you know he did that?”

“What?”

“How do you know that he distorted it before he passed it on?”

“I have his word….” He stopped, his eyes sick with sudden comprehension. “You don’t believe me….”

“I think the kindest thing I can say for you, Mr. Soames,” Pitt said wearily, “is that you are naive.” Soames pushed backwards into the chair behind him.

“Who is it?” Pitt asked.

“I … I can’t believe it.” Soames made one last effort to cling to his innocence. “He … was …”

“Plausible,” Pitt finished for him. “I find it hard to credit that you were so easily duped.” Although even as he said it, it became a lie. Looking at Soames’s face, ashen and wretched, he thought he was indeed naive.

“His reasons were …” Soames began again, still struggling. “His reasoning was so logical. They are not fools, the Germans.” He brushed his hand across his sweating lip. “The information had to be very close to accurate. Inventions would not do.”

“That I can easily accept,” Pitt agreed. “Even the need to give misinformation is understandable. They are acutely involved with East Africa, Zambezia, Zanzibar especially, and I know we are in negotiations with them over a major treaty.”

Soames’s face brightened a little.

“But we have a secret service for that kind of thing,” Pitt went on.

“Which works through the Foreign and Colonial offices!” Soames sat forward, his eyes brighter. “Really, Superintendent, I think you have misjudged the affair.”

“No I have not, Mr. Soames,” Pitt replied sharply. “If that kind of information were required of you, for that purpose, then you would have been asked for it by either Mr. Chancellor or Lord Salisbury. You would not have been required to do it covertly, and to be afraid of my enquiries. In fact I would have had no enquiries, because they were instigated by the Foreign Office, as you must recall, and assisted by the Colonial Office, who were most worried by the information passing to the Germans, and quite unaware that it is not correct.”

Soames sat on the edge of the chair, his body slack in a moment’s despair. Then he straightened up and shot to his feet, lunging at the telephone, and picked it out of its cradle, staring at Pitt defiantly. “I can explain!” He spoke to the operator and asked to be connected with Lord Salisbury’s home, giving the number. All the time his eyes were on Pitt.

A part of Pitt felt pity for him. He was arrogant and gullible, but he was not an intentional traitor.

There was a crackle at the other end of the line.

Soames drew in his breath to speak, then realized the futility of it.

Slowly he replaced the receiver.

There was no need for Pitt to make a comment. Soames looked as if his knees would buckle under him.

“Who did you give the information to?” Pitt asked again.

“Jeremiah Thorne,” Soames replied with stiff lips. “I gave it to Jeremiah Thorne.”

Before Pitt had time to respond, even to wonder if it were the truth, the door opened and Harriet Soames stood in the entrance, her face pale, her eyes wide and ready to accuse. She looked first at her father and saw his extreme distress, bordering on the edge of collapse, and then she glared at Pitt.

“Papa, you look ill. What has happened? Mr. Pitt, why have you come here, and at this hour of the day? Is it to do with Mrs. Chancellor’s death?” She came in and closed the door.

“No, Miss Soames,” Pitt answered her. “It is a matter, so far as I know, quite unconnected. I think it would be better if you were to permit us to conclude it privately, and then Mr. Soames can tell you afterwards, as seems good to him.”

She moved closer to her father, her eyes blazing, in spite of the alarm in her which was rapidly turning to fear.

“No. I will not leave until I know what has happened. Papa, what is wrong?” Her voice was rising with fear. He looked so desperate, so drained of all the buoyancy and confidence he had had only an hour ago. It was as if the vitality had bled out of him.

“My dear … I …” He attempted some explanation, but the test was too great for him. The truth weighed on him till it drove out everything else. “I have made a terrible mistake,” he tried again. “I have been very … naive…. I have allowed someone to use me, and to deceive me with a very plausible lie, a man whose honor I never questioned.”

“Who?” Her voice rose close to panic. “Who has used you? I don’t understand what you mean. Why is Mr. Pitt here? Why did you call in the police? If someone has defrauded you, can he help? Would it not be better to … I don’t know … to deal with it privately?” She looked from her father to Pitt, and back again. “Was it much money?”

Soames seemed incapable of a coherent explanation. Pitt could not bear the agony any longer. To see him at once struggling and despairing was an intrusion into the man’s shame which was unnecessary. A clean blow would be more merciful.

“Mr. Soames has been passing secret information to a spy,” he said to Harriet, “in his belief that the man was using it to help Britain’s interests in Africa by falsifying it before relaying it to the Germans. However the plan was not approved by either the Colonial Office or the Foreign Office. On the contrary, they had called me and empowered me to investigate where the information was coming from.”

She looked at him with disbelief.

“You are wrong! You must be wrong.” She swung around to her father, her mouth open, to ask him to explain; then she saw the full depth of his distress. Suddenly she knew that in some terrible way there was truth in it. She turned back to Pitt. “Well whatever happened,” she said furiously, “if my father has been deceived by someone, it was not a dishonorable act, and you should be very careful what you say to him.” Her voice shook and she stepped closer to Soames, as if he needed some physical protection and she would give it.

“I have not made an accusation of dishonor, Miss Soames,” Pitt said gently. “At least not on your father’s part.”

“Then why are you here? You should be looking for whoever it is that lied to him and passed on the information.”

“I did not know who, until your father told me.”

Her chin came up. “If you didn’t know who it was, then how could you know it had anything to do with my father? Perhaps it hasn’t. Have you thought of that, Superintendent?”

“I had thought of it, Miss Soames, and it is not so.”

“Prove it,” she challenged, staring at Pitt with brilliant eyes, her face set, jaw tight, her remarkable profile as stiff as if carved in almond-tinted stone.

“It’s no use, Harriet,” Soames interrupted at last. “The Superintendent overheard my conversation when I was passing the information. I don’t know how, but he was able to recite it back to me.”

She stood as if frozen. “What conversation? With whom?”

Soames glanced at Pitt, a question in his eyes.

Pitt shook his head.

“With the man at the Colonial Office,” Soames replied, avoiding using his name.

“What conversation?” Her voice was strangled in her throat. “When?”

“On Wednesday, late afternoon. Why? What difference can it make now?”

She turned very slowly to look at Pitt, horror in her eyes and disgust so absolute and so terrible her face was made ugly with it.

“Matthew,” she whispered. “Matthew told you, didn’t he?”

Pitt did not know what to say. He could not deny it, and yet neither could he bear to confirm that her charge was true. It would be fatuous and unbelievable to suggest that Matthew might not have understood the meaning of what he said, or what the result would be.

“You can’t deny it, can you!” she accused him.

“Harriet …” Soames began.

She swung around to him. “Matthew betrayed you, Papa … and me. He betrayed both of us for his precious Colonial Office. They’ll promote him, and you’ll be ruined.” There was a sob in her voice and she was so close to tears she barely had control.

Pitt wanted to defend Matthew, even to plead his cause, but he knew from her face that it would be useless, and anyway, Matthew had the right to say what he could to explain himself. Pitt should not preempt that, no matter how intensely he felt. He met Harriet’s eyes, full of overwhelming hurt, anger, confusion and the passion to protect. He understood it far more deeply than reason or words could have conveyed. He wanted to protect Matthew from the hurt he knew was inevitable, and with the same fierce instinct to save the weaker, the more vulnerable, that burned in her.

And both of them were powerless.

“It is despicable,” she said, catching her breath and almost choking. “How could anyone be so … so beneath contempt?”

“To give away their country’s secrets, with which they had been entrusted, or to report that treason to the authorities, Miss Soames?” Pitt said quietly.

She was white to the lips. “It … it is not … treason.” She found it difficult to say the word. “He … he … was deceived…. That is not treason … and … and you will not excuse Matthew to me—not ever!”

Soames climbed to his feet with difficulty. “I shall resign, of course.”

Pitt did not demur, nor point out that he would be extremely unlikely to have any option.

“Yes sir,” he agreed. “In the meantime, I think it would be advisable if you were to come to the Bow Street station and make a statement in respect of what you have just told me.”

“I suppose that is inevitable,” Soames agreed reluctantly. “I’ll … I’ll come on Monday.”

“No, Mr. Soames, you will come now,” Pitt said firmly.

Soames looked startled.

Harriet moved closer to her father, putting her arm through his. “He has already told you, Superintendent, he will go on Monday! You have had your victory. What else do you need? He is ruined! Isn’t that enough for you?”

“It is not I who has to be satisfied, Miss Soames,” Pitt replied with as much patience as he could muster. He was not sure whether she was so naive. “Your father is not alone in this tragedy. There are other people to arrest….”

“Then go and arrest them! Do your duty! There’s nothing more to keep you here!”

“The telephone.” Pitt looked at the instrument where it sat on its cradle.

“What about it?” She regarded it with loathing. “If you want to use it, you may!”

“So may you,” he pointed out. “To warn others, and when I arrive there, they will be gone. Surely you can see the necessity for action now, and not Monday morning?”

“Oh …”

“Mr. Soames?” He waited with growing impatience.

“Yes … I er …” He looked confused, broken, and for that moment at least, Pitt was almost as sorry for him as Harriet, even though he also felt a contempt for his foolishness. He had been arrogant enough to think he knew better than his colleagues, and no doubt a little self-importance had played its part, the knowledge that he knew secrets others did not. But he was going to pay an uncommon price for a very common sin.

Pitt opened the door for him.

“I’m coming with him!” Harriet declared defiantly.

“No, you are not,” Pitt said.

“I …”

“Please!” Soames turned to look at her. “Please … leave me a little dignity, my dear. I should rather face this alone.”

She fell back, the tears spilling over her cheeks, and Pitt escorted Soames out, leaving her standing in the doorway, her face filled with anger and overwhelming grief.

Pitt took Soames to Bow Street and left him there with Tellman, to take all the details of precisely what information he had passed to Thorne and when. He had hesitated to take him directly to the police station; it was a sensitive matter and he had been directly commissioned from higher up. But he could not take him to Matthew, the person who had originally instigated the investigation, because of the relationship between them. Nor could he take him to Linus Chancellor, who would be at home at this hour on a Saturday, and in no frame of mind to deal with such a matter. And he did not entirely trust any of the other people concerned, nor was he certain to find them in the Colonial Office, even if he had.

He had not the power to go directly to Lord Salisbury, and certainly not to the Prime Minister. He would arrest Thorne, and then make a complete report of the matter for Farnsworth.

He took two constables with him, just in case Thorne should prove violent. It was not beyond possibility. Secondly they would be necessary to conduct a search of the premises and prevent any destruction of further evidence which would no doubt be required if the matter came to trial. It was always possible the government might prefer to deal with it all discreetly, rather than expose its error and vulnerabilities to public awareness.

He arrived by hansom with the constables, and posted one at the back door, just in case of attempted flight. That would be undignified and absurd, but not beyond possibility. All kinds of people can panic, sometimes those one least expects.

A footman opened the front door, looking extremely sober—in fact the pallor of his face suggested he had already received some kind of shock and was still reeling from its effects.

“Yes sir?” he enquired without expression.

“I require to see Mr. Thorne.” Pitt made it a statement, not a request.

“I’m sorry sir, he is not at home,” the footman replied, still no emotion whatever in his face.

“When are you expecting his return?” Pitt felt a surprising frustration, probably because he had liked both Thorne himself and Christabel, and he loathed having to come on this errand. Being faced with postponing it made it even worse because it prolonged it.

“I am not, sir.” The footman looked confused and distressed, his eyes meeting Pitt’s directly for the first time.

“What do you mean, you are not?” Pitt snapped. “You mean you don’t know at what hour he will return? What about Mrs. Thorne? Is she at home?”

“No, sir, both Mr. and Mrs. Thorne left for Portugal yesterday evening, and my information is that they are not returning to England.”

“Not … at all?” Pitt was incredulous.

“No, sir, not at all. The household staff have been dismissed, except myself and the butler, and we are here only to take care of things until Mr. Thorne’s man of affairs can dispose of the house and its effects.”

Pitt was stunned. Thorne had fled. And if Thorne had gone last night, then it was not Soames’s doing. In fact Thorne had left without warning Soames, and he could have.

“Who was here yesterday?” he said sharply. “Exactly who called at this house yesterday?”

“Mr. Aylmer, sir. He came in the afternoon shortly after Mr. Thorne returned from the Colonial Office, about four o’clock, and half an hour after that, a Mr. Kreisler—”

“Kreisler?” Pitt interrupted immediately.

“Yes sir. He was here for about half an hour, sir.”

Pitt swore under his breath. “And when did Mr. Thorne inform you he was leaving for Portugal? When were those arrangements made?”

A delivery cart rumbled along the street behind them and fifty yards away a maid came up the area steps with a mat and began to beat it.

“I don’t know when he made the arrangements, sir,” the footman answered. “But he left about an hour after that, maybe a little less.”

“Well, when did he pack? When did he give the servants notice?”

“They only took two large cases with them, sir, and so far as I know, they were packed just after Mr. Kreisler arrived. Mr. Thorne gave us notice at the same time, sir. It was all very sudden—”

“Last night?” Pitt interrupted. “They gave you all notice last night? But the other staff cannot all have gone last night. Where would they go to?”

“Oh no sir.” He shook his head. “One of the upstairs maids was at her sister’s anyway, there being a death in the family, like. So the other one went this morning. They were sisters. Mrs. Thorne’s ladies’ maid had been sent on holiday….” He sounded surprised as he said it. It was an extraordinary thing to do. Servants did not have holidays. “And the cook is going this afternoon. She is a very good cook indeed, and much sought after.” He said that with some satisfaction. “Lady Brompton’ll be only too glad to have her. She’s been angling after her for years. They need a new bootboy next door, and Mrs. Thorne said as she’d called someone for the scullery maid and found her a place.”

So it was not completely sudden! They had been prepared for the eventuality. Kreisler had merely told him the time was come. But why? Why did Kreisler warn him instead of allowing him to be caught? His part in it, and in Susannah Chancellor’s death, was becoming less clear all the time.

The footman was staring at him.

“Excuse me, sir, but you are Superintendent Pitt, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then, sir, Mr. Thorne left a letter for you. It is on the mantelpiece in the withdrawing room. If you’ll wait a moment, sir, I’ll fetch it.”

“There’s no need,” Pitt said quickly. “I am afraid I am obliged to search the house anyway.”

“Search the house?” He was startled. “What for? I don’t know that I can allow that … except …” He stopped, uncertain what he meant. Now that his master was gone, apparently never to return, he was about to be without a position, although he had been given handsome notice and an excellent reference. And Pitt was the police.

“A wise decision,” Pitt said, reading his face. He called the constable standing just beyond the step. “Fetch Hammond from the back, and then begin to look through the house. I shall be in the withdrawing room.”

“What about Mr. Thorne, sir?”

Pitt smiled ruefully. “I am afraid that Mr. and Mrs. Thorne left London bound for Portugal last night. And they are not expected to return.”

The constable’s face fell; he made as if to say something, then changed his mind. “Yes, sir. I’ll fetch Hammond, sir.”

“Thank you.” Pitt came into the hall and then followed the footman to the withdrawing room.

It was a comfortable room, unostentatious, with dark green curtains and pale, damasked walls. The pictures were arranged oddly, and it was only after a moment or two he realized that it was because three or four had been removed. Presumably they were either the most valuable or those of greatest sentimental worth. The furniture was old; the mahogany bookcase shone with generations of polishing, and one of its glass panes was cracked. The chairs were a trifle scuffed, as if sat in for long evenings beside the fire; the fender around the hearth had a dent in it and there was a tiny brown mark on the carpet where a spark had caught it. A vase of late tulips, gaudy and wide open like lilies, gave a heart and a perfume to the room.

A very small marmalade-and-white kitten lay curled into a ball on one of the cushions, apparently sound asleep. Another kitten, equally small, perhaps only nine or ten weeks old, lay in the seat of the chair, but he was smoky black, his shadowy, baby stripes still visible. He lay not curled up but stretched out his full length, and he was equally fast asleep.

The letter caught Pitt’s eye straightaway. It was propped up on the mantelpiece, and his name was written on the front.

He picked it up, tore it open and read.

My dear Pitt,

By the time you read this, Christabel and I shall be on the boat across the Channel on our way to Portugal. Which will, of course, mean that you are aware that it is I who have been passing information from the Colonial Office and the Treasury to the German Embassy.

What you do not know is my reason for doing so. Nor, I think, do you know that it was almost all false. Naturally to begin with, it had to be genuine, and then later, when I had earned their trust, it was false only to a very minor degree, but sufficient to do them a considerable disservice.

I have never been to Africa myself, but I know a great deal about it from my years in the Colonial Office. I know from letters and dispatches more assuredly than you can appreciate, just what atrocities have been committed by white men in the name of civilization. I am not speaking of the occasional murder, or even massacre. That has occurred throughout history, and possibly always will. Certainly the black man is quite as capable of atrocities of that order as anyone else. I am speaking of the greed and the stupidity, the rape of the land and the subjugation, even the destruction of a nation of people, the loss of their culture and their beliefs, the degrading of a race.

I do not hold out great hope that Britain will settle either wisely or fairly. I am certain we shall do neither. But there will be those among us who will make the attempt, and we have a certain humanity, standards of conduct and honor which will mitigate the worst of it.

If, on the other hand, Germany takes East Africa, Zanzibar and the whole of that coast—which they are quite capable of doing, especially in our undecided state—then there will certainly be war between Britain in Central Africa and Germany in the east. Belgium in the west will be drawn in, and no doubt what is left of the old Arab Sultanates as well. What was once only tribal skirmishes with spears and assegais will become a full-scale war of machine guns and cannons as Europe turns Africa into a bloodbath to settle its own old rivalries and new greeds.

One European power dominant enough to prevent that is a better alternative, and quite naturally, I wish it to be Britain, for both moral and political reasons. To that end I have sent to the German Embassy misinformation regarding mineral deposits, endemic disease and its spread, the areas affected, the cost of various expeditions, their losses, the enthusiasm or disillusion of financial backers. I think you now see my purpose?

Is it necessary to explain to you why I did not do this through the Colonial Office’s official channels? Surely not! Apart from the obvious danger that the more people who knew of it, the less likely it was to remain undetected and have any chance of success, I am quite sure Linus Chancellor would have had no part in such a scheme. I did sound him out, very tentatively.

Also Lord Salisbury is, as you well know, very ambivalent in his attitude towards Africa, and not to be trusted to remain in his present ebullient mood.

Poor Ransley Soames is very gullible, as easily duped as any man I know. But he has no worse sin than an overbearing vanity. Do not be too hard upon him. The fact that he is a fool will be punishment enough for him. He will not recover from that.

I have no knowledge as to who murdered poor Susannah, or why. Had I, I should most certainly have told you.

Be careful of the Inner Circle. Their power is wider than you know, and their hunger is insatiable. Above all they never forgive. Poor Arthur Desmond is witness to that, and one you will not forget. He betrayed their secrets and paid with his life. But again, I know that only because he spoke to me of his convictions, and I know enough of the Circle to be convinced his death was not accidental. He knew he was in danger. He had been threatened before, but he considered the game worth the stake. He was one of the best of men, and I miss him sorely. I do not know who contrived his death, nor how … only why.

I have given all my servants notice, a month’s pay and good references. My man of affairs will dispose of the house and its contents, and the proceeds are to be given to Christabel’s charity. It will do much good. Since you cannot prove treason against her, I think you will not interfere with that bequest?

My household staff are good, but they will be confused and alarmed. Therefore I have a personal favor to ask of you. Christabel’s two kittens, Angus and Archie, have perforce been left behind. I do not feel at ease that they will be taken with any of my staff, who have no facilities to care for them. Will you please take them with you and see that they are found a good home … together, if you don’t mind. They are devoted to each other. Archie is the marmalade one, Angus the black. I am greatly obliged to you. To say ‘yours’ seems absurd, when I am most patently not! But I write candidly, as one man of conviction to, I believe, another.

Jeremiah Thorne

Pitt stood with the paper in his hands as if he could scarcely comprehend what was written. And yet now that he saw it, it all made excellent sense. He could not condone what Thorne had done, nor could he entirely condone the means he had employed. His battle was as much against the Inner Circle as against Germany, yet there he was helpless. All he could do was warn as explicitly as possible.

He had known Sir Arthur. If there had been even a vestige of doubt lingering, that would have swept it away.

Yet he still believed British dominion of Africa was better than German, or a divided nation. What he said about war was almost surely true, and that would be a disaster of immeasurable proportions.

Why had Kreisler warned him? Their beliefs were not the same. Or was it not deliberate? Had Kreisler asked his questions and Thorne understood the meaning behind them?

It was all academic now. It explained why none of Hathaway’s figures had reached the German Embassy. Thorne had altered them all anyway.

He looked around him at the gracious, comfortable room: the ormolu clock ticking on the mantelshelf from which he had taken the letter, the pictures on the walls, mostly dark Dutch scenes of landscapes with animals and water. He had never before appreciated how beautiful cows were, how a body with so many protruding bones could still have about it such an air of peace.

On the chair beside his elbow, Archie, the orange kitten, uncurled himself, stretched out a silken paw with claws spread, gave a little squeak of satisfaction and began to purr.

“What on earth am I going to do with you?” Pitt asked, unconsciously admiring the perfection of the creature. It had a star-shaped face with bright, sea-blue-green eyes and enormous ears. It was watching him with curiosity, and no fear whatever.

He put out his hand and rang the bell. The footman appeared immediately. He had obviously been waiting in the hall.

“Mr. Thorne has requested that I take these two cats,” Pitt said with a frown.

“Oh, I am glad,” the footman responded with relief. “I was afraid we were going to have them disposed of. That would be a terrible shame. Nice little things, they are. I’ll get a basket for you, sir. I’m sure there’ll be one suitable.”

“Thank you.”

“Not at all, sir. I’ll do it right away.”

Pitt took them home because he had very little alternative. Also he wanted to tell Charlotte about Soames, and knew it would devastate Matthew. Last night he had not told her of it, hoping in some way it would prove mistaken, although she knew there was something deeply wrong. Matthew had left without waiting to eat, or to speak with both of them, and she had watched him leave with anxious face and troubled eyes.

First he presented her with the cats. They were angry in the basket and in a considerable temper to be out, which took precedence over news of any other thought.

“They’re beautiful,” she exclaimed with delight, putting the basket on the kitchen floor. “Oh, Thomas, they’re exquisite! Where on earth did you get them? I wanted a cat as soon as we moved, but no one has had any.” She looked up at him with delight filling her face, then immediately turned back to the basket. Archie was playing with her finger, and Angus was staring at her with round, golden eyes. “I shall think of names for them.”

“They are already named,” he said quickly. “They belonged to Christabel Thorne.”

“Belonged?” She jerked her head up. “Why do you say that? What has happened to her? You said she is all right!”

“I expect she is. Jeremiah Thorne is the traitor at the Colonial Office, if traitor is the right word. I’m not sure that it is.”

“Jeremiah Thorne?” She looked crushed, her face filled with sudden sadness. The kittens were temporarily forgotten, in spite of the fact that Archie was quietly biting her finger, and then licking it, holding it between his paws. “I suppose you are sure? Have you arrested him?”

He sat down on one of the wooden chairs beside the kitchen table.

“No. They have both gone to Portugal. They left last night. I think Kreisler’s constant questions warned them.”

“They’ve got away?” Then her expression sobered. “Oh. I’m sorry. I …”

He smiled. “There’s no need to apologize for feeling relieved. I am myself, for a lot of reasons, not least because I liked them.”

Her face was filled with a mixture of curiosity, guilt and confusion. “What other news? Is it not bad for you, for England, that they escaped?”

“For me, possibly. Farnsworth may be angry, but he may also come to realize that if we had caught them there would have been a considerable conflict as to what to do with them.”

“Try them,” she said instantly. “For treason!”

“And expose our own weakness?”

“Oh. Yes, I see. Not very good, when we are busy negotiating treaties. It makes us look incompetent, doesn’t it?”

“Very. And actually all the information he gave was inaccurate anyway.”

“On purpose? Or was he incompetent too?” She sat down opposite him, temporarily leaving the kittens to explore, which they did with enthusiasm.

“Oh, no, definitely on purpose,” he replied. “So if he defended himself by saying that, then we ruin the good he has done, as well as making ourselves look stupid. No, on the whole, I think it is best he goes to Portugal. Only he left his cats behind, and asked me if I would look after them so their servants don’t dispose of them. Their names are Archie and Angus. That is Archie, presently trying to get into the flour bin.”

Her face softened into pure pleasure again as she looked down at the little animal, then at the other one, whose soft, black face was wide-eyed and filled with interest. He moved a step closer, then jumped back, then took another step forward, tail high.

It was hard to spoil the moment.

“I shall probably go and see Matthew this evening….” he began.

She froze, her fingers motionless above the kitten, then she looked up at him, waiting for him to tell her.

“Soames was the traitor in the Treasury,” he said. “Matthew knew it.”

Her face filled with pain. “Oh, Thomas! That’s dreadful! Poor Harriet. How is she taking it? Did you have to arrest him? Can Matthew be with her? Wouldn’t it be better if … if you didn’t go?” She leaned across the table, putting her hand over his. “I’m sorry, my dear, but he is not going to find it easy to understand that you had to arrest Soames. In time, I expect he will realize …” She stopped, seeing from his face that there was something she had not understood. “What? What is it?”

“It was Matthew who told me,” he said softly. “Harriet Soames confided to him, in ignorance, a telephone call she had overheard her father make, not understanding its meaning, and he felt honor-bound to repeat it to me. I am afraid she will not forgive him for it. In her eyes he has betrayed both herself and her father.”

“That’s not fair!” she said instantly, then closed her eyes and shook her head from side to side in a sharp little movement of denial. “I know it is natural to feel that way, but it is still not fair. What else could he do? She cannot expect him to deny his own life’s work and belief and be party to Mr. Soames’s treason! It’s not Matthew!”

“I know that,” he said softly. “And perhaps there is part of her which knows it too, but that doesn’t help. Her father is disgraced, ruined. The Colonial Office won’t prosecute, or the Treasury either, because of the scandal, but it will become known.”

She looked up. “What will happen to him?” Her face filled with a cold, bleak sadness. “Suicide?” she whispered.

“It’s not impossible, but I hope not.”

“Poor Harriet! Yesterday she had everything and the future looked endlessly bright. Today there is nothing at all, no marriage, no father, no money, no standing in Society, only the few friends who have the courage to remain by her, and no hope for anything to come. Thomas, it’s sad, and very frightening. Yes, of course, she cannot forgive Matthew, and that will be a wound he will never be healed of either. What a terrible, terrible mess. Yes, go to Matthew; he will need you more than ever before.”

Pitt had stopped by at Matthew’s office and found him white to the lips, hollow-eyed and barely able to function in his duty. He had known the danger of such rejection when he had first gone to Pitt, but part of him had clung to the hope that it would not be so, that somehow Harriet would, in her despair and shame, turn to him, in spite of what he had done, what he had felt compelled to do. Given his own sense of honor he had had no choice.

He had begun to tell Pitt some of this, but Pitt had understood it without the necessity of words. After a few moments Matthew had ceased trying to explain, and simply let the subject fall. They sat together for some time, occasionally speaking of things of the past, happy, easy times remembered with pleasure. Then Pitt rose to leave, and Matthew returned to his papers, letters and calls. Pitt took a hansom to Farnsworth’s office on the Embankment.

“Soames?” Farnsworth said with confusion, anger and distress conflicting in his face. “What a damn fool thing to have done. Really, the man is an ass. How could he credit anything so—so totally beyond belief? He is a cretin.”

“The curious thing,” Pitt said flatly, “is that it is largely true.”

“What?” Farnsworth swung around from the bookshelf where he was standing, his eyes wide and angry. “What are you driveling on about, Pitt? It’s an absurd story. A child wouldn’t have accepted that explanation.”

“Probably not, but then a child would not have the sophistication …”

“Sophistication!” Farnsworth grimaced with disgust. “Soames is about as sophisticated as my bootboy. Although even he wouldn’t have swallowed that, and he’s only fourteen.”

“… to be misled by an argument about the results of a clash of European powers in black Africa, and the need to prevent it in the interests of morality in general, and the future of all of us,” Pitt finished as if he had not been interrupted.

“Are you making excuses for him?” Farnsworth’s eyes widened. “Because if you are, you are wasting your time. What are you doing about it? Where is he?”

“At Bow Street,” Pitt replied. “I imagine his own people will deal with him. It is not my domain.”

“His own people? Who do you mean? The Treasury?”

“The government,” Pitt answered. “It will no doubt be up to them to decide what to do about it.”

Farnsworth sighed and bit his lip. “Nothing, I imagine,” he said bitterly. “They will not wish to admit that they were incompetent enough to allow such a thing to happen. That is probably true of the whole issue. To whom did he give his information? You haven’t told me that yet. Who is this altruistic traitor?”

“Thorne.”

Farnsworth’s eyes widened.

“Jeremiah Thorne? Good heavens. I had my money on Aylmer. I knew it wasn’t Hathaway, in spite of that lunatic scheme to disseminate false information to all the suspects. Nothing ever came of that!”

“Yes it did, indirectly.”

“What do you mean, indirectly? Did it, or didn’t it?”

“Indirectly,” Pitt repeated. “We got the information back from the German Embassy, and it was none of the figures Hathaway had given, which supports what Soames said of Thorne. He was giving misinformation all the time.”

“Possibly, but I shall want proof of that before I believe it. Is he at Bow Street as well?”

“No, he’s probably in Lisbon by now.”

“Lisbon?” A range of emotions fought in Farnsworth’s face. He was furious, contemptuous, and at the same time aware of the embarrassment saved by the fact that Thorne could not now be tried.

“He left last night,” Pitt went on.

“Warned by Soames?”

“No. If anyone, Kreisler …”

Farnsworth swore.

“… but I imagine unintentionally,” Pitt went on. “I think Kreisler was more concerned with finding out who murdered Susannah Chancellor.”

“Or finding out how much you knew about the fact that he killed her,” Farnsworth snapped. “All right, well at least you have cleared up the treason affair—not very satisfactorily, I might add, but this is better than nothing. And I suppose it could have been very ugly if you had arrested Thorne. You are due some credit for it.”

He sighed and walked over to his desk. “Now you had better return to the tragedy of Mrs. Chancellor. The government, not to mention the press, want to see a solution to that.” He looked up. “Have you anything at all? What about the cabdriver? Do you have him yet? Do you know where she was put into the river? Have you found her cloak? Do you even know where she was killed? I suppose it would be by Thorne, because she discovered his secret?”

“He said he knew nothing about it.”

“Said? You just told me he had left for Portugal last night, and you got there this morning!”

“He left me a letter.”

“Where is it? Give it to me!” Farnsworth demanded.

Pitt passed it across and Farnsworth read it carefully.

“Cats!” he said at the end, putting it down on his desk. “I suppose you believe him about Mrs. Chancellor?”

“Yes, I do.”

Farnsworth bit his lip. “Actually, I am inclined to myself. Pursue Kreisler, Pitt. There is a great deal that is not right about that man. He has made enemies. He has an unreliable temper and is acquainted with violence. Seek out his reputation in Africa; nobody knows what he stands for or where his loyalties are. That much I have learned for myself.” He jerked his hand sharply. “Forget the connection with Arthur Desmond. That’s nonsense, always was. I know it is painful for you to accept that he was senile, I can understand that, but it is incontrovertible. I’m sorry. The facts are plain enough. He cadged brandy from everyone he knew, and when he was too fuddled to have any clarity of thought at all, he took an overdose of laudanum, probably by accident, possibly intending to make an honorable end of it before he became even more uncontrolled and finally said something, made some accusation or slander he could not live down.”

Pitt froze. Farnsworth had used the word cadged. How did he know Sir Arthur had not ordered every brandy himself in the usual way? There was one answer to that—because he knew what had happened that afternoon in the Morton Club. He had not been there. It had not come out in testimony at the inquest; in fact the opposite had been said, that Sir Arthur had ordered the drinks himself.

Pitt opened his mouth to ask Farnsworth if he had spoken to Guyler himself, then just in time, with the words on the edge of his tongue, he realized that if he had not, the only way he could have known would be if he were part of the same ring of the Inner Circle which had ordered Sir Arthur’s death.

“Yes?” Farnsworth said impatiently, his blue-gray eyes staring at Pitt. It seemed at a glance as if he spoke in temper, but behind the surface emotion, the exterior that Pitt could see—and had seen so often before he could picture it with his eyes closed, so familiar was it—he saw for a moment that colder, cleverer mind, far more watchful, waiting for Pitt to betray himself.

If Pitt asked the question, Farnsworth would know exactly what he suspected, how far he had moved already. He would know Pitt was looking for the executioner and that he knew Farnsworth was part of that ring.

Pitt veiled his eyes and lied, the fear breaking out in a cold sweat on his skin. Someone could so easily brush against him and push him in front of the oncoming wheels of a carriage, or pass their hand over his mug of cider in a tavern, and he would drink a fatal dose.

“Well?” Farnsworth said with something close to a smile.

Pitt knew if he gave in too easily Farnsworth would see through it and know he had understood. Suddenly he was aware of the possibility that Farnsworth was far cleverer than he had thought. He had never excelled at police procedure; he was too arrogant to take the pains. But he knew how to use the men whose skill it was: Tellman, Pitt, even Micah Drummond in his time. And how many had he inducted into the Circle? Who were they? Probably Pitt would never know; even when it was too late, he might not know who had struck the blow.

He was waiting, the afternoon sunlight shining through the windows on his fair hair.

“Do you really think that it could have been suicide?” Pitt asked as if he were accepting the idea with deep reluctance. “A matter of death rather than dishonor … to himself, I mean?”

“Would you prefer that?” Farnsworth countered.

“Not prefer, I don’t think.” Pitt forced himself to say the words, to act the part, even to believe it himself while he spoke, He was cold inside. “But it is easier to fit into the facts we know.”

“Facts?” Farnsworth was still staring at him.

“Yes …” Pitt swallowed. “Taking a dose of laudanum at all in the afternoon, in your club. One would have to be very fuddled indeed to do it by accident, it’s … it’s bad form. But a suicide would be more understandable. He wouldn’t want to do it at home.” He knew he was rambling, saying too much. He felt a little dizzy; the room seemed enormous. He must be careful. “Where his servants would find him,” he went on. “And perhaps be distressed. A woman servant—maybe that was when the realization came to him of just how ruinous his behavior had been?”

“I should think that it was like that,” Farnsworth agreed. His body relaxed indefinably. Once again he looked irritable and impatient. “Yes, I daresay you have it, Pitt. Well, let go of it, man. Get back to work on the Chancellor case. That is your absolute priority. Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir. Of course I do.” Pitt rose to his feet and found his knees unaccountably weak. He was forced to stand still for several seconds before he could master himself and take his leave, closing the door behind him and starting down the stairs holding on to the banister.