‘Did you see Mr Narraway?’ Pitt asked him.
‘Yes, but not to speak to. It was the day O’Neil was shot,’ Stoker answered.
‘By whom?’
‘I don’t know. I think probably Talulla Lawless, but whether anyone will ever prove that, I don’t know. Mr Narraway’s in trouble, Mr Pitt. He has powerful enemies-’
‘I know that,’ Pitt interrupted him. ‘Apparently dating back twenty years.’
‘Not that,’ Stoker said impatiently. ‘Now, here in Lisson Grove. Someone wanted him discredited and out of England, and wanted you in France, gone in the other direction, where you wouldn’t know what was going on here and couldn’t help.’
‘Tell me all you know of what happened in Ireland,’ Pitt demanded. ‘And for heaven’s sake sit down!’ It was not that he wanted the information in detail so much as he needed the chance to weigh everything Stoker said, and make some judgement as to the truth of it, and exactly where Stoker’s loyalties were.
Stoker obeyed without comment.
‘I was there only two days-’ he began.
‘Who sent you?’ Pitt interrupted.
‘No one. I made it look like it was Mr Narraway, before he went.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t believe he’s guilty any more than you do,’ Stoker said bitterly. ‘He’s a hard man, clever, cold at times, in his own way, but he’d never betray his country. They got rid of him because they knew he’d see what was going on here, and stop it. They thought you might too, in loyalty to Mr Narraway, even if you didn’t spot what they’re doing. No offence, sir, but you don’t know enough yet to see what it is.’
Pitt winced, but he had no argument. It was painfully true.
‘Mr Narraway seemed to be trying to find out who set him up to look like he took the money meant for Mulhare, probably because that would lead back to whoever it is here in London,’ Stoker went on. ‘I don’t know whether he found out or not, because they got him by killing O’Neil. They set that up perfectly. Fixed a quarrel between them in front of a couple o’ score of people, then somehow got him to go alone to O’Neil’s house, and had O’Neil shot just before he got there.
‘By all accounts, Mrs Pitt was right on his heels, but he swore to the police that she wasn’t there at the time, so they didn’t bother her. She went back to where she was staying, and that’s the last I know of it. Mr Narraway was arrested and no doubt, if we don’t do anything, they’ll try him and hang him. But we’ll have a week or two before that.’ He stopped, meeting Pitt with steady, demanding eyes.
He must trust Stoker. The advantage outweighed the risk.
‘Then we have about ten days in which to rescue Narraway,’ he replied. ‘Perhaps whoever is behind this will be as aware of that as we are. It is safe to assume that by that time they will have achieved whatever it is they plan, and for which they needed him gone.’
Stoker sat up a little straighter. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘And we have no idea who it is that is planning it,’ Pitt continued. ‘Except that they have great power and authority within the Branch, so we dare not trust anyone. Even Sir Gerald himself may choose to trust this person rather than trust you or me.’
Stoker allowed himself a slight smile. ‘You’re right, sir. And that could be the end of everything, probably of you an’ me, and certainly of Mr Narraway.’
‘Then we are alone in working out what it is.’ Pitt had already made up his mind that if he were to trust Stoker at all, then it might as well be entirely. This was not the time to let Stoker believe he was only half relied on.
Pitt pulled out the papers he had been studying and placed them sideways on the desk so they could both see them.
‘This is the pattern I found so far.’ He pointed to communications, gun smuggling, the movements of known radicals both in Britain and in the continent of Europe.
‘Not much of a pattern,’ Stoker said grimly. ‘It looks pretty much like always to me.’ He pointed. ‘There’s Rosa Luxemburg in Germany and Poland in that part, but she’s been getting noisier for years.There’s Jean Jaures in France, but he’s harmless enough. Your basic socialist reformer. Bit hard now and then, but what he’s saying is fair enough, if you look at it. Nothing to do with us, though. He’s as French as frogs’ legs.’
‘And here?’ Pitt pointed to some Fabian Society activity in London and Birmingham.
‘They’ll get changes through Parliament, eventually,’ Stoker said. ‘That Keir Hardie’ll do a thing or two, but that’s not our bother either. Personally I wish him good luck. We need a few changes. No, sir, there is something big planned, and pretty bad, an’ we haven’t worked out what it is yet.’
Pitt did not reply. He stared at the reports yet again, rereading the text, studying the geographic patterns of where they originated, who was involved.
Then he saw something curious. ‘Is that Willy Portman?’ he asked Stoker, pointing to a report of known agitators observed in Birmingham.
‘Yes, sir, seems like it. What’s he doing here? Nasty piece of work, Willy Portman. Violent. Nothing good, if he’s involved.’
‘I know,’ Pitt agreed. ‘But that’s not it. This report says he was seen at a meeting with Joe Gallagher. Those two have been enemies for years. What could bring them together?’
Stoker stared at him. ‘There’s more,’ he said very quietly. ‘McLeish was seen in Sheffield with Mick Haddon.’
Pitt knew the names. They were both extremely violent men, and again known to hate each other.
‘And Fenner,’ he added, putting his finger on the page where Fenner’s name was noted. ‘And Guzman, and Scarlatti.That’s the pattern.Whatever it is, it’s big enough to bring these enemies together in a common cause, and here in Britain.’
There was a shadow of fear in Stoker’s eyes. ‘I’d like reform, sir, for lots of reasons. But I don’t want everything good thrown out at the same time. And violence isn’t the way to do anything, because no matter what you need to do in the first place, it never ends there. Seems to me that if you execute the monarch, either you end up with a religious dictator like Cromwell, who rules over the people more tightly than any king ever did — and then you only have to get rid of him anyway — or else you end up with a monster like Robespierre in Paris, and the Reign of Terror, then Napoleon after that. Then you get a king back in the end anyway. At least for a while. I prefer us as we are, with our faults, rather than all that.’
‘So do I,’ Pitt agreed. ‘But we can’t stop it if we don’t know what it is, and when and how it will strike. I don’t think we have very long.’
‘No, sir. And if you’ll excuse me spelling it out, we haven’t any allies either, least of all not here in Lisson Grove. Whoever blackened Mr Narraway’s name did a very good job of it, and nobody trusts you because you’re his man.’
Pitt smiled grimly. ‘It’s a lot more than that, Stoker. I’m new to this job and none of the men will trust me above Austwick, for which you can hardly blame them.’
‘Is Austwick a traitor, sir?’
‘I think so. But he may not be the only one.’
‘I know that,’ Stoker said very quietly.
Chapter Eleven
Narraway was intensely relieved to see the familiar coast of Ireland slip away over the horizon with no coastguard or police boat in pursuit of them. At least for a few hours he could turn his attention to what he should do once he arrived at Holyhead. The obvious thing would be to catch the next train to London. Would it be so obvious a move that he might be apprehended? On the other hand, would delay only give anyone still bent on catching him a better chance to cross the Irish Sea in a lighter, perhaps faster boat, and arrest him before he could get any help?
He was standing on the deck looking westwards. Charlotte was beside him. She looked weary and the marks of fear were still drawn deep into her face. Even so, he found her beautiful. He had long ago grown tired of unspoiled perfection. If that was what one hungered for — the colour, the proportion, the smooth skin, the perfect balance of feature — there were works of art all over the world to stare at. Even the poorest man could find a copy for himself.