Ransom received him immediately. He was a quiet man, tall and thin with grey hair receding from a high brow.
‘I hoped you would not come,’ he said, shaking his head a little. They were in his office, a large space, which he had managed to fill with books and papers. They were jammed in together on the shelves that lined three of the walls, and still they spilled over into piles on odd chairs, and even on to the floor. Pitt wondered how much he lost, or if actually he knew what every pile contained. From the steady eyes of the man and his gentle, precise voice, he imagined the latter.
‘I hoped so too,’ Pitt replied. They were both still standing. Somehow it did not seem the occasion to sit. ‘I’m afraid it is now necessary.’
‘Kynaston?’ Ransom asked. ‘Or am I pre-empting what you have to say?’
‘No, you are actually making it easier,’ Pitt said truthfully. ‘It is not yet proved, but I can see no alternative explanation for what I know.’
Ransom was pale. ‘It appears I was denying what, if I were honest, I had already accepted was true. But I thank you for coming. Are you arresting him?’
Pitt shook his head. ‘Not yet. I need proof before I blacken a man’s name. I don’t need to tell you that you do not allow him access to any further new material. And I need to have you tell the Government of the information he could have passed to our enemies — or even our friends, for that matter.’
Ransom smiled sadly. ‘When it comes to weapons of war, it is not always so easy to tell the difference. I have not had such a thing happen since I have been in charge here. Of course I have thought of it — one has to — but somehow the reality hurts more than I had foreseen. I like the man. What in God’s name can have made him do it?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ Pitt answered. ‘We may never know.’
Ransom looked at him, frowning, his face filled with misery. ‘I suppose you find this sort of thing again and again, in your profession. How do you go on trusting anyone? Or don’t you?’ He stopped, searching to defend his idea in words. ‘Do you learn whom to trust? Is there some sense, some formula that you use? How do you know when a man you have liked and believed in for years is actually heart and mind serving someone else, something else, different sorts of ideals and beliefs altogether? Do you then doubt everyone else as well?’
‘No,’ Pitt answered before he allowed himself to think of it. ‘Then you are allowing them to destroy you, as well as themselves. Over time and experience you make enemies, for lots of reasons, but you also make friends. People who will disagree with you openly, but never betray you to another, even when you are wrong.’
Ransom said nothing.
‘Actually I like Kynaston too,’ Pitt added. ‘You might be pleased to know that Kitty Ryder, the maid who disappeared, is alive and well. I would prefer it that you did not make that public, for her safety.’
Ransom sighed and rubbed the heel of his hand over his forehead. ‘That’s something. Although some poor woman is dead, whoever she is.’
‘We’ll give her a decent burial,’ Pitt promised. ‘Both of them. Thank you for your time, sir.’
Ransom shook his hand and Pitt left to begin the next step.
Narraway thought long and hard about whom he should approach regarding the death of Bennett Kynaston, and the relationship he had had with his brother. Certain records were easy enough to find: birth, schooling and university. He checked them, but it only confirmed what he already knew. The Kynaston brothers were wealthy, privileged in Society, extremely well educated and both of them well above average intellect. Dudley was slightly the more serious of them: Bennett had the charm and was the one of whom all had expected great success. Nothing suggested tragedy to come.
Nobody was going to be willing to give away secrets. Narraway knew from the beginning that he would have to find someone who owed him a debt the payment of which they could not afford to refuse. Narraway found it distasteful to collect on a debt of help that had been freely given. Yet the only alternative was worse. The choice between good and bad was simple; anyone could make it without a moment’s hesitation. It was the choice between bad and what might or might not be worse that tested the judgement.
And yet Narraway barely hesitated. He debated with himself all the way to see Pardoe, the man whose debt he was about to call in, but he did not digress from the path. A long time ago he and Pardoe had been in the army together. Pardoe had made a bad error. It was an honest mistake, but it would have looked like cowardice, and that would have ruined not only his army career, which he had not cared about so much, but his social career as well. ‘Coward’ was a word that closed all doors irrevocably. Narraway had covered for him, at some risk to himself, although in the end he had not suffered any consequences. But since he had put himself at risk, the debt existed.
He went to the offices in Whitehall where Pardoe worked and left him a brief, sealed message. Two hours later he and Pardoe sat down to dinner at Narraway’s club.
Narraway approached the subject immediately. There was too little time to waste, and to begin with pleasantries would be almost insulting.
‘I need a little help from you,’ Narraway began. ‘I wouldn’t ask if it were not of the utmost importance.’
‘Of course,’ Pardoe responded, but already the shadow was across his face. He knew Narraway too well to imagine he was going to be given an alternative. Narraway had never asked anything of him before, and now the debt was due. Pardoe cleared his throat. ‘What can I do to help?’
‘Tell me about Bennett Kynaston, Ailsa, and Dudley,’ Narraway replied.
‘What about them?’ Pardoe was confused. ‘Bennett’s been dead for years. I think Dudley looks after her to some extent, for Bennett’s sake. He was devoted to him. But I’m sure you know that. It’s hardly a secret.’
‘Let’s start with how Ailsa and Bennett met. Was it through Dudley?’
‘Good heavens, no!’ Pardoe was clearly surprised. ‘It was by chance, in Stafford, I think. Ailsa was over on holiday.’
‘Over? From where?’
Pardoe was slightly surprised. ‘Sweden. Ailsa is Swedish. I think originally her name was Ilsa, and she changed it to the more Scottish-sounding name. I think she did not wish him to know she was Swedish.’
‘Why not?’ Narraway was puzzled. ‘I thought both Bennett and Dudley loved Sweden?’
‘They did, until …’ Pardoe was obviously embarrassed.
Narraway could not afford to ignore anything. ‘Until what, Pardoe? I haven’t time for delicate answers.’
Pardoe clenched his jaw and there was a small muscle beating in his temple. He looked wretched.
‘Look, Narraway, this is all a long time ago, and a private tragedy. It happened when Bennett was on a trip to Sweden, and it can’t have anything to do with whatever you’re looking for. It wasn’t his fault. It could happen to anybody. You of all people should know that!’
Narraway was surprised. ‘I should! Why?’
‘You’ve sown a few wild oats, and certainly used your charm to extricate yourself a few times.’ There was an edge of bitterness in Pardoe’s voice.
‘Pardoe!’ Narraway said sharply. He hated having to do this, but he was too good at it to find it difficult. ‘Stop mincing around and tell me the story.’
Pardoe gave in. The weight of his obligation was something he could never have denied. He might have told any other man to go to hell, but not Narraway. Their relationship was old and deep, going back to their time together in the army in India.
‘Bennett was very charming,’ Pardoe said quietly. ‘It was perfectly natural, not an act or something he turned on and off. He went for a long break, several months, to Sweden. He stayed with a family called Halversen. They all got along well, except that their younger daughter, Ingrid, was about fifteen. Lovely young girl, but a bit of a dreamer, very intense. I dare say we all are, at that age.’ His face grew tighter, the muscles in his back strained.