‘Have you told Pitt?’
‘I can’t reach him. He doesn’t answer his telephone.’
‘You said Carlisle has gone to find proof of Talbot being paid fairly large sums of money that he can’t account for?’ he repeated carefully.
‘Yes.’ She sounded steadier. ‘He knew Talbot was involved. I told him nothing.’ She hesitated. She must explain before he asked. It was acutely painful that she had behaved with such little discretion, even more so since she knew she might well do so again. Her pity for Carlisle, and her understanding of exactly what he felt, were too powerful to ignore.
‘Vespasia?’ Narraway prompted urgently.
‘Yes. I … Carlisle felt a terrible guilt over the way in which he drew Pitt into the investigation. He wants to redeem that debt, regardless of the cost to himself.’
‘We’ll deal with that later,’ he told her. ‘Right now we must consider where he may have gone. As you fear, if he is caught by Talbot himself, he will suffer nothing as simple as being arrested in the act of burglary. And worse than that, Talbot will know that we are after him. At best he will disappear, possibly to Sweden where we will not be able to reach him, and taking with him whatever else he knows. At worst, he may kill Carlisle …’
Vespasia felt herself freeze inside. She could have stopped him. She should have, however much it hurt or seemed a rebuff.
Narraway was silent on the other end of the telephone line.
She seemed to wait for ages. The ticking of the long-case clock was counting into eternity.
‘There’s less likely to be anything damning in the house,’ Narraway said at last. ‘Far more likely to be in his bank. I wonder if Carlisle will have thought of that.’
‘But we can’t gain access to anything in his bank,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I don’t even know if Thomas could …?’
‘Not easily,’ he replied. ‘Probably not at all, unless he thought of a really imaginative lie … but then that seems to be what Carlisle is rather gifted at.’ There was a slight trace of amusement in his voice, not just anger. ‘We must find out where Talbot banks. That may take a little while, but it will have for Carlisle as well. Please stay-’
She cut across him, something she would never ordinarily do. ‘Victor, he is a social climber. It is intensely important to him to belong. He will be at the most exclusive bank there is.’ She named her own bank.
She heard his sigh of relief. ‘Yes, of course he will. Thank you. Do you think Carlisle will have thought of that?’
‘Yes.’ She had no doubt at all. It was a deep instinctive knowledge Carlisle would share. ‘I’ll meet you there,’ she added.
‘No! Vespasia!’ His voice was sharp. ‘It could be unpleasant …’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ she agreed. ‘But Carlisle will listen to me more than to you.’ And, before he could argue any further, she replaced the earpiece on its hook, cutting the connection.
Nearly an hour later she and Narraway stood in the manager’s office of the most prestigious bank in London — and, of course where she was known and respected. Narraway was not, but because of his previous position as head of Special Branch, and now a member of the House of Lords, he was known by repute.
The manager was an exquisitely dressed, aquiline-faced man in his early sixties. He concealed his nervousness behind a mask of propriety, but Vespasia could see that he was trying desperately to salvage the bank’s reputation out of a disaster he could barely comprehend.
‘But he was a Member of Parliament!’ he said yet again. ‘He said it was state business of the utmost importance. A constituent of his was involved in a financial transaction that could start a war, if it were not dealt with immediately. He proved his identity to me, beyond any doubt. And, apart from that, I know him by sight anyway. He banks with us! Has done for years. You must be … mistaken, my lady.’
Narraway glanced at the manager, then at Vespasia, but did not interrupt.
‘Permit me to guess, Sir William,’ she said with a very faint smile. ‘Mr Carlisle wished to know if Mr Edom Talbot had received regular and very substantial payments from Sweden over the last year or so.’
His eyebrows shot up.
‘Yes! Yes, indeed. He said they were fraudulent and could involve Mr Talbot, and even the Prime Minister himself, in an appalling scandal, if his fears were well-founded. I assured him they were perfectly legitimate, and the funds were all accounted for.’
‘But spent,’ she said drily.
‘Of course.’ His face was bleak. ‘It was his money, quite legally obtained. All the paperwork was in order, I assure you. The money was transferred in the usual way …’
‘From a Mr Harold Sundstrom?’ she asked.
Sir William paled. ‘Yes, although perhaps I should not disclose that, except that Mr Sundstrom is a reputable gentleman in the Swedish naval establishment. We checked. There was nothing questionable about any part of the transactions. Were it anyone other than a man of Mr Carlisle’s position I should have discounted his fear entirely.’
‘But you didn’t,’ Narraway spoke at last. ‘Did you show him the proof he asked for?’
‘I did not. I merely gave him my word that all the papers were in order, and that the amounts were roughly what he estimated,’ Sir William said stiffly. ‘He wished to see them, but he accepted my assurance.’
Narraway’s face was grim, his jaw tight. ‘And you informed Mr Talbot that the enquiry had been made?’
‘Of course. I telephoned him at Downing Street. He was extremely distressed. Which made me conclude that he was afraid Mr Carlisle’s fears were well-grounded. Mr Talbot has somehow been the victim of an international fraud. I have no idea what it is, but-’
‘I have,’ Narraway said instantly. ‘If you do not wish to have the bank complicit in treason, Sir William, you will keep all these papers in your safe and allow no one else whatever to see or touch them. And I mean anyone! Including Mr Talbot. Special Branch will come for them as soon as they can obtain the appropriate warrants. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, sir, of course I do!’ Sir William said stiffly.
Narraway smiled. ‘Thank you. The Nation will be obliged to you, although very possibly they will never know it. But I will make it my business to see that the Prime Minister does.’ He took Vespasia by the arm. ‘Good day, sir.’
Outside on the pavement in the wind and the sun, Vespasia let out a sigh of relief, and turned to Narraway.
He was smiling. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly. ‘Thank God for Talbot’s social aspirations, poor devil.’ Then his face shadowed again. ‘But I wish Sir William had not told him. I suppose it was inevitable. We had better try Pitt again. Talbot may well run, and I have no means to stop him.’ He took her by the arm and began to walk quickly. ‘We had better find a telephone.’
She hated to say it, but honesty prevailed. ‘You will move faster without me, Victor. Please go … Talbot will not only escape, he may take Ailsa with him, and leave Kynaston to take all the blame.’
‘Which would be a hell of a mess,’ he agreed without slackening his pace at all. ‘Or worse than that, he could stop them himself, even kill them if necessary, and emerge as the hero.’
‘How on earth could he do that, with the money in his name?’ she asked. She had to run a step or two to keep up, although he still had her by the arm and it was more than a trifle undignified.
‘Say that it was part of a plan to stop Kynaston,’ he answered.
‘What about Ailsa? She doesn’t love him!’ she protested.
‘Then he might very well have to get rid of her too,’ he agreed. ‘Perhaps that is what he has gone to do, rather than to the bank, whether he now knows we are on to Ailsa. It is only his word against Kynaston’s, and it is Kynaston who stole the secrets.’
She was too out of breath to argue, even if she had had something useful to say.
They swung round a corner and, after glancing in both directions, he started across the street, still holding her arm. They had reached the discreet entrance to a gentleman’s club, and he stopped abruptly, forcing her to halt.