“And it led you to Alexander Duncannon,” Abercorn said, unable to keep the victory out of his voice.
“Not quite. It led us to a description, one that could easily match Alexander Duncannon,” Pitt said.
Abercorn was not quite as comfortable as before. He resumed after walking a little less gracefully back to his original position in front of the witness stand.
“Did you question the accused about the bomb, the explosion, the fire, the deaths, and the appalling injuries, Commander Pitt? Did he deny that he was responsible?”
“Yes, I did question him, and he did not deny it,” Pitt replied.
“So you arrested him?”
“Not at that time. I looked for further proof.”
Abercorn’s eyebrows shot up. “Why?”
“He was ill, and I thought perhaps unstable,” Pitt answered. “I wanted to be perfectly sure, independently of his words, that he was actually guilty.” He took a breath. “And of his connections with any possible anarchists.”
“Ill?” Abercorn asked. “Do you mean insane?”
Narraway moved in his seat.
The judge leaned forward.
The jury, as a man, stared at Pitt.
Narraway said nothing.
Someone in the gallery coughed and choked.
“Commander!” Abercorn said loudly.
“I am not a doctor to know the answer to that,” Pitt measured his words carefully. “But it did not seem so to me, then or since.”
Abercorn smiled. “Quite so. Thank you.” He turned away, as if to go back to his seat. Then suddenly he swiveled around and faced Pitt again. “And may we assume that you found all the proof you wished for?”
“Yes.”
“And connections to any anarchists?”
“No, sir, other than the possible purchase of the dynamite.”
“But Alexander did lead a somewhat dissolute lifestyle…such as gave him acquaintance with anarchists, or he would not have known where to purchase dynamite?” Abercorn persisted. It was barely a question, more a conclusion.
“That would seem unarguable,” Pitt agreed.
“Thank you, sir. You have been most helpful.” Abercorn’s smile was that of a shark who had just eaten very well. “Your witness, Lord Narraway.”
Narraway rose to his feet and walked gracefully to the center of the floor in front of the witness stand.
“Thank you, Mr. Abercorn. Commander Pitt, your evidence has been commendably clear and concise. Nevertheless, there are a few points I would like to go over, and perhaps make clearer still.”
Pitt waited.
There was a silence so intense that one almost imagined one could hear the creak of stays as women breathed in and out, or the scrape of a boot sole on the floor as a foot moved an inch.
Narraway spoke quietly, as if all emotion were knotted up inside him.
“Your evidence as to the explosion in the house at Lancaster Gate is perfectly clear, and of the appalling injuries to the five policemen who attended the event in pursuit of an opium sale, which apparently never took place. It didn’t, did it?”
“No, sir.”
“But you pursued it? You attempted to find out if it had ever been a genuine piece of information?”
Abercorn rose to his feet. “My lord, surely it is clear to Lord Narraway that there was never any such sale intended? It was a feint, a lure to get the police to Lancaster Gate!”
The judge looked at him with an expression of impatience. “I think since we have heard so little from Lord Narraway, we should allow him to make this point.” He turned to Narraway. “Please continue, and if you have a point to make that is pertinent to the issue, then please let us hear it.”
“Yes, my lord.” Narraway looked at Pitt again. “Did you investigate this person known as A.D., and his information, Commander?”
“Yes, sir. It seems that he had supplied information regarding sales of opium on at least three earlier occasions, and on all of them his information had proven correct.”
“What relevance does this have to this case?” Narraway asked innocently.
“I did not appreciate how much at the time,” Pitt admitted. “It was a routine thing to check. But it did occur to me straightaway that since his earlier information had resulted in the arrests of several dealers, the police would expect the same to be true this time and send along a fairly large body of men to effect an arrest. Possibly they would be the same men as on the earlier occasions.”
“Seems reasonable,” Narraway agreed.
Abercorn moved restively in his seat, as if to stand up, and then changed his mind.
“And were they the same men?” Narraway asked Pitt.
“Probably. It wouldn’t be difficult to ascertain-”
This time Abercorn rose immediately. “My lord, I object most strenuously to Commander Pitt’s assumption. He seems to be suggesting that the dead and injured men were somehow responsible for their own fate. That is beyond appalling! It is inexcusable.”
“Really?” The judge looked surprised. “All I understood from the question was that they could have been a target, the cause of which might have been anything, but the most likely to my mind is revenge, possibly for any of their previous successes. They were very successful in their jobs, I understand?”
“Yes, my lord, but-”
“Your objection is heard, and denied, Mr. Abercorn. Please continue, Lord Narraway. Your point is made.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Narraway’s face was almost expressionless, nothing visible in it but concentration. He looked again at Pitt. “So these investigations, which my learned friend had you recount for the court, led you to the conclusion that the officers, both dead and wounded, were deliberately lured to the house in Lancaster Gate where the bomb was detonated?”
“Yes, sir,” Pitt agreed.
“And you discovered what materials were used in the bomb?”
“Yes, sir.”
Again Abercorn was on his feet. “My lord, I am happy to save the court’s time by stipulating to all the evidence previously given in his capacity as my own witness for the prosecution. Commander Pitt of Special Branch is an officer Lord Narraway knows very well, and when he retired he personally recommended Pitt to take his place. Is he now suggesting that Commander Pitt is in some way either incompetent or dishonest?”
There was a rustle of movement in the gallery and several audible murmurs of surprise, and dissent.
The judge looked at Narraway questioningly.
A flicker of apprehension shadowed Narraway’s face for an instant, and then he banished it. “Not at all, my lord,” he said to the judge. “But as any witness is required to do, he answered only the questions asked him. I would like him to explain a little further, with the court’s permission. I have not so far wasted the court’s time, my lord…”
“Indeed, it is more than time you took up a little of it,” the judge agreed. “But please make sure it is relevant. Do not use our time simply to make it appear that Mr. Duncannon has had adequate defense.” His tone was sharp, a reminder of his authority.
Narraway acquiesced with a gesture, and continued speaking to Pitt.
“You told my learned friend Mr. Abercorn that you followed all the lines of inquiry open to you regarding the source of the dynamite used in the bomb, and also the device used to detonate it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you questioned the anarchists known to you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you discover anything at all, any shred of evidence whatsoever, to indicate that they were involved, or could have been?”
“No, sir, nothing at all.”
There was a sigh around the room.
Abercorn smiled and leaned back in his seat, as if the danger had passed.
“You were led irrevocably, fact by fact, each one tested, to the conclusion that the bomber was Alexander Duncannon?” Narraway went on.
“Yes, sir, I was.”
Now the atmosphere in the court was electric. There were gasps of indrawn breath. Abercorn looked for an instant as if he could barely believe what he had heard.