The jury stared at Pitt, then at Narraway, then back to Pitt.
The judge was puzzled and unhappy. It was obvious that he was embarrassed for Narraway.
Pitt did not dare look at Charlotte, still less at Vespasia.
“Were you satisfied with the evidence against him?” Narraway smiled, looking deceptively innocent.
The judge frowned, waiting for the answer.
Pitt hesitated.
“Commander?” Narraway prompted him. “Was there some question in the evidence?”
“No. I was asked not to pursue the case against Alexander Duncannon by Commissioner Bradshaw,” Pitt replied. He had hoped to avoid saying this. He was convinced that Bradshaw had done so because his wife was also addicted to opium for pain relief, and he was afraid the prosecution of Alexander might reveal that. Perhaps they had the same supplier, and Alexander would be pressured to reveal him, and in so doing also cut off Bradshaw’s wife’s supply. The suppliers had the perfect weapon to blackmail the commissioner into anything! And God alone knew how many others. It might be incidental to Bradshaw that his own career would be ruined. He would face disgrace, but not financial ruin. He had considerable private means. Pitt believed it was genuinely his wife he feared for. For the first time since he had mounted the witness stand, Pitt was deeply worried about the unknown.
“Did he say why?” Narraway asked.
“It was a political matter which I am aware of but prefer not to discuss,” Pitt replied. That was not the truth, but he hoped Narraway would leave it alone. The danger was that Abercorn was aware of the truth and would use the exposure to discredit both Narraway and Pitt himself. He could feel the sweat of fear prickle his skin, and then go cold.
“Indeed.” Narraway gave a slight shrug and appeared to dismiss the subject. He walked back a few steps toward his seat, and then turned round. “From the time you first suspected Alexander Duncannon of the bombing that killed the three policemen, did Mr. Duncannon take any further action, so far as you know, Commander Pitt?”
Pitt swallowed. They were coming into the most dangerous territory at last. Everything depended on this.
“Yes. He set off another bomb in the Lancaster Gate area, but this time no one was injured.”
Narraway affected to look surprised.
“The evidence led conclusively to him? You are perfectly sure of that?”
Abercorn sat back in his seat and smiled. Now he thought he knew what Narraway was attempting to do, and was doomed to failure. Pitt would avoid that trap. He could not blame anyone else and thereby raise reasonable doubt as to Alexander’s guilt.
There was a palpable tension in the courtroom. Several jurors looked at one another and a couple even passed whispered comments.
The judge looked even more concerned. He waited for Pitt’s reply.
“There was very little conclusive evidence,” Pitt replied. “Not all the stolen dynamite had been used in the first explosion-at least that’s how it appeared.”
“That’s how it appeared?” Narraway said instantly. “That is hardly proof, Commander Pitt. Yet you say that Alexander Duncannon was guilty. Please explain yourself.”
Pitt was faced with accusing stares. This was the moment. Should he mention the beautifully initialed handkerchief? It was proof to him, as Alexander had meant it to be, but was it in law?
“He admitted that he set off the second bomb in the same area,” Pitt said simply.
Narraway’s eyes opened wide. “You asked him, and he admitted it,” he repeated. “Do you expect us to believe that?”
Now there were rustles, hasty whispers, and hisses.
“Silence!” the judge ordered sharply.
“I expect you to believe it, my lord.” Pitt looked straight at Narraway. “I believe your client will have told you the same. Whether the court does or not, I don’t know, and I can’t help.”
The judge leaned as far forward over the magnificent bench as he was able to.
“Lord Narraway, are you perfectly sure you are aware of what you are doing? I have told you before, no matter what…extraordinary behavior you exhibit, you have taken considerable pains to assure this court that you are competent to defend your client. I accepted your assurances, and your qualifications. I will not grant a mistrial because of your…eccentric conduct now! Do I make myself clear?”
Narraway was stiff, the tension in him like an electric charge in the air.
“Yes, my lord. I understand perfectly. I have no intention whatsoever of asking you for any kind of mistrial on such a basis…or any other.”
“Then proceed.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Narraway walked back a couple of paces toward the witness stand. “Commander Pitt, can you explain this…extraordinary statement? My client has given me leave to ask you this question. It will not be grounds for any plea on his behalf.”
Pitt took a long, deep breath, and then another. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. It was all up to him now. No one else could help Alexander, or find any kind of justice or even mercy.
“He had already admitted to setting the original bomb, which killed three police and terribly injured two more…”
There were gasps around the court.
Godfrey Duncannon was in the gallery today, apparently released from any possibility of being called to the stand. He rose to his feet, protesting, but his voice was drowned in the hubbub.
“I will have order!” the judge shouted furiously. “Lord Narraway, for the love of heaven, defend your client, or I shall be obliged to call for someone to replace you. This has become absurd!”
The tide of noise subsided.
Narraway stood pale-faced. “With the greatest respect, my lord, I am acting in what my client believes is his best interest.”
“You have not had him plead insanity,” the judge reminded him.
Abercorn was smiling.
“No, my lord,” Narraway agreed. “I do not think Mr. Duncannon was insane within the definition of the law.”
“I don’t know what you are playing at, man, but get it over with,” the judge said wearily.
Narraway looked up at Pitt. “He admitted to setting the bomb in the house in Lancaster Gate, the first one?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ask him why he had done such a…monstrous thing?”
“Of course I did. And why the second also.”
“And his reply?”
Abercorn rose to his feet quickly. There was now a distinct pallor to his face, as if he had at last seen the shadow on the horizon. “My lord, this has descended to farce! We cannot give the accused a platform to air his wild political opinions.”
“Sit down, Mr. Abercorn,” the judge ordered. “Commander Pitt is answering a perfectly reasonable question. You did not offer any motive for this abominable act. It is in order that his defense should offer it, destructive to his case as it may be. I cannot imagine anything that could be a justification. Can you?”
“Absolutely not, my lord!”
“Good. Then sit down and be quiet, so we can get this over with as quickly as possible. Narraway?”
“Yes, my lord. Please continue, Commander Pitt.”
“Yes, I did ask him,” Pitt answered. He was acutely aware that he might well get only one chance to say what he had to. Abercorn would do all he could to stop him. One slip and he would be silenced.
“And his reply?” Narraway prompted.
“I thought at first it was revenge,” Pitt began. He gripped the rail in front of him, aware that his knuckles were white, but it helped to hold onto it. “He was injured very badly in a riding accident and had been given opium by his doctor, to offer some ease for the appalling pain. He became addicted to it, as I am afraid often happens, especially when the pain itself will be for life.”
Abercorn stirred, but the judge glared at him, and he subsided.
Pitt went on quickly, “Nearly two and a half years ago he and a close friend found in affliction, also addicted to opium for pain, set up a meeting to purchase a further supply. When they got to the appointed place, they were met by a police ambush. Five men: Ednam, Newman, Hobbs, Bossiney, and Yarcombe. The drug dealer never appeared. It developed into a brief but fatal battle. A passerby, James Tyndale, a totally innocent man, was shot dead. Alexander Duncannon told me it was by one of the police. Alexander escaped. His companion, Dylan Lezant, who was close behind him, was less fortunate. He was tackled by the police and knocked senseless.”