Angels in the Gloom_ A Novel - Anne Perry [135]
“Thank you, sir. I know who killed Theo Blaine, and I fear that I know why. It appears to have nothing to do with the Germans.”
Hall frowned at him. “You had better sit down and tell me exactly what you mean.”
“Yes, sir. Do you want to know how I reached . . .”
“No. Just tell me who did what, and I shall ask you what I cannot deduce for myself.”
As briefly as he could, Joseph recounted what he believed to have happened. Hall stopped him every time he needed proof, or the process of his reasoning was unclear, but that did not happen often. The more Joseph laid out his knowledge the more hideously plain it became.
“And I believe you are testing the device now,” he finished. “When it works, and Corcoran does not need Ben Morven anymore, then I’m afraid he may either kill him, or else try to turn him in for the murder of Blaine,” he finished. His chest felt tight, as if he could not draw air into his lungs. Put as baldly as that it was logically inescapable, and yet emotionally he still felt as if he had betrayed the past and somehow broken a thing of infinite value that was not his alone, but belonged to his whole family. Most especially it belonged to Matthew, and he would not be forgiven for destroying it. He had created immeasurable pain, and he should have found some way to avoid it.
“That will not happen,” Hall said quietly.
“Yes, it will,” Joseph contradicted him. “As soon as the Cormorant returns and he knows it was successful.”
Hall looked at him steadily, his eyes bright and sad. “It will not be successful. Corcoran could not complete it. Mrs. Blaine is right, he has not the brilliance Blaine had. He thought he could do the last little bit himself, but he misjudged his ability. He killed Blaine too soon.”
Joseph was stunned. “You mean we . . . we’ve lost the invention?”
“Yes.”
He refused to grasp it.
“But we’re testing it! On the Cormorant . . .”
“In the hope that the Germans will try to steal it.” A flash of bleak humor touched Hall’s face. “Then we might at least find the leak from the Establishment. But if it was Corcoran himself who killed Blaine, and I believe you, then there may not be one. It looks as if he also smashed the first prototype in order to hide the fact that he was unable to complete it. It bought him some time, and increased our belief that there was a German spy in St. Giles.”
“You’re not surprised?” Joseph said with profound misery, still fighting to find some shred of disbelief. It was futile, and in his heart he knew it, but he could not let go yet.
“Yes, I am surprised,” Hall admitted. “But your logic is perfect. More than anything else I am grieved. I know Corcoran, not well, but I know him. I saw he was ambitious and that he loved admiration, he fed on the love of his fellows, which he more than earned.” His clear blue eyes were sad, and perhaps guilty. “I did not recognize the hunger for glory that it seems finally destroyed everything else in him.” His voice dropped. “I’ve seen it before, in military men, and in politicians, where the original desire to win the battle is overtaken by the lust for fame and to be admired, and then finally to become immortal in memory, as if their existence were measured only by what others think of them. They become so addicted to fame their appetite is insatiable. I didn’t see it in Corcoran, but I should have.”
“I can’t prove it!” Joseph said with a kind of desperation. It was Shanley that Hall was speaking of as if he were a stranger, somebody one could diagnose with impartiality, not a friend, his godfather, and a part of his life woven inextricably with every memory he had.
“You won’t prove it with Archie’s evidence,” he went on aloud, insistent, as if it could still matter. “Not beyond reasonable doubt.”
Hall looked at him with pity. “I know. He will have to be arrested immediately and tried in secret. None of this can be known. It is murder and treason. The evidence will be given in camera because of the prototype, and because such a betrayal would cripple morale,