At Some Disputed Barricade_ A Novel - Anne Perry [62]
Sandwell was watching Matthew intently. Matthew tried to read the emotion in the brilliant eyes, and could discern nothing. It was like looking into a mirror.
“You mean Wheatcroft laid the charge of blackmail falsely, as a way of becoming victim rather than offender?” Sandwell grasped it immediately. “I’m surprised. It shows rather more nimbleness of mind than I thought he possessed.”
Matthew smiled in spite of himself, and saw the answer in Sandwell’s face.
“Yes, sir, I think it does, which is why I believe the idea may not have originated with him.”
“I assume you asked him?”
“Yes. He told me it was his wife’s suggestion.”
“Ah. The redoubtable Eunice.”
“You know her?” Suddenly the air was electric. Had Sandwell stiffened? Was Matthew at last facing the Peacemaker in a ridiculously civilized, lethal fencing match with words? Or wasting time talking in riddles to an innocent man?
The Peacemaker was an idealist: passionate, ruthless, believing utterly in his cause. He would crush Matthew as he had his father, with regret, but without hesitation.
“Do you know Mrs. Wheatcroft, sir?” Matthew reiterated.
“I have met her,” Sandwell replied. “But I was speaking of her reputation. Elegant but chillingly cold.”
“My impression exactly,” Matthew agreed. “I think if I were Wheatcroft I would not wish to incur her displeasure, let alone her contempt.”
“Sufficiently to accuse a friend of blackmail, falsely?” Sandwell asked with a lift of surprise. “That is a particularly squalid thing to do.”
“It is a particularly squalid charge,” Matthew pointed out.
“I don’t see how it concerns Intelligence, even so. Or what I could do to be of assistance.”
Matthew had hoped the question would arise and he had prepared for it. “Tom Corracher is an able man, with unique connections in Hungary. We can’t afford to lose him so easily. Apart from the damage to morale of such a sordid scandal just now when the army is taking the most hideous losses. We need strength and honor at home.”
“I see.” Sandwell sat silently for some time. Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside, and a burst of laughter came from the dining room where the men were still passing the port and brandy.
Somewhere a clock chimed and then struck eleven.
“You wish me to intervene on Corracher’s behalf. I assume you believe him innocent? Although perhaps that is not the major issue. You are right, a scandal would damage morale when we are too vulnerable to bear it easily. Thank you for bringing it to my attention, Reavley. I shall do what I can. Your argument is persuasive.” He smiled and rose to his feet, holding out his strong, narrow hand with its long fingers.
Matthew took it, still not certain what he had learned. “Thank you, sir.”
They stood for a moment, neither moving. Then Sandwell let go and turned to the door. Was his smile a shade less certain? Or was it only a change in the light and Matthew’s imagination?
Matthew was a little late the next morning and was still eating a slice of toast when the telephone rang. He picked it up to hear Shearing’s voice. It sounded tense and very formal, as if he might have been aware of being overheard.
“Morning, Reavley. Will you go to Wheatcroft’s house, please. Immediately. Take full identification with you.”
Matthew drew in his breath to ask why, and then let it out again. “Yes, sir.”
He took his car this time. A taxi would have had to fight traffic just the same, and he knew London almost as well as any cab driver. It took him half an hour, even though he had to break the speed limit in several places and cut a dozen red lights too fine.
He was met at Wheatcroft’s door by an elderly policeman who was well past the age at which he would usually retire. He looked distressed, which was sufficient to warn Matthew that whatever had happened was very grave.
“Yes, sir?” the sergeant said stiffly.
“Captain Reavley, Intelligence Service,” Matthew identified himself.
“Yes, sir. Sergeant Roberts. I was expecting