Bedford Square - Anne Perry [99]
“You may, and yes, he was,” Pitt said levelly. He saw Cadell’s eyes widen and heard the very slight sound as he drew in his breath.
“I see ….”
“No, I don’t think you do,” Pitt corrected. “He was not asked for anything, except a relatively worthless silver-plated flask, as a token of submission more than anything else. It was of no value of itself, only symbolic of victory.”
“Then why … why was he exposed?”
“I don’t know,” Pitt admitted. “I would guess it is as a warning to the other victims, a demonstration of power … and of the will to use it.”
Cadell was sitting very still, only his chest rising and falling as he breathed unnaturally slowly. His fingers did not clench on the desk, but they were stiff. He was holding himself in control with a massive effort.
Footsteps passed along the corridor and disappeared.
“You are quite right,” he said at length. “I have no idea how you knew I was a victim as well … perhaps I should not ask. The suggestion made about me is … disgusting, and totally untrue. But there are those who, for their own reasons, would be only too willing to believe it and repeat it. It would ruin not only me but others as well. Even to deny it would suggest the idea to those to whom such a thought would never have occurred. I am helpless.”
“But you have been asked for nothing so far?” Pitt insisted.
“Nothing whatsoever, not even a token of submission, as you put it.”
“Thank you for being so frank, Mr. Cadell. Would you describe the letter for me? Better still, if you have it, may I see it?”
Cadell shook his head.
“I don’t have it. It was cut from newspaper, I believe the Times, and glued on plain paper. It was posted in the City.”
“Exactly like the others.” Pitt nodded. “Will you keep me apprised of anything further you may receive, or anything you consider could throw any light on this at all …”
“Of course.” Cadell stood up and ushered Pitt to the door.
Pitt left uncertain of whether Cadell would tell him or not. Cadell was obviously a man of great self-control, deeply shaken by events. Unlike others, he had not told Pitt what the threat to him had been. It must cut too sharply, cause too deep a fear.
But then Dunraithe White had told only Vespasia. He would not have told Pitt.
He caught a hansom in Whitehall and went straight to see Cornwallis.
He found him at his desk amid a sea of papers, apparently searching for something. He looked up as soon as Pitt came in. He seemed glad to abandon his task. His face showed the marks of tiredness and strain. His eyes were red-rimmed, his skin papery, shadowed on his cheeks and around his lips.
Pitt felt a tug of pity for him, and anger welled up, driven by his own helplessness. He knew that what he had to tell Cornwallis now would make it worse.
“Morning, Pitt. Have you news?” Cornwallis asked before the door was closed. He looked closely at Pitt’s face, and understanding of failure came slowly into his eyes. Something in his body relaxed, but it was not ease so much as despair, a knowledge of being beaten again.
Pitt sat down without being asked. “I’ve spoken with Leo Cadell at the Foreign Office. Mrs. Tannifer was right. He is another victim, just the same.”
Cornwallis looked at him sharply. “The Foreign Office?”
“Yes. But he hasn’t been asked for anything, not even a token.”
Cornwallis leaned forward over the desk and rubbed his hands over his brow up onto his smooth head.
“That’s a police commissioner, a judge, a junior minister in the Home Office, a diplomat in the Foreign Office, a City banker and a retired general. What have we in common, Pitt?” He stared at him, a flicker of desperation in his eyes. “I’ve racked my brains! What could anybody want of us? I went to see Stanley, poor devil ….”
“So did I,” Pitt said, sinking back in the chair and crossing his legs. “He couldn’t add anything.”
“He didn’t defy the blackmailer.” Cornwallis leaned forward. “The poor devil didn’t have the chance! I think we have to assume that his exposure was a demonstration of power, to frighten the rest of us.” He waited to see if Pitt would