Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [177]
“Thank you,” Valerius said absently. “It’s one of the most monstrous damned crimes going on, but no one seems to care.”
Pitt had no argument to offer and no comfort. He refused to make some polite platitude.
The hansom passed and they crossed the street, Pitt watching both ways for traffic, and just reaching the far side as an open carriage swept by at a reckless speed.
“Idiot,” Pitt said between his teeth at the driver.
“It will be traceable.” Valerius went on with his own train of thought. “I’ll get you the proof.” He lengthened his step yet again, his coat flying. Meandering pedestrians who were simply taking the air and showing off moved aside with more haste than dignity, a dandy with a monocle muttering under his breath and two pretty women stopping to stare with interest.
“Thank you,” Pitt said with appreciation. “Can you bring it to me in Bow Street?”
“Of course I can. How long will you be there?”
“Tonight?”
Valerius grinned. “Of course tonight. In a hurry, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Then I’ll see you in Bow Street.” And with a wave he swung around and raced off down Half Moon Street and disappeared.
With a new sense of hope Pitt made his way to Bow Street.
Once there he went straight up to Micah Drummond’s office and knocked on the door. As soon as he was inside he knew something was wrong. Drummond looked profoundly unhappy. His face was pale, his features drawn, and there was fury in every angle of his body.
“What is it?” Pitt said immediately. “Byam?”
“No, Latimer, the swine. The man is a complete outsider!”
From a man like Drummond that was the ultimate condemnation. To be an outsider was to be lost beyond recall. Pitt was taken aback.
“What has he done?” His mind raced through possibilities and came up with nothing damning enough to warrant such contempt.
Drummond was staring at him.
“Where have you been?” he demanded.
“I think I may be close to the end of the Weems case,” Pitt replied. “It’s nothing to do with Latimer.”
“I didn’t think it was.” Drummond turned back to the window. “Damn him!”
“Is it about the bare-knuckle fighting?”
Drummond turned around, his face lifting with hope. “What bare-knuckle fighting?”
“He gambles on it. That’s where his money comes from—not from Weems. Didn’t I tell you?”
“No you didn’t! Don’t be this ingenuous, Pitt. Nor did you tell me about Urban’s moonlighting at a music hall in Stepney, and having possible stolen works of art.”
Pitt felt a sudden coldness inside him. “Then how do you know?”
“Because Latimer told me, of course!”
“About Urban? Why, for—” But before he could finish the questions, he understood. The Inner Circle. Latimer had showed his ultimate obedience by betraying Urban, becoming his executioner for the brotherhood. Drummond knew it, and this was the reason for his rage. “I see,” Pitt said aloud.
“Do you?” Drummond demanded, his face white, his eyes blazing. “Do you? It’s that hellish Inner Circle.”
“I know.”
For moments they stood staring at each other, then Drummond’s eyes dulled into misery again and the fire went out of him.
“Yes—of course you do.” He sat down behind the desk and waved towards the chair opposite. “There’s one good thing. That self-important idiot Osmar has done it again, and been caught beyond question this time—in a public railway carriage on the Waterloo line, of all things.” His eyes held a flash of humor. “And by an elderly lady of unquestionable reputation and veracity. No one will doubt the Dowager Lady Webber when she says his behavior was unpardonable and his dress inadequate for public wear. And the young woman likewise, and her profession only too apparent. He’ll have no defense this time.” In other circumstances Pitt would have laughed. Now all he could raise was a hard smile.
“What did you come for?” Drummond asked.
Pitt told him all he either knew or believed about Lord Anstiss, his suppositions about Weems and the letter, Charlotte’s information concerning venture capital and his subsequent meeting with Peter Valerius.