Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [180]
“It appears to be someone he was blackmailing,” Drummond answered. “But you will appreciate, we have not arrested him yet, so I prefer not to say more. I came to tell you as soon as I could that you need no longer worry about your own safety or reputation.”
“Good. I—I am obliged to you.” Byam swallowed. “You have behaved with great consideration, Drummond. I am sensible of your generosity.”
Drummond was embarrassed, painfully aware of his emotions as well as his acts, things of which he profoundly hoped Byam had no notion.
“I assume you will arrest him?” Byam went on, more to fill the silence than from any apparent interest.
“Tomorrow,” Drummond replied. “We still require some documentary evidence.”
Byam moved jerkily and made as if to speak, then remained silent. He seemed very little relieved, considering the weight of the news Drummond had just brought, almost as if it were peripheral to his real anguish.
“We know you are not guilty,” Drummond said again, just in case somehow he had not grasped that his ordeal was over.
Byam forced a smile. It was ghastly.
“Yes—yes, I am very grateful.”
“And the blackmail will end,” Drummond added, trying to bring the man some ease.
“Of course. Weems …”
“No—I mean the second blackmail—to change your mind on the lending policy in the African empire states and drive them to venture capital. It was the same man, and his arrest will end it all.”
Byam stood motionless.
“I—I thought it was one of Weems’s associates,” he said very quietly. “Whoever he left his papers with, to safeguard himself.”
“No—it was his murderer,” Drummond corrected. “When he killed Weems he took the letter, and blackmailed you with it. Only this time not for a few guineas, but for political corruption and the infinitely greater prizes that would bring.” He realized as he said it that freedom from suspicion, even from that pressure, was only part of Byam’s need. He would never undo the decisions he had made in office, or the guilt for having set his personal reputation ahead of his political honor.
“I’m sorry,” Drummond said quietly. It was not an apology.
Byam was ashen, as if every vestige of blood had drained from his face.
“And Weems was blackmailing the murderer also, you say?”
“Yes.”
“For money?”
“Presumably. But it didn’t work. The man killed him.”
Byam swayed on his feet. He forced the words between dry lips.”
“And—took the—letter?”
“Yes.” Drummond was afraid Byam was going to faint, he looked so ill.
“How—how did you discover… ?” Byam stammered.
“It was the letter, actually,” Drummond replied. “Pitt found half of it. Can I get you something? Brandy?”
“No—no! Please leave me. I am …” He coughed and gasped for breath. “I—I am obliged.” Drummond stood helpless for a moment longer, then went to the door and found the butler standing outside in the hall.
“I think Lord Byam is not well,” he said hastily. “Perhaps you had better go and see if you can be of assistance.”
“Yes sir.” And without waiting to hand him his hat and stick, simply indicating the footman, the butler did as he was told. Drummond took the things from the footman’s hand and went outside into the foggy, clammy evening, already growing dim.
Pitt met Drummond at eight o’clock the following morning. The mist had not yet cleared and the streets were damp, their footsteps echoing when they alighted from the hansom and walked across the pavement and up the steps to Lord Anstiss’s house. Drummond rang the bell.
It was several chilly minutes before a footman answered, looking surprised and more than a little confused to see two people he did not know on the step at this hour.
“I’m sorry sir,” he apologized. “Lord Anstiss is not yet receiving visitors.”
Pitt showed him his police identification.
“He will see us,” he insisted, gently pushing past the man.
“No ’E won’t, sir!” The footman