Betrayal at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [103]
He arrived just before four o’clock. He went in through the door, past the man on duty just inside, and asked to see Narraway.
He was told to wait, as he had expected, but it was a surprisingly short time before Charles Austwick himself came down and conducted Pitt up to what used to be Narraway’s office. Pitt noticed immediately that all signs of Narraway were gone: his pictures; the photograph of his mother, which used to sit on top of the bookcase; the few personal books of poetry and memoirs; the engraved brass bowl from his time in North Africa.
He stared at Austwick, allowing his sense of loss to show in his face, hoping Austwick would see it as confusion.
‘Sit down, Pitt.’ Austwick waved him to the chair opposite the desk. ‘Of course you’re wondering what the devil’s going on. I’m afraid I have some shocking news for you.’
Pitt forced himself to look alarmed, as if his imagination were racing. ‘Something has happened to Mr Narraway? Is he hurt? Ill?’
‘I’m afraid in some ways it is worse than that,’ Austwick said sombrely. ‘Narraway appears to have stolen a rather large amount of money, and – when faced with it – he disappeared. We believe he has gone to Ireland. Obviously he has been dismissed from the service, and – at least for the time being – I have replaced him. I am sure that is temporary, but until further notice, you will report to me. I’m sorry. It must be a great blow to you, indeed it is to all of us. I don’t think anyone imagined Narraway, of all people, would give in to that kind of temptation.’
Pitt’s mind raced. How should he respond? He had thought it was all worked out in his mind, but sitting here in Narraway’s office, subtly but so completely changed, he was uncertain again. Was Austwick the traitor? If so, then he was a far cleverer man than Pitt had thought. But Pitt had had no idea that there was a traitor at all, and he had trusted Gower. What was his judgement worth?
‘I can see that you’re stunned,’ Austwick said patiently. ‘We’ve had a little while to get used to the idea. We knew almost as soon as you had gone. By the way, where is Gower?’
Pitt inhaled deeply, and plunged in. ‘I left him in France, in St Malo,’ he replied. He watched Austwick’s face as closely as he dared, trying to read in his eyes, his gestures, if he knew that that was only half true.
Austwick spoke slowly, as if he also were measuring what he said, and he seemed to be watching Pitt just as closely. Had he noticed Somerset Carlisle’s beautifully cut shirt? Or his wine-coloured cravat?
Pitt repeated exactly what he believed had happened at the time he had first notified Narraway that he had to remain in France. He had never submitted more than a superficial report, not trusting detail to the post, and certainly not to anything as public as a telegram, even one in carefully coded language. He said nothing about the facts involving Gower that he now knew.
Austwick listened attentively. His expression did not betray whether he knew anything further or not.
‘I see,’ he said at last, drumming his fingers silently on the desk top. ‘So you left Gower there in the hope that there might yet be something worthwhile to observe?’
‘Yes . . . sir.’ He added the ‘sir’ with difficulty. There was a slowly mounting rage inside him that this man was sitting here in Narraway’s chair, behind his desk. Was he also a pawn in this game, or was he the one playing it with the opposing pieces?
‘Do you think that is likely?’ Austwick asked. ‘You say you saw nothing after that first sighting of . . . who did you say? Meister and Linsky, was it?’
‘Yes,’ Pitt agreed. ‘There were plenty of people coming and going all the time, but neither of us recognised anyone else. It’s possible that was coincidence. On the other hand, West was murdered, and the man who killed him, very brutally and openly, fled to that house. There has to be a reason for that.’
Austwick appeared to consider it for several moments. Finally he looked up, his lips pursed. ‘You’re right.