Betrayal at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [127]
Croxdale put down the last paper. ‘Narraway obviously thought there was something to this business in Paris, but not major. Austwick seems to disagree, and thinks there is nothing but noise and posturing. Unlike Narraway, he believes it will not affect us here in Britain. What do you think, Pitt?’
It was the question Pitt had dreaded, but it was inevitable that it would come. There was no room for excuses, no matter how easy to justify. He would be judged on the accuracy of his answer. He had lain awake weighing everything he knew, hoping Croxdale’s information would top the balance one way or the other.
Again he answered with barely a hesitation. ‘I think that Narraway was on the brink of finding out something crucial, and he was got rid of before he could do so.’
Croxdale waited a long time before he answered.
‘Do you realise that if that is true, then you are also saying that Austwick is either incompetent to a most serious degree, or else – far worse than that – he is complicit in what is going on?’
‘Yes, sir, I’m afraid that has to be the case,’ Pitt agreed. ‘But Gower was reporting to someone, so we know that at least one person within the service is a traitor.’
‘I’ve known Charles Austwick for years,’ Croxdale said softly. ‘But perhaps we don’t know anyone as well as we imagine.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve sent for Stoker. Apparently he’s newly back from Ireland. He may be able to throw some light on things. Do you trust him?’
‘Yes. But I trusted Gower, so I’m not sure my opinion is worth a great deal,’ Pitt said ruefully. ‘Do you?’
Croxdale gave him a bleak smile. ‘Touché. Let’s at least see what he has to say. And the answer is “no”, I trust no one. I am painfully aware that we cannot afford to. Not after Narraway, and not, it would seem, Gower also. Are you sure you won’t have a brandy?’
‘I’m quite sure, thank you, sir.’
There was a knock on the door and, at Croxdale’s word, Stoker came in. He looked tired. There were shadows around his eyes and his face was pinched with fatigue. However, he stood to attention until Croxdale gave him permission to sit. Stoker acknowledged Pitt, but only so much as courtesy demanded.
‘When did you get back from Ireland?’ Croxdale asked him.
‘About two hours ago, sir,’ Stoker replied. ‘Weather’s a bit poor.’
‘Mr Pitt doesn’t believe the charge of embezzlement against Narraway,’ Croxdale went on. ‘He thinks it is possibly false, manufactured to get rid of him because he was on the verge of gaining information about a serious socialist plot of violence that would affect Britain.’ He was completely ignoring Pitt, his eyes fixed on Stoker so intently they might have been alone in the room.
‘Sir?’ Stoker said with amazement, but he did not look at Pitt either.
‘You worked with Narraway,’ Croxdale continued. ‘Does that seem likely to you? What is the news from Ireland now?’
Stoker’s jaw tightened as if he were labouring under some profound emotion. His face was pale as he leaned forward a little into the light. He seemed leached of colour by exhaustion. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t see any reason to question the evidence. It’s amazing what lack of money can do, and how it can change your view of things.’
Pitt felt as if he had been struck. The sting of Stoker’s words was hard enough to have been physical. He would rather it had been.
‘I see,’ Croxdale sighed. ‘And what is the state of affairs in Dublin at present?’
‘Mr Narraway is in prison accused of murdering Cormac O’Neil,’ Stoker answered.
‘Murder!’ Croxdale looked aghast.
Pitt’s thoughts were in disarray. The Narraway he knew was not a murderer. And what of Charlotte? Was she now alone and frightened? Yet Pitt could not ask Stoker.
‘It seems he quarrelled with him rather publicly, making no secret of the fact he believed O’Neil to be responsible for creating the evidence that made it seem he was guilty of embezzling the money intended for Mulhare. And to be honest, that could well be true.’
‘Could it?’ Croxdale asked, a lift of hope in his voice.
‘From what I can