Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [115]
Slowly it began to come together, the desire and fear intermeshed. But he would need help. Someone must be in danger, someone Wetron needed and could not replace. Tanqueray did not matter. If he were killed, the bill could be sponsored by someone else. He would have been a martyr. It might even help!
But Edward Denoon was different. He was powerful and unique, the strongest public supporter of the bill, with a newspaper read by most of the men of influence in the south of England.
Who could threaten Denoon? Enemies of the bill. Voisey was obvious. And what would please Wetron more than to catch Voisey in a criminal act?
Tellman got to his feet. He must find Pitt or Narraway, someone to help make it believable. Wetron had to accept the plan and feel compelled to help implement it himself.
It worked. At least it seemed to. The weather was mild, a light wind rustling the leaves of the trees, the smell of chimney smoke in the air. A little after midnight Tellman stood by a hansom cab. It was drawn up twenty yards from Denoon’s house, and to a casual glance he was a driver waiting for a fare. Wetron was on the footpath talking to one of his men, as if they were two gentlemen having a late-night stroll and conversation. They had been waiting for over an hour, and were growing restive.
Tellman kept glancing across at Denoon’s house, hoping for a sign that Pitt was keeping his word. He could not hope to coerce Wetron to remain much longer. And trying to explain this tomorrow morning could be uncomfortable, to say the very least.
A dog started barking. Wetron stiffened. By the horse’s head, Tellman hoped profoundly that something was about to happen.
Seconds went by. The horse stamped and let out its breath noisily.
Wetron spun around as a figure crept along the far side of the street, silent as a shadow, and disappeared down the areaway steps of Denoon’s house. Five seconds went by, ten, then Wetron gave the signal to move.
“Not yet!” Tellman said sharply, his voice high and tight in his throat. Had he overplayed his hand, telling Wetron that Voisey meant to have Denoon killed? Now he was terrified it was Pitt in the shadows and Wetron would arrest him.
“We can’t wait,” Wetron argued furiously. “He might break in and set a bomb. We’ve only got minutes, maybe less. Come on!” He set off across the street, his footsteps sharp on the stones, the constable close behind him.
Tellman abandoned the horse and chased the constable, catching up with him in four strides. “Go that way!” he hissed, pointing to the farther side of Denoon’s house. “If he went right around the back he’ll come out there.”
The constable hesitated, his face startled and undecided in the ghostly light from the streetlamps.
“We’ve got to get him,” Tellman insisted urgently. “If he’s put a bomb there, we have to know where it is.”
“He won’t tell us!”
“He bloody will if we take him back into the house!” Tellman swore. “Go now!” He gave the man a slight push.
The constable saw it with a sudden blaze of understanding, and sprinted across the street to the far end of Denoon’s house.
Tellman caught up with Wetron, who was at the entrance to the areaway and starting to go down the steps. Tellman went down after him.
“There’s no one here!” Wetron spat. “He must be inside already, and closed the door behind him. We’re too slow, Tellman.”
Pitt could never have picked a lock in those few moments, so he could not be inside. He must have gone on around the house. “Then we’ll catch him inside, sir,” he said aloud. “He can’t have set a bomb already. He’ll be red-handed. It’ll be the most powerful argument anyone could make for the sake of the bill