Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [118]
Tellman felt himself blush. Pitt did not give this much praise lightly, and in spite of a desire to be modest, he knew that he had indeed done well. He had been profoundly afraid. He was still queasy when he thought of Wetron spending all night chasing a phantom bomber, getting Edward Denoon and his entire household out of bed, for nothing. It was a pleasure for which he might yet pay very dearly. He had not told Pitt how it had been. Perhaps he should, while the pleasure of it was still unalloyed?
Pitt saw him smiling. “What is it?” he said softly, although the humor in his eyes suggested he knew.
Eventually and with too few words, Tellman described the night’s events.
Pitt laughed. At first it was tense, a little high-pitched with nerves, then, as Tellman continued, with dour economy picturing the between-stairs maid’s screams, the cook’s fury, and the butler’s jittering clumsiness, Pitt started to laugh from deep inside himself. He did so freely and with such delight that neither of them were aware of making so much noise that they did not hear Gracie come to the doorway, her hair tied up in a clean cap and her apron on already to clean out the stove.
They both apologized, like boys caught with their fingers in the jam pot, and sat obediently while she relit the stove and boiled the kettle to make tea.
It was nearly half past eight when Tellman finally left to go to work, hollow-eyed with tiredness, but with a good breakfast inside him. Pitt pondered on how much to tell Charlotte, and what to do next with the day. One thing he had already decided, the proof must be taken immediately to Narraway. He would not let it remain in his house where his wife and children were for even one more hour. Then he would go to see Vespasia. There was much to ask her, some of it acutely painful.
“Brilliant,” Narraway said with deep satisfaction as he looked up at Pitt after reading the papers. He was elegantly dressed, but his face was pale. “You did superbly. But now Wetron will be more dangerous than ever. He will know that Tellman caused these to be stolen, and he will not have found last night’s embarrassment amusing. He will never forgive either of you for that.”
“I know,” Pitt acknowledged. He was afraid for Charlotte now, not from any threat from Voisey, but from Wetron. He was even more afraid for Tellman, who had caused Wetron’s discomfiture at Denoon’s house. The fact that he had also witnessed it would be like pouring oil on the flames. “We must destroy him quickly…” He felt the urgency twisting inside him. “Can’t we have him arrested today?”
Narraway’s dark face was tight with emotion. “I’ll send one of my other men to your house, armed, just in case. There’s nothing I can do to protect Tellman. I assume Piers Denoon was the one who killed Magnus?” His mouth tightened. “His own cousin. I wonder if he hated him anyway, or if that was a further twist of the blackmail. This rape evidence connects Piers with Simbister, and Simbister with Wetron, but we need it all inextricably tied to the bombings before we arrest anyone. Or to put it more accurately, have the police arrest each other!”
“This is enough,” Pitt insisted. “It damns both of them and Piers Denoon. It makes perfect sense.” Tellman’s danger weighed on his mind. Wetron would want him crucified! He would know the papers were gone by now, and he had to know Tellman was responsible, even though he had paid someone else to perform the actual theft. “Simbister owned the Josephine, where the dynamite was. Grover works for him. The circle of proof is complete.”
Narraway looked tired and impatient. “This is a dangerous job, Pitt!” He said abrasively. “Ever hunted big game?”
“No, of course not.”
Narraway’s smile was sour. “There are some beasts you only get one