Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [32]
“And you didn’t,” Narraway replied, still holding the pen.
Pitt was jolted. “You know!” He felt oddly betrayed that Narraway had not spoken of the charge of corruption, as if he did not trust him to be loyal to his principles above his past associations.
Narraway gazed at him steadily. His face was tense, deeply lined in the sunlight that came in through the window to his left. His eyes were nearly black. His hair had once been just as dark, but now it was liberally streaked with gray at the temples.
“No, Pitt, I did not know,” Narraway replied wearily. “I can see it in you. You signal the magnitude of it like a ship’s beacon.” He smiled bleakly. “What is it? A little fencing of stolen goods, a blind eye here and there, favor for favor?”
“Worse than that,” Pitt replied, thinking of the landlady at the Ten Bells. “Intimidation on a large scale, regular collection of part of the takings from more or less honest businesses.”
Narraway looked somber. “Not our job. And hardly enough to provoke a man like Magnus Landsborough to anarchy. But I’ll speak to the commissioner. Looks as if he has a little housecleaning to do. I’m sorry. It’s unpleasant to find corruption in your own patch.” He looked down at his papers again, then, when Pitt did not move, he raised his eyes. “Is that why Myrdle Street was bombed?”
“Yes. Man from the Cannon Street station—named Grover—lived in one of the houses. Carmody said he was connected to the extortion. Have you found a link between Landsborough and any foreign anarchists?”
“No. We know where the most active anarchists are, and the most competent.” His mouth twisted wryly. “The incompetent ones blew themselves up and are either in hospital or dead. As far as I can tell, Landsborough had no European connections. If Welling and Carmody are examples of his recruitment, they are naive social reformers who haven’t the patience to do it through the usual ways, and imagine that if they destroy the system, they can build a better one in its place. Which is patently absurd, but without the bombs, we might consider them saints.”
Pitt studied him, trying to measure the emotion lying behind his words. Was there pity there, a mourning for the tortured innocence that had driven those young men to rage at injustice and dream of changing it? Or was he simply making a professional judgment so he could act accordingly, and perhaps weigh Pitt a little more closely at the same time?”
“That isn’t what bothers me,” Pitt told him, and was rewarded to see a flicker of surprise in Narraway’s face. “I went to see Samuel Tellman yesterday evening. In his own rooms, not Bow Street,” he added quickly, seeing Narraway’s sharpened gaze. “I told him about Grover, and Carmody’s accusations, and what I had found.”
“Don’t dance around it, Pitt!” Narraway snapped.
“Tellman believed it,” Pitt said. “Without proof. And he knows it must go higher.”
“That’s obvious,” Narraway retorted curtly. “What is your point?”
Pitt felt his body tighten. He loathed having to tell anyone this, and Narraway was not making it easier. “Tellman says Wetron is making alliances with men who would normally be his rivals for promotion. Specifically, with Simbister of Cannon Street.”
Narraway let out his breath slowly. “I see. Is Simbister in the Inner Circle?”
“I don’t know. But if he isn’t now, I imagine he soon will be.”
“And Wetron’s purpose in this?” Narraway’s fingers were gripping his pen and he moved it up and down very slowly, but with a tension as if he would not be able to stop.
“Power,” Pitt answered simply. “Always power.”
“Using Simbister?” Narraway’s voice rose very slightly. He found it hard to believe.
“It seems so.”
“How is a corrupt police force in his interest?” Narraway questioned. “If he wants to be commissioner, he needs to be seen to be not only highly competent but also above suspicion. If he isn’t, Parliament won’t sustain him, even if he’s as rich as Croesus. Men in power want stability; above all they want the streets safe. If property isn’t safe,