Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [74]
He knocked on the front door and waited till a footman came.
“Yes, sir?” There was no expression in the polite inquiry.
Pitt produced one of his cards.
“Thomas Pitt. I have a matter of some importance to discuss with Mr. Asherson, if he is free. It concerns one of his colleagues at the Foreign Office.” That was literally true, if not true in its implication.
“Yes, sir. Will you come in, sir, and I will inform Mr. Asherson you are here.” He looked at Pitt dubiously. His boots were not Emily’s new ones; those were too good for all the walking he had been doing lately, and he did not want to wear them out. His jacket was serviceable but no more; only his hat was of quality. He was not library material; the morning room was good enough for him. “If you will come this way, sir?”
The fire had died to a few embers but the room was still warm, at least compared with the cab Pitt had just taken. He found the room pleasant enough, modest compared with the Yorks’, but agreeably furnished, and with at least one good picture on the wall. If Asherson were short of money he could have sold it for enough to keep a housemaid for several years. So much for debt.
The door opened and Asherson came in, his dark brows drawn together in a frown. It was a handsome face, but too volatile. There was something uncertain about it. Pitt would not want to rely on this man in a crisis.
“Good evening, Mr. Asherson,” he said pleasantly. “Sorry to disturb you at home, but the matter is delicate, so I thought it would be more private here than at the Foreign Office.”
“Oh damn!” Asherson pushed the door closed behind him. “Are you still ferreting around after poor old York’s killer? I told you before I didn’t know anything remotely useful. I still don’t.”
“I’m sure you aren’t aware of knowing anything,” Pitt agreed.
“And what do you mean by that?” Asherson was plainly annoyed. “I wasn’t there that night, and nobody’s told me anything.”
“I know a great deal more than when I first spoke to you, sir,” Pitt said, watching Asherson’s face. The gas lamps threw shadows in the room, exaggerating his expression as a yellow gleam highlighted the planes of his cheeks and nose and created darkness where sunlight would have eliminated it. “There was a woman who seems to have had a role in it.”
Asherson’s eyes widened. “In York’s death? You don’t mean it was a woman burglar? I didn’t know there were such things.” There was nothing but surprise in his face.
“The burglary may be incidental, Mr. Asherson. Possibly even the murder was too. Perhaps the only thing that really mattered was the treason.”
Asherson stood absolutely motionless; not a muscle moved in his face or his body. It was an unnatural stillness, a silence that hung too long. Pitt could hear the hiss of the gas in the lamps on the wall and a slight sound as the coals settled in the hearth.
“Treason?” Asherson said at last.
Pitt did not know how far he dared stretch the truth. He decided to evade an answer. “What was Robert York working on before he was killed?” he asked.
Again Asherson hesitated. If he said he did not know, Pitt would have to believe him.
“Africa,” he answered finally. “The, er . . .” He bit bis lower lip gently. “The partition of Africa between Germany and Britain. Or perhaps it would be more fortunate to phrase it as the division of spheres of influence.”
Pitt smiled. “I take the point. Is it confidential? Secret?”
“Very!” There was a shadow of humor in his alarm, perhaps at Pitt’s ignorance. “Good God, if all the terms of a treaty we’d accept were known to the Germans in advance, it would ruin our bargaining position, but far, far worse than that would be the impression it would make on the rest of the world, particularly France. If the French were to make our deliberations public, the rest of Europe