Treason at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [144]
Croxdale stopped. “What the devil are you talking about? If there’s somebody else, why in God’s name didn’t you tell me before?”
“Because I didn’t know who it was,” Pitt said honestly.
Croxdale was in the shadow, his face all but invisible. “And now you do?” His voice was soft. Was it in disbelief, or understanding at last?
“Yes,” Pitt said.
Stoker moved silently forward until he was a yard behind Croxdale. He had deliberately chosen an angle from which he cast no shadow.
“Indeed. And who is it?” Croxdale asked.
“You,” Pitt answered.
There was total silence.
Croxdale was a big man, heavy. Pit wondered if he and Stoker would be able to take him, if he fought back, if he called for the footman who must be waiting somewhere. Please God he was in the kitchen where he would only hear a bell. But he would not go back to bed while his master was up and there were visitors in the house.
“You made a mistake,” Pitt pointed out, as much to hold Croxdale’s attention from any slight sound Stoker might make as for any reasoning.
“Really? What was that?” Croxdale did not sound alarmed. In seconds he had regained his composure.
“The amount of money you paid Mulhare.”
“He was worth it. He gave us Byrne,” Croxdale replied, the contempt undisguised in his voice. “If you were up to your job, you would know that.”
“Oh, I do know it,” Pitt answered, keeping his eyes on Croxdale so he did not waver even once and glance at Stoker behind him. “The point is not whether Mulhare was worth it, it is that that amount had to be authorized by more than one man. It has your signature on it.”
“What of it?” Croxdale asked. “It was a legitimate payment.”
“It was used to get rid of Narraway—and you said you didn’t know anything about it,” Pitt reminded him.
Croxdale brought his hands out of his pockets. In the left one there was a small gun. The light from the sitting room behind Pitt gleamed on the metal of the barrel as Croxdale raised it.
Pitt swung around as if Stoker were behind him, just as Stoker slammed into Croxdale, kicking high and hard at his left elbow.
The gun flew in the air. Pitt lunged for it, just catching it as it arced over to his left.
Croxdale swung around and grabbed at Stoker, twisting his arm and turning him so he half fell and Croxdale had him in a stranglehold.
“Give me back the gun, or I’ll break his neck!” Croxdale said in a grating voice, just a little high-pitched.
Pitt had no doubt whatever that he would do it. The mask was off: Croxdale had nothing to lose. Pitt looked at Stoker’s face, which was already turning red as his neck was crushed by Croxdale’s hold. There was no choice. Stoker was still only half in front of Croxdale, but slipping forward and sideways. A minute more and he would be unconscious and form a perfect shield. He aimed the gun and cocked the trigger.
Pitt shot Croxdale in the head, making a single wound.
Croxdale fell backward. Stoker, sprayed with blood, staggered and collapsed onto the floor. Pitt was alarmed by his own accuracy, though the distance to his target had been short enough. Of course he was surprised; he had never shot a man to death before.
He dropped the gun and held out his hand, hauling Stoker to his feet again.
Stoker looked at the gun.
“Leave it!” Pitt said, startled to find his voice almost level. “The minister shot himself when he realized we had proof of his treason. We didn’t know he had a gun, so we weren’t able to prevent him from doing it.” Now he was shaking, and it took all his control to keep even reasonably steady. “What the hell did you think you were doing?” he snarled at Stoker suddenly. “He would have killed you, you fool!”
Stoker coughed and rubbed his hand over his throat. “I know that,” he said huskily. “Just as well you shot him, or I’d have been the one on the floor. Thank you, sir.”
Pitt was about to tell Stoker that he was incompetent to have allowed Croxdale to grasp hold of him like that. However, with a shock like a physical blow, he realized that Stoker