Treason at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [87]
The irate and terrified passengers who had witnessed half the events had seen Pitt on the platform with the first man who had gone over, and then alone with Gower just before he had been pitched over as well.
“I know what I saw!” one of them stated. He stood as far away from Pitt as he could, his face a mask of horror in the railway platform gaslight. “He threw them both over. You want to watch yourselves or he’ll have you too! He’s insane! He has to be. Threw them over, one after the other.”
“We were fighting!” Pitt protested. “He attacked me, but I won!”
“Which one of them would that be, sir?” one of the constables asked him. “The first one, or the second one?”
“The second one,” Pitt answered but he heard the note of desperation in his own voice. It sounded ridiculous, even to him.
“Maybe he didn’t like it that you’d thrown the first man off the train,” the constable said reasonably. “ ’e was tryin’ to arrest you. Good citizen doin’ ’is duty.”
“He attacked me the first time,” Pitt tried to explain. “The other man was trying to rescue me, and he lost the fight!”
“But when this second man attacked you, you won, right?” the constable said with open disbelief.
“Obviously, since I’m here,” Pitt snapped. “If you undo the manacles, I’ll show you my warrant card. I’m a member of Special Branch.”
“Yes, sir,” the constable said sarcastically. “They always go around throwin’ people off trains. Very special, they are.”
Pitt barely controlled his temper. “Look in my pocket, inside my coat, up at the top,” he said between his teeth. “You’ll find my card.”
The constables looked at each other. “Yeah? An’ why would you be pitchin’ people off trains, sir?”
“Because the man attacked me,” Pitt said again. “He is a dangerous man planning violence here.” He knew as he spoke how absurd that sounded, considering that Gower was dead on the track, and Pitt was standing here alive and unhurt, apart from a few bruises. “Look,” he went on, trying anew. “Gower attacked me. The stranger came to my rescue, but Gower was stronger and he lost the fight. I couldn’t save him. Then Gower attacked me, but this time I was ready. I won. Look for my warrant card. That’ll prove who I am.”
The constables exchanged glances again. Then one of them very gingerly approached Pitt and held his coat open with one hand, while the other felt inside his inner pocket.
“There in’t nothin’ there, sir,” he said, removing his hand quickly.
“There’s my warrant card and my passport,” Pitt said with a sense of rising panic. It had to be. He had had them both when he got onto the train at Shoreham. He remembered putting them back, as always.
“No, sir,” the constable repeated. “Your pocket’s empty, sir. There in’t nothin’ in it at all. Now, why don’t you come quietly? No use in causing a lot o’ fuss. Just gets people ’urt, as I can promise you, sir, it’ll be you as comes off worst.” He turned to the other passenger. “Thank you for yer trouble, sir. We got yer name and address. We’ll be in touch with yer when we needs more.”
Pitt drew in his breath to try reasoning further, and realized the futility of it. He knew what must have happened. Either his warrant card and passport had fallen out of his pocket in the fight, which didn’t seem likely—not from a deep pocket so well concealed—or else Gower had taken the precaution of picking it during the struggle. They had stood very close, struggling together. He had been thinking of saving his own life, not being robbed. He turned to the constable closest to him.
“I’ve just come in from France, through Southampton,” he said with sudden hope. “I had to have my passport then, or they wouldn’t have let me in. My warrant card was with it. Can’t you see that I’ve been robbed?”
The constable stared at him, shaking his head. “I only know as you’re on the train, sir. I don’t know where