When Urban came in it was a different anxiety that touched him, but he could not blame the man. It was in a way unfortunate the two constables had been at that precise spot at that time. But given that they were, he would not have had them ignore the matter simply because the man was a public figure.
“Well?” he asked.
Urban stood to attention, not obviously, but there was both formality and respect in his attitude.
“Mr. Osmar was charged, sir, and pleaded not guilty, with some heat and indignation.”
Drummond smiled ruefully. “I should have been amazed had he not.”
“I thought a night in the cells might have cooled his temper a trifle,” Urban said regretfully. “And perhaps made him consider a plea of guilty would cause less publicity than fighting it.” He was standing in a broad splash of sunlight on the bright carpet and the radiance of it picked out the freckles on his skin and cast the shadow of his eyelashes on his cheek. “Miss Giles said very little. Seems to take her cue from him, which I suppose is natural.”
“Any newspapermen here?” Drummond asked.
“Not that I know, but I expect they’ll get hold of it pretty quickly.”
“Not if Osmar’s lucky. They may have looked through the docket of crimes and found nothing worth their time. After all a trivial indecency is hardly worthy of comment in ordinary circumstances.”
Urban pulled his mobile face into an expression of rueful contempt. “No sir, but Osmar hasn’t that much sense, it seems. He insisted on putting a personal call through to the home secretary.”
“What?” Drummond nearly dropped his pen in disbelief. He stared at Urban. “What do you mean, a call? He found a messenger?”
“No sir.” Urban’s eyes were bright with humor. “He used one of those new telephone instruments. That caused a stir in itself.”
“And he got through?” Drummond was not only amazed but beginning to feel some alarm. The story was getting uglier by the minute.
Urban ironed all the amusement out of his face. “Yes sir, apparently he did. Although I’m not sure what difference it made to anything, except that it delayed proceedings for quite a while, and thus also his getting bail. Which considering the nature of the charge was bound to be granted.”
“And the girl, Miss-?”
“Miss Giles. She got bail also, both on their own recognizance.” He shrugged. “All of which we could have taken for granted, except his choosing to contact the home secretary. Maybe if we’d charged him with theft he’d have called the prime minister-and if it had been assault he’d have called the Queen.”
“Don’t,” Drummond said grimly. “The man’s a menace. What on earth’s going to happen when he comes to trial?”
“Heaven knows,” Urban confessed. “Perhaps he’ll have taken decent advice by then and have decided to keep quiet. Oh-we returned his case to him.”
“His case?” Drummond had no idea what Urban was talking about.
Urban relaxed a little, putting one hand in his pocket.
“Yes sir. A man came to the station about half an hour after Crombie and Allardyce arrested Mr. Osmar, and said he had been in the park at the time, and Osmar had left a small attache case on the seat where he and Miss Giles had been… sitting. He picked it up and brought it along. Apparently he had some appointment which he had to keep, someone he was waiting for, and he half expected the constables to come back for it anyway. But when no one did, and he had met his friend, he brought it to the station. At least Osmar cannot accuse us of having caused him to lose it.”
“He got it back again?”
“Yes sir. He had it in his hand when he left the police court.”
“Well that’s something, I suppose.” Drummond sighed. “What a mess. Why couldn’t the old fool behave himself on a public bench?”
Urban smiled, a bright, easy gesture full of humor.
“Heat of the moment? Spring in the air?”
“It’s summer,” Drummond said dryly.
“Perhaps we’re lucky. He might have been worse in spring.”
“Get out!”
Urban grinned.
Drummond put the pen down and stood up. “Keep an eye on it, Urban,” he said seriously. “I’ve got more to worry about with real cases. I’ve got a very ugly murder we’ve been called in to help with.”
Urban looked puzzled. “Called in, sir?”
“Not on our patch. I’m going now to see someone touched by it.” He crossed over to the stand by the door and took his hat and put it on. It was far too warm for a coat above his ordinary jacket, but he straightened his tie automatically and eased his shoulders and set his lapels a little more evenly.
Urban did not appear to notice anything unusual. Gentlemen like Micah Drummond might be expected to dress immaculately wherever they were going, not in deference to whom they visited, but because it was in their own nature.
Outside Drummond hailed a hansom and set out for Belgravia.
He sat back in the smooth upright interior and thought about Lord Byam, and the obligation which had drawn him into this affair. For some ten years now he had been one of an exclusive group known as the Inner Circle, a brotherhood whose membership was unknown except to each other, and even then only to the closest few to each man, and it was sworn with profound oaths to remain so. In secret they did many good works, helped those in misfortune, fought to right certain injustices, and gave generously to many charities.
They had also covenanted to assist each other, when called upon and identified with the signs of the Circle, and to do so without questioning the matter or counting the personal cost. Sholto Byam had appealed to him under such a covenant. As a fellow member Drummond had no option but to do all he could, and without telling Pitt anything of the brotherhood in any way, even by implication. He could explain nothing. It was a situation which embarrassed him unaccountably. London was full of societies of one sort or another, some of them charitable, many of them secret. He had thought little of it at the time he joined. It was something that many of his peers had done, and it seemed both a wise and an admirable step, for friendship and for his career. It had never caused him unease until now.
It was not that he feared Byam was guilty, or that had he been he would do anything whatever to protect him from the consequences of his act. It was simply that he could not explain his behavior to Pitt, nor tell him why he was so easily able to have him put in charge of a case which rightly belonged in Clerkenwell. There were other members of the Inner Circle he could appeal to, men in positions to have a case investigated here, or there, by whomsoever they chose, and he had but to identify himself as a brother and it was done, without explanation asked or given.
Now he would do all that was required by honor to help Byam, and do it with the necessary grace.
He arrived at Belgrave Square, alighted, and paid the cabby. As the horse drew away, he straightened his tie one more time. He walked up the steps under the portico and reached out his hand to pull the bell. But the footman on duty was alert, and the door opened in front of him.
“Good morning, Mr. Drummond,” the footman said courteously, remembering his master’s eagerness to see this gentleman on his previous call. “I regret to say, sir, that Lord Byam is away from home at the moment, but if you care to see Lady Byam, I shall inform her you are here.”
Drummond felt dismay, and a stirring of confusion half mixed with pleasure. His immediate thought was that Lady Byam might be able to give him some insight into her husband’s personality, his habits and perhaps some fact he had overlooked or forgotten which might point towards his innocence. His memory brought back the grace with which she had moved, the gentleness of her smile when he had come that first night he had been sent for.
“Thank you,” he accepted. “That would be excellent.”
“If you will wait in the morning room, sir.” The footman led the way and opened the door for Drummond, showing him into a room furnished in cool greens and filled with sunlight. There was a large fireplace of polished marble; Drummond guessed it to be an Adam design from the previous century, simple and unadulterated of line. The pictures on the walls to either side were seascapes, and when he turned around, behind him were Dutch pastoral scenes with cows. He had never realized before how pleasing to the mind were the awkward, gentle
