false anxiety. The fear was very real. His regard for Cornwallis made it the more painful, because he could foresee it happening. It was the next, obvious step for the blackmailer, and he now knew Cornwallis would suffer, perhaps already was suffering. If it happened, would he even tell Pitt?
He hated himself for allowing the thought to enter his mind, but it was there like a knife, pricking him at every turn, and surprising in its painfulness.
“But you will not permit it to … prevent you?” Tannifer said huskily. “You will …” He let the rest of the sentence fall away.
Pitt did not answer. What would he do if Cornwallis were threatened in such a way, and if he asked Pitt to protect him? He had not doubted Cornwallis’s innocence. Would he allow him to be ruined, shamed, publicly driven from all he valued? He could not honestly make such promises.
Tannifer looked away. “It is not so easy, is it?” he said softly. “We like to think we would have the courage to tell him to go to the devil … but embarrassment, loneliness and humiliation are real.” He looked back at Pitt levelly. “To speak of ruin is one thing, to face it is another. I thank you at least for your honesty.”
“We had considered the possibility of the extortion of agreement to large funds for expedition into Africa, north from the Cape into Mashonaland and Matabeleland,” Pitt said thoughtfully. “Or an investment in a Cape-to- Cairo railroad …”
Tannifer sat up sharply. “Brilliant!” He clenched his fists on the arms of his chair. “I commend you, Superintendent. Your perception is more finely attuned than I had given you credit for, I admit. I am most encouraged … perhaps foolishly so, but I shall cling onto it.” He rose to his feet and held out his hand.
Pitt took it, and was startled by the strength of Tannifer’s grip. He left feeling as if at last he had taken a step for ward, even if it was towards an unknown and certainly harsh conclusion.
He had no alternative but to go again to see Leo Cadell. He was unable to do this at the Foreign Office, where Cadell was fully engaged for the afternoon, but he called at his home and was waiting for him when he arrived. It was not an interview he was looking forward to, and Cadell’s weary face made it more difficult.
He rose to his feet from the sofa where he had been sitting.
“Good evening, Mr. Cadell. I am sorry to trouble you at the end of the day, but I am afraid there are matters I need to discuss with you, and you were not available earlier.”
Cadell sat down. He did it as if his body ached, and it was apparent he was using all his reserves of inner strength to maintain an air of courtesy.
“What is it you wish to discuss, Mr. Pitt?”
“I have been giving a great deal of thought to what unjust pressures might be brought to bear upon you, particularly with regard to your position in the Foreign Office,” Pitt began. It was difficult to maintain the anger he had felt when he was in Tannifer’s house. He had to remind himself of the pain the man opposite him might be inflicting on others, of the ruin that the blackmailer had unquestionably already unleashed on Guy Stanley without giving him any chance to fend it off, even dishonorably. It was not impossible that the blackmailer might disguise himself as one of the victims. What better way to ensure that he knew the direction of the investigation or its success? Who knew what lay behind Cadell’s anxious face and the polite, patient smile? He was a diplomat. He had made his career successfully masking his emotions.
He was watching Pitt now, waiting for him to make his point.
“You have considerable interest and responsibility in African affairs,” Pitt continued. “Particularly in the exploration of such areas as Mashonaland and Matabeleland.”
“I am concerned with relations with other European powers who have interests in the area,” Cadell corrected slightly. “Germany, in particular, is also concerned in East Africa. The situation is far more sensitive than perhaps you are aware. The potential for making vast amounts of money is immense. Most of the population of South Africa is not British but Boer, and their feeling towards Britain is not kindly-nor, I fear, in any way to be relied upon.” He watched Pitt’s face as he spoke, trying to gauge his understanding. “Mr. Rhodes is a law unto himself. Dearly as we would wish it, we have little control over him.”
Pitt was unwilling to allow Cadell to know too much of his thoughts. Perhaps the knowledge Tannifer had given him was his only advantage. However smooth a face a blackmailer wore, he was a ruthless man without scruples as to whom he hurt, or how deeply. It would seem he enjoyed the taste of his own power. The ruin of Guy Stanley would suggest as much.
He looked steadily at Cadell. “If you were to be asked by the blackmailer, Mr. Cadell, what would be within your ability to do to serve his ends, were he interested in African expansion, a private fortune in that country, or perhaps domination of a Cape-to-Cairo railroad?”
Cadell was startled. “Good God! Is that what you think he wants?”
Was it the idea which shocked him or Pitt’s perception of it?
“Would it be possible?” Pitt insisted.
“I … I don’t know.” Cadell looked acutely uncomfortable. “I suppose there is … information I might pass to certain people … information as to Her Majesty’s government’s intentions which would benefit-could benefit-such a person.”
“How about a military adventurer?” Pitt went on. “Someone intending to raise a private army, for example.”
Cadell was white-faced. He sat forward in his chair. “This is far more serious than I had imagined. I … I supposed it would be a matter of money. Perhaps I was naive. Believe me, if anyone should approach me with any such suggestion I should report it immediately to Sir Richard Aston, whether I knew who it was or not. The consequences would have to follow as they may. I would not betray my country, Mr. Pitt.”
Pitt wanted to believe him, but what else would he say, whatever he would actually do? Pitt could not rid his mind of the knowledge that this man sitting so innocently opposite him had told Tannifer of Cornwallis’s vulnerability, a thing he could not know other than from the blackmailer. In truth, it did not exist. That was the only thing all the men unarguably had in common; the blackmailer knew them well enough to be familiar with what could be manufactured from their pasts to destroy all their usual courage and resolve, reduce them to nerve-racked, self- doubting men living in a waking nightmare, suspicious of even those closest to them.
“Do you know Assistant Commissioner Cornwallis?” Pitt asked abruptly.
“What?” Cadell was taken by surprise. “No … well … slightly. Belong to the same clubs. See him occasionally. Why? Or should I not ask?”
Did he say that because he knew? Or was it the intelligent guess any man might make in the circumstances? He must think of a noncommittal answer. And he should not betray Tannifer’s confidence. If Cadell was the blackmailer he was cruel enough to exact a vicious revenge.
“He is in charge of the case … ultimately,” he said aloud. “He mentioned the possibility of a political motive.”
“I cannot help you,” Cadell replied wearily. “Believe me, Mr. Pitt, if I knew anything at all which could be of use, and I were free to discuss it with you, I would. I presume I do not have to explain to you that a great deal of the information I have about Africa concerns the government’s plans regarding Mr. Rhodes and the British South Africa Company, and is confidential. So also are all matters to do with the settlement of Mashonaland and Matabeleland, or our relations with other European powers who have interests in the continent of Africa. It would be an act of treason for me to speak of them to you except in the broadest way, which would be of no use to you.”
Pitt realized that there was no purpose in pressing him further, and after thanking Cadell, he took his leave.
Vespasia was walking slowly across her lawn, thinking that it was time it was mown again, when she saw Pitt standing in the open French windows of her sitting room. She was startled to find her breath catching in her throat and her heart racing, fearing what news he might have brought. She walked rapidly towards him, barely leaning on her stick.
“Good evening, Thomas,” she said as soon as he joined her on the grass. She refused to betray her anxiety. “I am afraid the best of the tulips are over. They are beginning to look dreadfully blowsy.”
He smiled in the evening sun, glancing at the heavy roses in full bloom, and the cascade of wisteria, and a few huge, gaudy tulips past their best.
“It looks perfect to me.”
She regarded him up and down. She remembered that he liked gardening, when he had the opportunity. “I
