stares his superior had endured from Members of Parliament, the asides from those in the Cabinet, the comments on police inefficiency.
Pitt caught his eye and smiled bleakly. They were no further forward, and they both knew it.
There was no time to talk, and to do so would compromise Pitt's 'invisibility' as an apparent usher. A moment later Garnet Royce came in, heedless of the rain running down his face and dripping from the skirts of his coat onto the floor. He did not observe Pitt in the shadows but immediately approached Micah Drummond, his brow furrowed in earnestness.
'Poor Sheridan,' he said briefly. 'Tragedy-for everyone. Dreadful for his widow. Such a-a violent way to die. My sister is still suffering very much over poor Hamilton. Natural.'
'Of course,' Drummond agreed, his voice strained with the guilt he felt over his helplessness to do anything about it, to show that the investigation had taken a single step forward. He could offer nothing, and he would not lie.
It was not difficult for Royce to ask the next question. The silence invited it.
'Do you really think it is anarchists and revolutionaries? God knows, there are enough of them around! I have never
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heard so many rumors and whisperings of the collapse of the throne, and of new orders of violence. I know Her Majesty is not young and has undoubtedly taken her widowhood hard, but the people expect certain duties of a sovereign regardless of personal misfortune. And the Prince of Wales's behavior scarcely adds to the luster of the crown! And now the Duke of Clarence is causing gossip with his dissipation and irresponsibility. It seems everything we have taken half a millennium to build is in jeopardy, and we seem unable to stop wild murders in the heart of our capital city!' He looked frightened, not the panic of a hysterical or cowardly man, but the realization of one who sees clearly and is resolved to fight, knowing his anger immense and the prospect of victory uncertain.
Micah Drummond gave the only reply he could, but there was no pleasure in his thin face as he spoke. 'We have investigated all the known sources of unrest, the insurrectionists and would-be revolutionaries of one sort and another, and we do have our agents and informers. But there is not a whisper that any of them ally themselves to the Westminster Cutthroat-in fact they seem little pleased by it! They want to win the common people, the little man whom society rejects or abuses, the man oppressed too far by overwork or underpayment. These lunatic murders improve no one's cause, not even the Fenians'.'
Royce's face tightened as if some bleak fear had become reality.
'So you do not believe it is anarchists suddenly burst into open violence?'
'No, Sir Garnet, everything points away from it.' Drummond looked down at his sodden boots, then up again. 'But what it is, I don't know.'
'Dear God, this is terrible.' Royce closed his eyes in a moment of deep distress. 'Here are we, you and I, the government and the law of the land, and we cannot protect ordinary people going about their lawful business at the heart
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of our city! Who will be next?' He looked up and stared at Drummond with brilliant eyes, almost silver in the light, now the rain had stopped outside. 'You? Me? I tell you, nothing on earth would persuade me to walk home alone across Westminster Bridge after dark! And I feel a guilt, Mr. Drum-mond! All my life I have striven to make wise decisions, to develop strength of will and judgment, so that I might protect those weaker than myself, those it is given me both by God and by nature to care for. And here I am, incapable of exercising my own privileges and obligations because some lunatic is loose committing murder, apparently whenever he pleases!'
Drummond looked as if he had been struck, but he did not flinch. He opened his mouth to speak, but Royce cut in before he could find words.
' 'Good heavens, man, I'm not blaming you! How on earth does one find a random madman? It could be anybody! I daresay by daylight he looks the same as you or I. Or he may be any half clad beggar hunched in any doorway from here to Mile End or Woolwich or anywhere else. There are nearly four million people in the city. But we've got to find him! Do you know anything? Anything at all?'
Drummond let out his breath softly. 'We know that he chooses his time with great care, because in spite of all the people around the Embankment and the entrance to the Houses of Parliament, the street vendors, prostitutes, and cabdrivers, no one has seen him.'
