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 you got on, or where you was before that. You just come quietly, and we’ll get you sorted at the police station. Don’t give us any more trouble, sir. Believe me, yer got enough already.”
“Do you have a telephone at the police station?” Pitt asked, but he made no protest as they led him away. It would be pointless. As it was, a crowd was gathering watching him. At this moment it was impossible for him to feel sorry Gower was dead. The other passenger he grieved for with a dull, angry pain. “Do you have a telephone?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir, o’ course we do. If yer got family, we’ll call them for yer an’ let ’em know where you are,” he promised.
“Thank you.”
But when they arrived at the police station and Pitt was led in, a constable closely at either side of him, he was put straight into a cell and the door locked.
“My phone call!” he persisted.
“We’ll make it for yer, sir. ’Oo shall we call, then?”
Pitt had considered it. If he called Charlotte she would be frightened and very distressed, and there was nothing she could do. Far better he call Narraway, who would straighten out the whole hideous mess, and could tell Charlotte about it afterward. “Victor Narraway,” he answered.
“ ’e related to yer?” the constable asked suspiciously.
“Brother-in-law,” Pitt lied quickly. He gave them the Lisson Grove number. “That’s his work. It’s where he’ll be, or they’ll know where to find him.”
“At this time o’ night, sir?”
“There’s always someone there. Please, just call.”
“If that’s what yer want, we’ll call.”
“Thank you.” Pitt sat down on the hard wooden bench in the cell and waited. He must stay calm. It would all be explained in a matter of minutes. This part of the nightmare would be over. There was still Gower’s treachery and his death; now, in the silence of the cell, he had time to think of it more deeply.
He should not have been surprised that Gower came after him. The pleasant, friendly face Gower had shown in France, indeed all the time they had worked together over the last few months, might have been part of his real
