better be bloody sure I’m doing the right thing—in fact the only thing. If you’re wrong, I’ll end up in the Tower, and it’ll be my head on the block.”
“Mr. Narraway is already at Osborne, sir,” Pitt told him.
“What?” Croxdale sat up with a jerk. “Narraway’s in …” He stopped, rubbing his hand over his face. “Do you have proof of all this, Pitt? Yes or no? I have to explain this to the prime minister before I act: immediately, tonight. I can have Austwick arrested—I’ll do that first, before he gets any idea that you know what he’s done. I’ll do that now. But you must give me more than your word to take to the prime minister.”
“Yes, sir.” Pitt indicated the case he had with him. “It’s in here. Reports, instructions, letters. It takes a bit of piecing together, but it’s all there.”
“Are you certain? My God, man, if you’re wrong, I’ll see you go down with me!” Croxdale rose to his feet. “I’ll get it started. There’s obviously no time to waste.” He walked slowly from the room, closing the door behind him.
Stoker was standing where he had been throughout the conversation. There was a very slight frown on his face.
“What is it?” Pitt asked.
Stoker shook his head. “I don’t know, sir.”
Pitt had the case in his hand with the papers. Why had Croxdale not asked to see them, at least check over them? With the possibility of treachery inside Special Branch, and his belief earlier that Narraway himself was a thief, why had he not asked to see it? Pitt was known to be Narraway’s man. In his place, Pitt would have been skeptical, at the very least.
“Do you think he suspected Austwick all along?” Stoker asked.
“Of what? If he was part of setting up the forgeries to blame Narraway, then he was part of the plot to attack the queen. If Croxdale knew that, then he’s part of it too.” As he spoke the pieces fell together in his mind. Austwick was reporting to someone else, they were certain of that. Croxdale himself?
Then he remembered something else: Croxdale had said he did not know about Austwick sending the money for Mulhare—but Croxdale had had to countersign it. It was too large an amount for one signature alone.
He turned to Stoker. “He’s going to get rid of Austwick, and blame him for all of it,” he said. “Then the queen.”
Stoker was hollow-eyed in the lamplight; Pitt knew he must look the same. Could they possibly be right? The price would be total ruin if they were wrong. And ruin for the country if they were right, and did nothing.
Pitt nodded.
Stoker went to the door and opened it very quietly, not allowing the latch to click back. Pitt came behind him. Across the hallway the study door was ajar and there was a crack of light across the dark floor.
“Wait till he comes out,” Stoker said under his breath. “I’ll get over the far side, in the other doorway. You hold his attention, I’ll be behind him. Be prepared. He’ll fight.”
Pitt could feel his heart pounding so hard his whole body must be shaking with it. Had his promotion gone to his head? He was doing the wildest thing of his life, perhaps throwing away everything he had in a gesture that in the light of day would look like the act of a madman, or a traitor. He should wait, act with moderation, ask someone else’s opinion.
What if Stoker was the traitor, and deliberately provoking Pitt to this? What if he was Austwick’s man, about to arrest the one person who stood in their way?
What if it were all a plan to ruin Special Branch? Discredit it into oblivion?
He froze.
Ahead of him Stoker tiptoed across the hall to stand, little more than a shadow, in the doorway next to the study, where Croxdale would have his back to him when he came out to go back to Pitt.
The seconds ticked by.
Was Croxdale speaking to the prime minister? What could he tell him over a telephone? Would he have to go and see him in person in order to raise a force of men to relieve Osborne House? No—this was an emergency, no time to argue, or plead a case. Was he arranging to have Austwick arrested?
The study door opened and Croxdale came out. Now was the time for decision, as Croxdale walked across the unlit hall, before he reached the sitting room door.
Pitt stepped forward. “Sir Gerald, Austwick is not the leader in the attempted coup.”
Croxdale stopped. “What the devil are you talking about? If there’s somebody else, why in God’s name didn’t you tell me before?”
“Because I didn’t know who it was,” Pitt said honestly.
Croxdale was in the shadow, his face all but invisible. “And now you do?” His voice was soft. Was it in disbelief, or understanding at last?
“Yes,” Pitt said.
Stoker moved silently forward until he was a yard behind Croxdale. He had deliberately chosen an angle from which he cast no shadow.
“Indeed. And who is it?” Croxdale asked.
“You,” Pitt answered.
There was total silence.
Croxdale was a big man, heavy. Pit wondered if he and Stoker would be able to take him, if he fought back, if he called for the footman who must be waiting somewhere. Please God he was in the kitchen where he would only
