trusted him, and the nature of the debt he felt towards him.
He realised the following morning that in fact the conflict in his mind was only as to how he would do it, what words he would use, and how much he could avoid discussing it all. It had begun with Carlisle owing a debt to Pitt for his silence in the Resurrection Row affair. Then, over the years, the balance had shifted the other way. Now, with the rescue from Talbot, the weight was on the other side: Pitt owed the greater debt.
Was that so Carlisle could collect the payment now? That was unlike the man Pitt had known. He would have abhorred such manipulation. Then what for? It surely had to do with debt — and honour.
There was a sharp tap on the door. He had barely answered it when it opened and Stoker came in, closing it behind him. He looked scrubbed and eager, but there were dark lines of tiredness in his face, hollows around the eyes. He had pursued this case as if something he had learned about the missing woman had made her particularly real to him.
But then Stoker was a man who did not do anything in half-measure. If he would have denied caring about the woman and said it was simply the best way to do the job, he would have been wrong: it was both.
‘Sir?’ Stoker interrupted Pitt’s thoughts, impatient to know why he had been sent for.
‘Sit down,’ Pitt told him.
Stoker obeyed, not taking his eyes from Pitt’s face.
Very briefly Pitt told him the history of events in Resurrection Row, the spectacular disinterment of corpses to expose murder and corruption, over a decade ago, and his first encounter with Somerset Carlisle.
Stoker stared at him with disbelief, laughter, and then amazement.
‘Sorry, sir,’ he apologised, regaining a more sober expression. ‘You’re not saying Carlisle’s behind these bodies, are you? I could see why the other, but …’ His eyes widened. ‘You are! Why? This is … grotesque …’
‘So was the other, believe me,’ Pitt answered him. ‘And yes, I am sorry but I think he is behind these bodies too. He has the ingenuity and the means-’
‘Not without help, sir!’ Stoker interrupted.
‘I dare say his manservant is involved, and would probably die before admitting it. He’s been with Carlisle for thirty years. I looked into that.’
‘But why?’ Stoker demanded. Then he stopped abruptly, understanding flooding his face. ‘To force you to investigate Kynaston! But what for? He didn’t kill Kitty Ryder, because no one did. What could she know about him that would be worth that much? And how would Carlisle hear about it anyway? She wouldn’t know someone like that … would she?’
‘I doubt it. Carlisle knows about it from Sir John Ransom.’
‘Oh!’ Stoker let out his breath in a sigh. ‘Are we talking treason, sir?’
‘Yes, we are.’
‘That’s … very ugly. Then we have to get him, whatever it costs. I’d like to meet this fellow, Carlisle. Shake his hand.’
Pitt felt oddly elated. He had been afraid Stoker would resent Carlisle’s interference and deplore his bizarre behaviour. Stoker went up not only in his professional estimation but also in his personal regard. For all his outwardly dour demeanour and his lack of relationships or ordinary pastimes, his loyalties were unbreakable, and now it seemed that beneath the rigid exterior he had a powerful imagination.
‘I’ll see that it is arranged,’ Pitt promised. ‘If it doesn’t occur anyway in the natural course of events.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ There was barely a flicker in Stoker’s eyes, but for an instant his mouth twitched as if he were going to smile, perhaps within himself, even to laugh.
‘Now we have to find Kitty Ryder,’ Pitt continued. ‘You may take two other men to help you, if you wish. It is no longer a matter of solving a murder already committed, it is preventing a continuing betrayal of our naval weaponry secrets. Do not repeat that. As far as anyone else is concerned, she is a witness in danger.’
‘Yes, sir. If Kynaston knows that, then won’t he be looking for her as well?’ Stoker’s face was bleak with anxiety.
‘That is the next thing I am going to do,’ Pitt replied. ‘Find out exactly what steps Kynaston has taken to find her.’
Stoker stood up. ‘Who’s he passing secrets through? We need to know that, sir. And make damn sure no one else does.’
‘I realise that, Stoker! He won’t be in it all by himself.’
Stoker frowned. ‘What the hell makes a man like Kynaston betray his country? It has to be for something more than money. No one in the world has enough money to buy your life, your decency, your home, your friends! Your sleep at night …’
‘I don’t know,’ Pitt admitted. ‘Perhaps love?’
‘Infatuation!’ Stoker said with disgust. ‘What kind of love can you offer anyone if you’ve sold your honour? And they certainly don’t love you if they ask it!’
‘I wasn’t thinking of the love of men for women.’ Pitt was framing the thought as he spoke. ‘But perhaps your child’s life? If we care about anything at all, we have hostages to fortune.’
‘Kynaston’s children?’ Stoker was clearly turning it over in his mind. ‘They’re all adult, or almost. But I will put someone into checking up on them, if you think it’s worth it?’
‘Yes, do that, before you start off to look for Kitty again.’
As Stoker left, Pitt turned his own attention to Kynaston. If Kitty had stumbled across information dangerous to him, and fled in fear for her life, then surely Kynaston would have attempted to find her himself? However frightened she was, there was always the possibility of her confiding in someone else, even if only for her own safety, or relief from the burden of carrying such knowledge alone.
Except that if she told anyone that Dudley Kynaston was a traitor to his country, who would believe her? It would inevitably create a stir and give away her whereabouts. If she were truly terrified, it would be far wiser to disappear and become as close to invisible as possible.
Would Kynaston then look for her? Or trust that she would be too frightened, and too wise, to repeat anything?
He would hardly go around the pubs and backstreets himself. A certain degree of enquiry for her would be natural. She was in his care and had disappeared from his house. A decent man would not need to explain why he had done such a thing. Perhaps it would be interesting to see his reaction to the question.
Pitt realised, as he set out to begin his own discreet enquiries as to whether it was Kynaston who was pursuing Kitty Ryder, that he still found it difficult to believe that Kynaston was a traitor and — given the right motive and opportunity — would also murder one of his servants, in order to protect himself.
Pitt could have given the job to one of his juniors. It was sufficiently important to move someone from one of the multitude of tasks that fell to Special Branch. But he did not wish any further men involved. He was not prepared to explain the reason to Talbot, or anyone else, should Kynaston hear of it and complain.
He spent most of the day doing the same kind of police work he had done in the past when investigating a murder. He went from place to place, asking openly about Kitty Ryder, obliquely about other enquiries for her.
In many accounts he was told of he recognised Stoker, but there were others in which the enquirer was fairly plainly Norton, Kynaston’s butler.
‘Yes, sir,’ the barman at the Pig and Whistle replied, shaking his head sadly. ‘Nice gent, Mr Norton. All very proper, like wot you’d expect a butler to be, but right concerned ’e were, for sure.’ He wiped his hands on his apron. ‘Reckoned as she were sort of ’is family, like. I told ’im all I know’d, which weren’t much. ’E thanked me nicely, good tip, but no matter ’ow much I’d ’a liked to, I couldn’t ’elp ’im. I ain’t got no idea where she went, nor why, for that matter.’
‘Did you ever ask?’ Pitt pressed.
The man shook his head. ‘Well, there were Mrs Kynaston’s coachman too. ’E pressed kind of ’ard, but like I told ’im, I can’t tell you wot I don’t know. ’E asked after young Dobson, an’ I told ’im all I know about ’im too.’
Interesting, Pitt thought. So Rosalind had sent someone herself, apparently someone who took the issue a little further.
Pitt thanked the barman and went to look for other traces of Harry Dobson, to see if the coachman had followed up on the information. He was not surprised to find that he had, although it took him the rest of the afternoon, and all the following day to be certain of it. It seemed as if the coachman had been given the time and had used it with diligence and imagination, but no success. It spoke much for Stoker’s skill that he had at least
