tomorrow …”
It was a chilling thought. The bright, comfortable room only seemed to add to the reality of it. Pitt did not know whether Hathaway was speaking in the narrow sense of Britain’s enemies, or in the more general breadth of enemies in general. Arthur Desmond’s face came sharply to his mind. How many of his enemies had he guessed at? How surprised would he have been had he heard the evidence at his own inquest? What faces there would have startled him, what testimony?
It was the worst of a secret society, the everyday masks behind which were hidden such different faces. There were executioners in the Inner Circle, although
But who were the executioners? Even the members of his own ring almost certainly did not know. That would be necessary, both for the executioner’s protection and for the efficiency of his work. He could face the victim with a smile and a handshake, and at the same time deal him a death blow. And the rest of the Inner Circle would be sworn on covenant of blood to assist him, protect him, keep silence as commanded.
Hathaway was staring at him, waiting patiently. Pitt forced his mind back to the African information.
“Of course, you are quite right,” he said hastily. “It is one of the bitterest of realities. We have traced a great deal from its arrival in the Colonial Office until it is stored permanently. I believe I know everyone who has access to it….”
Hathaway smiled sourly. “But of course it is more than one person. I presume I am suspect?”
“You are one of those who is privy to the information,” Pitt conceded guardedly. “I have no more cause to consider you than that. I believe you have a son in Central Africa?”
“Yes, my son Robert is in the mission field.” There was very little expression in Hathaway’s face. It was impossible to tell if he were proud of his son’s vocation or not. The light in his eyes might have been pleasure, or love, or indulgence, or merely a reflection of the sunlight streaming through the window to his left. There was nothing in his gentle voice but good manners, and the slight anxiety the subject of Pitt’s call required.
“Where?” Pitt asked.
This time a flicker crossed Hathaway’s face. “The shores of Lake Nyasa.”
Pitt had been studying the atlas. The coast of Africa was fairly well charted, with some few exceptions, but there were vast areas inland which were crossed by only a few tracks. Features were put in tentatively: tracks from east to west, the trails of the great explorers, a lake here, a range of mountains there. But most of it was borderless, regions no cartographer had seen or measured, perhaps no white man had trodden. He knew Lake Nyasa was close to the area which Cecil Rhodes would claim, and where Zimbabwe, the city of black gold, was fabled to be.
Hathaway was watching him closely, his round, pale eyes seeing everything.
“That is the area with which you are concerned.” He made it a statement rather than a question. He did not move, nor did his face change appreciably, but there was a sudden deepening of his concentration. “Superintendent, let us stop playing games of words with each other. Unless you correct me, I shall assume that it is the German interest in Mashonaland and Matabeleland which concerns you. I am aware we are negotiating a new treaty on the zones of influence, that Heligoland is involved, that the fall of Chancellor Bismarck has affected matters substantially, and that Carl Peterson and the German presence in Zanzibar, the rebellion there and its swift and bloody repression, are features of great importance. So also must be Mr. Rhodes’s expedition from the Cape, and his negotiations with Mr. Kruger and the Boers. We should be considerably disadvantaged in our position if all we know were also to be known to the Kaiser.”
Pitt said nothing. There was no sound from beyond the windows, which overlooked not the street or the park but a more enclosed courtyard.
Hathaway smiled a little and settled farther back in his seat. “This is not merely a matter of someone seeking a dishonest personal advantage in gold or diamond investments,” he said gravely. “This is treason. All private considerations must be forgotten in an effort to find the man who would do this.” His voice was no louder, no higher, yet there was a subtle change in its timbre, a passionate sincerity. He had not moved, but his physical presence was charged with energy.
It would have been pointless to deny the truth. Pitt would not have been believed; he would simply have insulted the man opposite him and driven a wedge of evasion between them.
“One of the problems with treason,” Pitt replied slowly, choosing his words with care, “is that once we know it is there, it makes us distrust everyone. Sometimes the suspicion will do almost as much damage as the act itself. Our fears may cripple us as effectively as the truth.”
Hathaway’s eyes widened. “How perceptive of you, Superintendent. Indeed, that is so. But are you saying that you consider it possible there is no treason, simply a clever semblance of it, in order that we should so maim ourselves?” There was surprise in his voice, but also a slow realization that it could be the truth. “Then who has planted it?”
Footsteps passed by in the corridor, hesitated, then continued.
Pitt shook his head fractionally. “I meant only that we must not make it worse than it is, not do his work for him by causing suspicion where there are no grounds. Those with access to the information are few.”
“But they are highly placed,” Hathaway deduced immediately. “Thorne, myself, or Chancellor! Dear heaven, if it is Chancellor, we are in a desperate pass.” There was humor in his face. “And I know it was not I.”
“There are other possibilities,” Pitt said quickly. “But few. Aylmer, for example. Or Arundell. Or Leicester.”
“Aylmer. Ah yes, I had forgotten him. A young man, relatively speaking, and ambitious. He has not yet fulfilled all his family expects of him. That can be a powerful spur to a man.” His eyes did not move from Pitt’s face. “I am increasingly grateful as I grow older that my mother was a mild creature whose only dream for her sons was that they marry agreeable women, and I was fortunate to oblige her in that while still in my twenties.” He smiled for a moment with recollection, but his unusual eyes met Pitt’s again with total directness. “I don’t doubt that you are here to speak to me in an effort to make some assessment of my character, but beyond that elementary exercise, is there some practical way in which I can assist you?”
Pitt had already made up his mind.
“Yes, Mr. Hathaway, if you would. I have ascertained that much of this information comes first to you, even before it reaches Mr. Chancellor.”
“It does. I think I perceive what you have in mind: to change it in some way that will not cause great damage, and disseminate different versions of it to Chancellor, Aylmer, Thorne, Arundell and Leicester, and yet keep the original for Lord Salisbury, to prevent the possibility of a serious error.” He pushed out his lip. “It will need some thought, I shall have to find just the right piece of information, but I can see it has to be done.” He looked eager as he said it, almost relieved to have some part to play.
Pitt could not help smiling. “If it would be possible? And the sooner it is done, the sooner we may achieve a result.”
“Indeed! Yes, it must be done with care, or it will be obvious.” He sat forward in his chair again. “It must tally with all the information we already possess, or at least it must not contradict it. I shall keep you informed, Superintendent.” He smiled with frankness and a kind of intense, energetic happiness brimming inside him.
Pitt thanked him again and rose to take his leave, still uncertain if he had been wise, but knowing of nothing better to precipitate matters. He had not yet told Matthew or Assistant Commissioner Farnsworth of his intention.
“You did what?” Farnsworth said, his face aghast. “Good God, man, do you realize what could happen as a result of this … this …”
“No,” Pitt said brazenly. “What could happen?”
Farnsworth stared at him. “Well the very least of it is that misinformation could be passed to ministers of Her Majesty’s government! In fact it most certainly will be!”
“Only to Chancellor …”
“Only? Only Chancellor!” Farnsworth’s face was deep pink. “Do you realize he is the senior minister responsible for colonial affairs? The British Empire covers a quarter of the face of the earth! Have you no sense of what that means? If Chancellor is misinformed, heaven knows what damage could follow.”
