Blantyre sipped his brandy. “You are a detective, a brilliant one.” There was sincerity in his voice, even admiration. “You uncover truths most men would never find. You make certain. You weigh evidence, you refine your understanding until you have as much of the whole picture as anyone ever will. You have intense emotions. You empathize with pain; injustice outrages you. But you hardly ever lose your self-control.” He made a slight gesture with his strong, graceful hands. “You think before you act. These are the qualities that make you a great leader in the service of your country. Perhaps one day you will even be better than Victor Narraway, because you know people better.”
Pitt stared at him, embarrassed. He understood that there was a “but” coming and he did not want to hear it.
Blantyre twisted his mouth in a grimace. “But could you execute one of your men, without trial?”
“I don’t know,” Pitt admitted. It was difficult to say. The expression on Blantyre’s face gave him no indication as to whether he respected Pitt’s answer, or despised it.
“I know you don’t.” Blantyre relaxed at last. “Perhaps your counterpart in Vienna hasn’t decided yet either. Or perhaps Reibnitz is a double agent, working for the head of the Austrian Secret Service, and betraying his other masters to them, as the occasion arises.”
“Well, if he attempts to murder Duke Alois, perhaps we can relieve them of the decision,” Pitt said grimly. “Is there anything more you can tell me about Reibnitz? Where he has been seen? Habits, dress, any way we can recognize him? Anything known of his likes and dislikes? Any associates?”
“Of course. I have written down everything known.” Blantyre pulled a folded piece of paper from his inside pocket and handed it to Pitt. “The name of my informant is there separately. I would be obliged if you would note it somewhere absolutely safe, and show it to no one else, except possibly Stoker. I know you trust him.”
Pitt took it. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Duke Alois will owe you his life, and we will all owe you for saving us from a national embarrassment, which could have cost us very dearly indeed.”
Blantyre finished his brandy. “Thank you.” He put the glass down on the desk and stood up. He hesitated a moment as if to say something more, then changed his mind and walked unsteadily to the door.
As soon as he was gone, Pitt sent for Stoker and told him all that Blantyre had said, including the name of the informant regarding Reibnitz. It took them the rest of that day to follow it up, but every fact that Blantyre had offered was verifiable, and proved to be true.
Leaving Stoker and the others under his command to check and double check all the arrangements from the moment the ferry landed in Dover, Pitt went to see Narraway.
It was the middle of the afternoon with rain sweeping in from the west. Pitt was soaked, and put his hat, gloves, and scarf on the leather-padded brass railing in front of the fire.
Narraway put more coal and wood on the embers and settled in his chair, gazing at Pitt.
“You are certain about Reibnitz?” he asked gravely.
“I’m certain that what Blantyre told me is true,” Pitt replied. “I’ve checked on the few Austrian political murders we know about. It’s difficult to pin them down. Too many are anarchists striking at anyone at all, just as they are here, or else the cases are unsolved. Reibnitz fits the description for a murder in Berlin, and one in Paris. As Blantyre said, there’s no proof.”
“But he’s here in Dover?” Narraway pressed.
Pitt nodded. “There is an ordinary-seeming man answering his description, calling himself John Rainer, just returned from Bordeaux after apparently having been away on business for several months. He has no friends or family who can confirm it, only a passport with that name.”
Narraway pursed his lips. “He doesn’t sound like an anarchist; more like a deliberate and very careful assassin.”
“He could still be paid by anarchists,” Pitt reasoned. The rain beating on the windows sounded threatening, as if it were trying to come in.
Narraway looked at him steadily, the shadows from the firelight playing across his face.
“In case it’s all a misdirection, I have put only four men on the Duke Alois case, until he actually gets here. Everyone else is on their usual rounds, watching for any movement, any change that stands out. We’ve got a socialist rally in Kilburn, but the regular police can deal with anything there. An exhibition of rather explicit paintings in one of the galleries in Piccadilly; some protests expected there. Nothing else that I know of.”
“Then you’d better prepare for the worst.” Narraway’s eyes were bleak, his mouth pulled into a thin line. “You need all the allies you can find. It might be time to exert a little pressure, even call in a few favors. This information from Blantyre needs further checking. It doesn’t smell like casual anarchist violence.”
It was what Pitt had thought, and feared.
“I don’t have any favors to call in,” he said grimly. “Blantyre is crippled by his wife’s death. I still have no idea if any of it had to do with Duke Alois or not, but I can’t see any connection. The duke is Austrian, and has no visible ties with Italy or Croatia. He has no interest we can find in any of the other smaller parts of the Austrian Empire.”
“Prussia? Poland?” Narraway asked.
“Nothing.”
Narraway frowned. “I don’t like coincidences, but I can’t think of any way in which Serafina’s rambling mind, or the secrets she might have known forty years ago, have anything to do with anarchists today, or Duke Alois at any time. Tragically, the connection with Adriana and Lazar Dragovic is all too obvious. Although it surprises me. I would never have thought of Serafina Montserrat as one to betray anyone. But then I knew her only through other people’s eyes.”
“Vespasia’s?” Pitt asked.
“I suppose so. You have no doubt that it was Adriana who killed her?”
“I wish I did, but I can’t see any. She was there that night.” A deep, painful heaviness settled inside him. “We know that Serafina was one of Dragovic’s allies, and that she was there when he was executed. She took Adriana away and looked after her. It was an appalling piece of duplicity, whatever reason she did it for, whoever’s power or freedom was bought that way. No wonder she was afraid when she knew that Adriana, as a grown woman, was coming to see her. That explains the terror that Vespasia saw.”
“And when she realized you knew, Adriana killed herself,” Narraway added. He watched Pitt steadily, his eyes probing to see how harshly Pitt felt the guilt.
Pitt gave a bleak smile in return. “There is one other person to consider in all this,” he said, not as an evasion, but to move the conversation forward.
Narraway nodded, lips drawn tight. “Be careful, Pitt. Don’t create enemies you can’t afford. If you’re going to use people, be damned careful how you do it. People understand favors and repayment, but no one likes to be used.”
He leaned forward and picked up the poker from the hearth. He pushed it into the coals, and the flames gushed up.
“There are a few people you can set at each other’s throats, if you need to shake things up a little. See what falls out,” he added.
Pitt watched him closely, waiting for the next words, dreading them.
“Tregarron,” Narraway went on, replacing the poker gently. “He is devoted to his mother, but had a certain ill feeling toward his father.”
“Wasn’t his father a diplomat in Vienna?”
“Yes. You might see if he knew anything about Dragovic, or Serafina, for that matter. There are one or two others, people I could …” He looked for the right word. “Persuade to be more forthcoming. But they’re heavy debts, ones I can call in only once.” He looked up at Pitt, whose face was tense, uncertain in the flickering light. “You tell me what you would like me to do.”
Pitt could not answer. He wanted to ask someone’s advice-perhaps Vespasia’s-but he knew that it was his decision. He was head of Special Branch.
“I want to know if the betrayal of Dragovic was the only secret Serafina was afraid of revealing,” he said aloud. “And who Nerissa Freemarsh’s lover is, if he exists at all.”
“Freemarsh’s lover?” Narraway’s head jerked up. “Yes, find that out. Find out if it was Tregarron. Find out what he really went to that house for.”
“I intend to.”
