was the main road from London?
He turned and started to make for the high ground himself. Perhaps it would even be a good idea to climb a sturdy tree and look around? The horse would be at some point close to the road. He increased his pace.
At the top of the next rise he selected a strong, well-grown alder. Putting his revolver in his pocket, he began to climb. It was awkward. It must have been at least twenty years since he last climbed a tree.
It took a few moments to reach a satisfactory height, where he could see at least a couple of miles in all directions. As he twisted his body the trunk swayed. Better not to risk going any higher. If it broke, it would not only send him crashing down to possible injury, it would also make a considerable noise and tell the marksman exactly where he was.
Holding the trunk hard with his left arm, he looked around as widely as he could, searching for the road in the distance. It was not hard to see. After a moment or two he could trace it from south to north, swinging away to the west eventually. Surely the marksman would have left his horse near it, for once he reached the road again, he would have escaped pursuit. No one on the train had a horse, or any way of communicating with the outside world to call for help.
Pitt climbed down carefully and set off as rapidly as he could without making noise in the direction of the road. If he was wrong, he would lose his quarry completely, but he had no way of knowing where the marksman was anyhow.
Every now and then he stopped to listen, but he heard nothing more than bird calls and the whir of wings now and then. A dog barked somewhere far in the distance a few times, and then fell silent.
He came out on the road about a mile away from the train, perhaps a little more. He kept to the trees at the side. When he had made certain of his bearings, he went back into the woods again and started moving very carefully, looking for a clearing where someone could leave a horse unseen. He had to be quick. Once the marksman had made certain of his kill, and was back here and mounted, it would be impossible for Pitt to stop him, except by shooting him. Pitt was good with a gun; he had learned from his father. But a handgun is very different from a rifle or a shotgun. He knew his chances of hitting a man astride a fast-moving horse would be pretty poor. There would be no time to even make sure he had the right person. It could be some innocent rider in the wrong place at the wrong time.
And the marksman would know all this too.
Pitt moved as rapidly as he could, sprinting through the few open patches he came to. He was deeper into the woods now. He realized it, and swerved back toward the road. The marksman would have left the horse only far enough in to be hidden from passersby.
When he found it, he almost stumbled into it: a beautiful creature, moving quietly, cropping the grass in as wide a circle as its long tethering rope allowed it. It heard him at the same moment he saw it. It raised its head and looked at him curiously.
Pitt drew breath to speak, then realized the man could be close, so he stepped silently back into the shadow of the trees. The horse lowered its head again.
Pitt did not have long to wait. Less than four minutes later, he heard the faint crack of a twig. A man dressed in brown and green stepped out of the shadows and walked toward the horse, which lifted its head again and blew through its nostrils, taking a step toward him.
The man had a rifle with a telescopic sight fixed to it. It was Lord Tregarron.
Pitt stepped forward, his revolver raised high, pointing at Tregarron.
“If you move any closer to the horse I will shoot you,” Pitt said very clearly. “Not to kill, but enough to hurt very much indeed.”
Tregarron froze.
Pitt moved farther out of the shadow of the trees. Tregarron had killed a man. He would inevitably learn that he had not hit Duke Alois. Could he be charged with attempted assassination? There would have to be a trial. It would inevitably expose the duke’s secret position.
Was the bargain Duke Alois had proposed still useful? It was a risk, but then it always had been.
Pitt came farther forward, angling closer to the horse so Tregarron could not get behind it and spoil his clean shot. The revolver was pointed at Tregarron’s chest.
Tregarron smiled. Pitt knew its cruel twist was out of fear.
“Failed, didn’t you?” he said with malice edging his voice. “You let Duke Alois be killed. Not likely to remain in your position much longer, especially when the Austrians tell London who he really was. You didn’t know, did you?”
“Alois?” Pitt raised his eyebrows. “Is that who you were aiming at?” He saw a moment’s doubt in Tregarron’s eyes. “I’d like to let you think you succeeded, but you’ll know soon enough that you didn’t.”
Tregarron blinked, not sure if he was being lied to or not.
“But you did kill someone,” Pitt went on. “Poor chap was one of Alois’s men. Resembled him, certainly.”
Tregarron was standing stiffly, the rifle still in his hands.
“Put it down,” Pitt told him.
“Or what? You’ll shoot me? How would you explain that? I’m out for a ride in the country. Thought I’d shoot a few rabbits. You’re a fool!”
“Good idea, shooting rabbits,” Pitt lifted the barrel of the revolver an inch higher. “Might shoot a few myself.”
“Don’t be so damn stupid!” Tregarron snapped. “You’re supposed to be on a train guarding the head of the Austrian Special Branch, not strolling through the woods shooting at small animals!”
“You’re right,” Pitt agreed. “I wasn’t shooting at small animals, I was shooting at the man who killed one of Alois’s companions. Didn’t see his face. Never realized it was one of our own Foreign Office staff.”
A little of the color drained from Tregarron’s skin. “You can’t try me in court, even if you imagine that you could find proof. You’d create a scandal.” But his voice was hollow. “This will look like an accident: tragic, but no one’s fault.”
“Not even mine, for incompetence?” Pitt asked sarcastically. “Shouldn’t I have foreseen that we would have one of our aristocratic ministers wandering around the woods shooting at rabbits-at head height? Roosting in the trees, were they?”
The blood surged up Tregarron’s face, and his grip tightened on his rifle till his knuckles were white.
“But as it happens,” Pitt went on, “I don’t wish to try you. I have a much better idea. You will pass me your rifle, then I will take your horse and ride to the nearest public transport back to London. You will walk to wherever you wish. I will say that I did not find the man who murdered our unfortunate Austrian visitor, and in return for that favor, at whatever time I wish in the future, you will pass on certain information that I will give you to your connections in the Austrian government.”
Tregarron stared at him as if he could not believe what he had heard. Then, as he studied Pitt’s face, he realized with horror that he really meant it.
“And if I should hear-and I would hear-that you have passed it incorrectly, then you will be exposed as the traitor you are,” Pitt continued. “And your father’s treason would become equally public, as would his regrettable affair with Serafina Montserrat.”
“You filthy bastard!” Tregarron spat.
“I’m a bastard because I would rather use a traitor than shoot him in cold blood and create a scandal I could not control?” Pitt asked, the sarcasm back in his voice. “I suppose that’s a matter of opinion. Mine is that you have betrayed your country rather than allow your father’s treason to be exposed, or your mother to be embarrassed. You had better make your choice quickly. I am not going to wait.”
“And what is to force me to keep my word?” Tregarron asked.
“Fear of exposure,” Pitt replied succinctly. “Pass me the rifle.”
Slowly, as if his limbs hurt to move, Tregarron obeyed.
Pitt took the rifle, still keeping his revolver pointed at Tregarron. Then he moved very carefully to untie the horse and walk it beyond Tregarron’s line of sight before he mounted it. Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he urged the horse into a trot along the road.
At home at Keppel Street, Charlotte awaited Pitt with intense nervousness. She kept telling herself that there would be no attack in Dover, that the train journey to London would pass without incident. She busied herself with
