Pitt swung round as if Stoker were behind him, just as Stoker slammed into Croxdale, kicking high and hard at his left elbow.
The gun flew in the air. Pitt lunged for it, just catching it as it arced over to his left.
Croxdale swung round and grabbed at Stoker, twisting his arm and turning him so he half-fell and Croxdale had him in a stranglehold.
‘Give me back the gun, or I’ll break his neck!’ Croxdale said in a grating voice, just a little high-pitched.
Pitt had no doubt whatever that he would do it. The mask was off: Croxdale had nothing to lose. Pitt looked at Stoker’s face, which was already turning red as his neck was crushed by Croxdale’s hold. There was no choice. Stoker was still only half in front of Croxdale, but slipping forward and sideways. A minute more and he would be unconscious and form a perfect shield.
Pitt shot Croxdale in the head, making a single wound. He was surprised how accurate he was, not because of the distance — which was short enough — but because he had never shot a man to death before.
Croxdale fell backwards. Stoker, sprayed with blood, staggered and collapsed onto the floor.
Pitt dropped the gun and held out his hand, hauling Stoker to his feet again.
Stoker looked at the gun.
‘Leave it!’ Pitt said, startled to find his voice almost level. ‘The Minister shot himself when he realised we had proof of his treason. We didn’t know he had a gun, so we weren’t able to prevent him from doing it.’ Now he was shaking, and it took all his control to keep even reasonably steady. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’ he snarled at Stoker suddenly. ‘He would have killed you, you fool!’
Stoker coughed and rubbed his hand over his throat. ‘I know that,’ he said huskily. ‘Just as well you shot him, or I’d have been the one on the floor. Thank you, sir.’
Pitt was about to tell Stoker that he was incompetent to have allowed Croxdale to grasp hold of him like that. However, with a shock like a physical blow, he realised that Stoker had done it on purpose, risking his own life to force Pitt to shoot Croxdale. He stared at him as if seeing him for the first time.
‘What could we have done with him, sir?’ Stoker said pragmatically. ‘Tie him up here, for his servants to find and let go? Take him with us, in a hansom cab or one of us stay and sit-’
‘All right!’ Pitt cut him off. ‘Now we have to get to the Isle of Wight and rescue the Queen — and Narraway and Lady Vespasia, and my wife.’ His mind raced, picturing the men he knew were going to be there: violent, fanatical men like Portman, Gallagher, Haddon, Fenner, and others with the same distorted idealism, willing to kill and to die for the changes they believed would bring a new era of social justice.
Then another idea came to him. ‘If he had Austwick arrested, where would he be taken to? Quickly?’
‘Austwick?’ Stoker did not understand.
‘Yes. Where would he be now? Where does he live, do you know? How can we find out?’
‘Kensington, sir, not far from here,’ Stoker replied. ‘It’d be the Kensington Police — if Croxdale really called anyone.’
‘If he didn’t, we will,’ Pitt said, now knowing exactly what he was going to do. ‘Come on, we’ve got to hurry. We don’t know who Croxdale actually spoke to. It won’t have been the Prime Minister.’ He started towards Croxdale’s study.
‘Sir!’ Stoker said, bewildered.
Pitt turned. ‘If one of the servants comes down, tell him Sir Gerald shot himself. Do what you can to make it look right. I’m going to call the Kensington Police.’ In Croxdale’s study there was no time to search. He picked up the receiver and asked the operator to connect him, as an emergency. Perhaps Croxdale had done the same.
As soon as they answered he identified himself and said that there had been a practical joke suggested concerning Mr Austwick, and arresting him. It should be disregarded.
‘Are you sure, sir?’ the man at the other end said doubtfully. ‘We’ve ’ad nothing ’ere.’
‘Mr Austwick lives in your area?’ Pitt had a sudden sinking in the pit of his stomach.
‘Oh, yes, sir.’
‘Then we’d better make certain he’s safe. What is his address?’
The man hesitated a moment, then told him. ‘But we’ll send men there ourselves, sir, if you’ll pardon me, seein’ as ’ow I don’t really know ’oo you are.’
‘Good. Do that,’ Pitt agreed. ‘We’ll be there as soon as I can get a cab.’ He replaced the receiver and went to find Stoker. The other man was waiting by the front door, anxiously moving his weight from one foot to the other.
‘Right, find a hansom,’ Pitt told him.
‘We’ll have to walk as far as the main road,’ Stoker warned, opening the door and slipping out with immense relief. They started striding along at as rapid a pace as possible, without actually running.
It was still several minutes before they found a cab, and gave Austwick’s address, with orders to make the best speed possible.
‘What are we going to do with Austwick, sir?’ Stoker asked. He had to raise his voice above the clatter of the hoofs and the rattle and hiss of wheels over the cobbles.
‘Get him to help us,’ Pitt replied. ‘They’re his men down there. He’s the one person who might be able to call them off without an all-out shooting battle. We won’t have achieved much in capturing them if they kill the Queen in the process.’ He did not mention Narraway or Vespasia, or, above all, Charlotte.
‘Do you think he’ll do that?’ Stoker asked.
‘It’s up to us to persuade him,’ Pitt said grimly. ‘Croxdale’s dead, Narraway’s alive. I doubt the Queen will sign anything that reduces the power or dignity of the Crown, even in fear of her life.’
Stoker did not reply, but in the light of the next streetlamp they passed, Pitt saw that he was smiling.
When they reached Austwick’s house there were police outside it, discreetly, well in the shadows.
Pitt identified himself, showing them his new warrant card, and Stoker did the same.
‘Yes, sir,’ the police sergeant said smartly. ‘How can we help, sir?’
Pitt made an instant decision. ‘We are going to collect Mr Austwick and we are all going to travel to Portsmouth, as rapidly as possible.’
The sergeant looked bemused.
‘Use Austwick’s telephone. Hold the night train,’ Pitt told him. ‘It’s imperative we get to the Isle of Wight by morning.’
The sergeant came to attention. ‘Yes, sir. I’ll. . I’ll call immediately.’
Pitt smiled at him. ‘Thank you.’ Then he nodded to Stoker. They went to the front door of Austwick’s house and knocked hard and continuously until a footman in his nightshirt opened it, blinking and drawing in breath to demand an explanation.
Pitt told him sharply to step back.
The man saw the police beyond Pitt, and Stoker at his elbow, and did as he was told. Ten minutes later Austwick was in the hall, hastily dressed, unshaven and very angry.
‘What the hell is going on?’ he said furiously. ‘Do you know what time it is, man?’
Pitt looked at the longcase clock at the far side of the hall. ‘Coming up to quarter to two,’ he answered. ‘And we must make Portsmouth by dawn.’
Austwick paled visibly, even in the dim light of the hall with its main chandelier unlit. If anything could tell Pitt that he knew of Croxdale’s plan, it was the fear in his face now.
‘Croxdale is dead,’ Pitt said simply. ‘He shot himself when we faced him with his plans. It’s all over. Narraway’s back. He’s at Osborne now, with the Queen. You’ve got two choices, Austwick. We can arrest you now, and you’ll be tried as a traitor. You’ll hang, and your family will never live it down. Your grandchildren, if you have any, will still carry the stigma of your name.’ He saw Austwick’s horror, but could not afford to pity him. ‘Or you can come with us and call off your men from Osborne,’ he went on. ‘You have two minutes to choose. Do you wish to hang as a traitor, or come with us, to live or die as a hero?’
Austwick was too paralysed with fear to speak.
‘Good,’ Pitt said decisively. ‘You’re coming with us. I thought you’d do that. We’re going for the night train to Portsmouth. Hurry.’
Stoker grasped Austwick by the arm, holding him hard, and they stumbled out into the night.
They half-heaved him into the waiting hansom, then sat with one on either side of them. Two uniformed police followed in another cab, ready to clear traffic, if there should be any, and confirm that the night train was
