Betrayal at Lisson Grove (Treason at Lisson Grove)

Pitt straightened up and threw himself at the attacker. He had no weapon except his fists. He struck the man low in the chest, as hard as he could, hoping to wind him. He heard him grunt and he pitched forward, but only a step. The fat man slithered sideways and down onto one knee. At least that way he would not overbalance across the rail and onto the track.

Pitt followed his attacker, striking again, but the man must have expected it. He went down also, and Pitt’s blow only caught the edge of his shoulder. The man twisted with it, but for no more than a moment. Then he lunged back at Pitt, his head down, catching Pitt in the stomach and sending him sprawling. The carriage door was slamming open and closed.

The fat man scrambled to his feet and charged, his face red, shouting something indistinguishable over the howl of the wind and roar and clatter of the train. He dived at Pitt’s attacker, who stepped out of the way, and then swiveled around and raised himself. He grasped the fat man and heaved him over the rail to fall, screaming, arms flailing helplessly, out onto the track.

For a second Pitt was frozen with horror. Then he turned and stared at the man who had attacked him. He was only an outline in the dark, but he did not need to hear him speak to recognize him.

“How did you know?” Gower asked, curiosity keen, his voice almost normal.

Pitt was struggling to get his breath. His lungs hurt, his ribs ached where the rail had bruised him, but all he could think of was the man who had tried to rescue him, and whose broken body was now lying on the track.

Gower took a step toward him. “The man you walked eight miles to see, did he tell you something?”

“Only that Frobisher was a paper tiger,” Pitt replied, his mind racing now. “Wrexham can’t have taken a week to work that out, so maybe he always knew it. Then I thought perhaps he was just the same. I thought I saw him cut West’s throat, but when I went over it step by step, I didn’t. It just looked like it. Actually West’s blood was already pooled on the stones. You were the one who had the chase, all the way to the ferry. I thought you were clever, but then I realized how easy it had been. It was always you who found him when we lost him, or who stopped us actually catching him. The whole pursuit was performed for my benefit, to get me away from London.”

Gower gave a short burst of laughter. “The great Pitt, whom Narraway sets so much store by. Took you a week to work that out! You’re getting slow. Or perhaps you always were. Just lucky.” Then suddenly he flung himself forward, arms outstretched to grasp Pitt by the throat, but Pitt was ready this time. He ducked and charged, low, with his head down. He caught Gower in the belly just above the waist, and heard him gasp. He straightened his legs, lifting Gower off the ground. His own impetus carried him on, high over the rail and into the darkness. Pitt did not even see him land, but he knew with a violent sorrow that it had to kill him instantly. No one could survive such an impact.

He straightened up slowly, his legs weak, his body shaking. He had to cling to the rail to support himself.

The carriage door slammed shut again, then opened. The guard stood there, wide-eyed, terrified, the lantern in his hand, the carriage lights yellow behind him.

“Ye’re a lunatic!” he cried, stuttering over his words.

“He was trying to kill me!” Pitt protested, taking a step forward.

The guard jerked the lantern up as if it were some kind of shield. “Don’t you touch me!” His voice was shrill with terror. “I got ’alf a dozen good men ’ere ’oo’ll tie yer down, so I ’ave. Ye’re a bleedin’ madman. Yer killed poor Mr. Summers as well, ’oo only came out there ter ’elp the other gent.”

“I didn’t—” Pitt began, but he didn’t get to finish the sentence. Two burly men were crowding behind the guard, one of them with a walking stick, the other with a sharp-ended umbrella, both held up as weapons.

“We’re gonna put yer in my van,” the guard went on. “An’ if we ’ave ter knock yer senseless ter do it, just gimme the excuse is all I ask. I liked Mr. Summers. ’e were a good man, an’ all.”

Pitt had no wish to be beaten into submission. Dazed, aching, and appalled at what he had done, he went without resisting.

“YOU CAN’T COME,” CHARLOTTE said vehemently. It was early afternoon and she was standing in the dining room of Mrs. Hogan’s lodging house, dressed in her best spring costume, wearing the magnificent blouse. She was rather uncomfortably aware of how well it suited her. With a plain dark skirt the effect was dramatic, to say the very least. “Someone is bound to know you,” she added, forcing her attention to the matter in hand.

Narraway had obviously taken care to prepare himself for the occasion also. His shirt was immaculate, his cravat perfectly tied, his thick hair exactly in place.