Narraway turned away, shifting his body around in his chair. “You’re a fool, Pitt! Of course he knows what will happen. He’ll be ruined. Unless we can prove some other possibility, he might even hang with her.” He looked back, and when he spoke his voice was shaking. “So find out who else was involved with the woman, or hated Lovat enough to have killed him. And bring me the proof, do you understand? Tell no one else anything at all. Be discreet. In fact, be more than that-be secret. Ask your questions carefully. Use that tact you are so famous for possessing… at least according to Cornwallis. Learn everything and give away nothing.” He swiveled back and stared levelly at Pitt as if he could read the thoughts in his head, willing or unwilling. “If you let this slip, Pitt, I will have no use for you. Remember that. I want the truth, and I want to be the only one who has it.”

Pitt felt cold, but he was also angry, and curious as to why it mattered to Narraway in the fashion that it seemed to. Narraway was concealing as much from him as he was telling, perhaps more, and yet he demanded absolute loyalty in return. Who was he protecting, and why? Was it himself, or even Pitt, from some danger he was too new in the job to understand? Or was it Ryerson, out of some loyalty or other motive that Pitt did not know of? He wanted to ask for trust in return, so that he would have a better chance of succeeding, and also to protect himself if he was uncovering evidence that could endanger powerful enemies. But there was no point in asking; Narraway did not trust anyone more than he had to. Perhaps it was the way he had survived in a business that was riddled with secrets and open to a hundred different kinds of betrayal.

“I can’t promise the truth,” Pitt said coolly. “And you certainly won’t be the only one who has it.” He saw Narraway stiffen and it gave him a certain satisfaction, but it was very small, almost lost in the awareness of his own ignorance. “I doubt I’ll have more than pieces of it, but whoever killed Lovat will know, and they may know that I do, depending on whether it was a clever plan or an irresponsible crime of a self-indulgent man… or woman.”

“That is why I use you, Pitt, and not one of my men who are used to chasing anarchists and saboteurs,” Narraway said dryly. “You are supposed to have a little subtlety. God knows, you can’t tell a bomb from a fruitcake, but you are supposed to be a competent detective when it comes to a murder, especially if it is a crime of passion and not of politics. Get on with it! Find the rest of the people on your list. And be quick. We haven’t much longer before the government is forced into giving up Ryerson.”

Pitt was on his feet. “Yes, sir. I suppose there is nothing else you can tell me that would be of help?” He allowed his expression to let Narraway know he was aware of his concealment, even if not what it concerned.

Narraway’s face tightened, pulling the muscles in his neck. “Cornwallis trusted you. I may come to, but I do not do so yet, and that is something for which you should be grateful. Much of what I know you are fortunate to be spared. In time you may lose that privilege, and you will wish you had it back.” He leaned a little forward over the desk between them. “But believe me, Pitt, I want Ryerson saved if it is possible, and if there were anything I could tell you that would help you in that, then I would, regardless of what it cost. But if he did conspire with that damned woman to kill Lovat, or even to hide the fact that she did, and it was a simple murder, then I’ll sacrifice him in a trice. There are bigger issues than you know, and they cannot be lost to save one man… any man.”

“A cotton strike in Manchester?” Pitt said slowly.

Narraway did not reply. “Go and do your job,” he said instead. “Don’t stand here wasting time asking me for help I can’t give you.”

Pitt went out into the street and had walked only twenty yards when he passed a newspaper seller and saw the headlines, new since he had come from the opposite direction to see Narraway.

The boy noticed his hesitation. “Paper, sir?” he offered eagerly. “They’re all sayin’ now as Mr. Ryerson oughta be arrested wi’ that foreign woman and both of ’em ’anged! Read all about it, sir?” He held out a newspaper hopefully.

Pitt forced himself to be civil. He took the paper and paid the money, walking away quickly to where he could read it without being observed. He realized with surprise at himself that he did not want his emotions seen. It might be too obvious that it mattered to him.

He took an omnibus, newspaper still folded, and got off again near one of the numerous small, leafy squares where he walked to an empty bench and sat down. He opened up the paper. It was what he would have expected. A Member of Parliament in the Opposition had demanded to know why Ayesha Zakhari was in police custody for the murder of Lovat, an honorable soldier with no stain on his character, and Ryerson, whose presence at her house at three in the morning was unexplained, and unexplainable in decent terms, had not even been questioned on the matter. He asked-in fact, he demanded in the name of justice, that the prime minister should give the House of Commons, and the British people, an answer as to why this was, and how much longer it would remain so.

BY LATE AFTERNOON, before dusk had done more than smudge the horizon and rob some of the color from the leaves, the government had been forced to yield. The home secretary informed the House that of course Mr. Ryerson would give full and satisfactory answers to the police.

By the time the first lamplighters were out, Ryerson was to all effect under arrest.

Pitt did not need to be sent for to return to Narraway’s office. He had no further news of any worth, and he did not even bother to reveal the little he had, merely a few more acquaintances from the Eden Lodge visitors’ book cleared of any involvement. There were only half a dozen or so still unaccounted for.

He stood in front of Narraway’s desk, waiting for him to speak.

“Yes… I know,” Narraway said, his jaw tight, his eyes focused on the polished desk in front of him, piled with papers, every one facedown. “I don’t imagine he’ll tell the police anything he hasn’t already told you.”

“He doesn’t know me,” Pitt pointed out, although he felt inexplicably as if he did know Ryerson. He could bring back to memory his face precisely, every line and shadow, the urgency and emotion in his voice, and his own sense of involvement as Ryerson had tried to explain his actions, and what he would do if Ayesha Zakhari came to trial. “He had no reason to trust me more than the circumstances forced him to,” Pitt went on. “He might say more to you.” He did not add that Ryerson and Narraway were of the same social class, the same culture and understanding, because it was implicit.

Narraway ignored it. He opened his desk drawer and took out a small metal box. It appeared to have no key and he simply opened it and withdrew a handful of Treasury notes. There must have been a hundred pounds’ worth at least. “I’ll attend to pursuing the London evidence,” he said, still not looking at Pitt. “Leave me your notes. You are going to Alexandria to find out what you can about the woman, and Lovat when he was there.”

Pitt drew in his breath in amazement. It was a moment before he could find his tongue.

Narraway had apparently already counted out the money, because he took no notice of it now but simply laid it on the desk.

“But I know nothing about Egypt!” Pitt protested. “I can’t speak whatever language it is they use there! I-”

“You’ll get by very well with English,” Narraway cut across him. “And I don’t have anyone who’s an expert in Egyptian affairs. You are a good detective. Find out about Lovat, but mostly learn everything you can about the woman-her background, her life, what she believes, what she wants, who she knows and cares about. See if there is anything Lovat could have blackmailed her over.” His expression flickered with distaste. “Why did she come to England anyway? Who is her family? Has she lovers in Egypt, money, loyalties, religious or political ideals?”