minister the embarrassment of having a Soviet spy discovered in the high reaches of government so soon upon the heels of the Vassall situation and the Profumo scandal. Since Geoffrey Rintoul was dead, he could do the Defence Ministry no further damage. He could only be of damage to the prime minister himself if the news of his activities leaked. So they kept that from happening. And now, they'd apparently prefer not to have that old cover-up exposed. I suppose it would be rather embarrassing for them. Or maybe they've debts to be paid to the Rintoul family and this is how they're paying them. At any rate, they've covered up again. Only..." Barbara paused, wondering how he would take the final bit of information, knowing only that in spite of their rows and the often insurmountable differences between them, she couldn't be the one to give him such pain.
Lynley took the opportunity himself. "I was to do it for them," he said hollowly. "And Webberly knew it. Right from the beginning."
In the devastation behind the words, Barbara recognised what Lynley was thinking- that this situation proved he was merely an expendable object to his superiors at the Met; that his was not a career with either value or distinction, so that if it were destroyed by the exposure of his even unconscious attempt to cover up the trail of Stinhurst's guilt in a murder investigation, there would be no real loss to anyone when he was dismissed. Never mind the fact that none of this was true. Barbara knew even a moment's belief in it would corrosively erode his pride.
In the past fifteen months, she had loved and hated and come to understand him. But never before had she perceived that his aristocratic background was a source of anguish to him, a burden of family and blood that he managed to carry with an unassuming dignity, even in the moments when he most longed to shrug it off.
"How could Joy Sinclair have known all this?" Lynley asked. His face was impeccably, painfully controlled.
"Lord Stinhurst told you that himself. She was there the night Geoffrey died."
"And I didn't even notice that there was nothing about Joy's play in her study." Lynley's voice was heavy with reproach. "Christ, what kind of police work is that?"
"The gentlemen from MI5 don't leave calling cards when they've searched a house, Tommy," St. James said. "There was no evidence of a search. You couldn't have known they had been there. And after all, you hadn't gone looking for information about the play."
"All the same, I shouldn't have been blind to its absence." He smiled grimly at Barbara. "Good work, Sergeant. I can't think where we'd be if I hadn't had you along."
Lynley's praise brought Barbara no joy. Never had she felt so completely wretched about having been in the right. "What shall we...?" She hesitated, unwilling to take any more authority from him.
Lynley got to his feet. "We'll go for Stinhurst in the morning," he said. "I should like the rest of the night to think about what needs to be done."
Barbara knew what he really meant: to think about what he himself was going to do, faced with the knowledge of how Scotland Yard had used him. She wanted to say something to lighten the blow. She wanted to say that in spite of the plan to make him instrumental in a cover-up, it hadn't come off; they had proved themselves superior to it. But she knew that he would see through the words to the truth beneath them. She had proved herself superior to it. She had saved him from his own black folly.
With nothing more to be said, they began putting on their coats, pulling on gloves, adjusting hats and muffl ers. The atmosphere was fraught with words needing to be spoken. Lynley took his time about replacing the brandy decanter, gathering the small crystal balloon glasses onto a tray, turning out the lights in the room. He followed them into the hall.
Lady Helen was standing in a pool of light near the door. She had said nothing for an hour, and now she spoke tentatively as he came to join them. "Tommy..."
"Meet me at the theatre at nine, Sergeant," Lynley said abruptly. "Have a constable with you to take Stinhurst in."
If she had not already realised how inconsequential her triumph really was in this game of detection, that brief exchange would have illustrated the point for Barbara with rare lucidity. She