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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.