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His voice became a little more strained. ‘I went to his apartment and found a dreadful scene . . .’ He stopped, breathing deeply as if to steady himself.
Daniel would have loved to have stopped him. He nearly did. Then he realised he would only have to make him begin again. That might be even more difficult.
‘There was broken glass and porcelain all over the place. Amalia was at the bottom of the curving staircase, lying so crookedly her neck had to be broken. And there was blood all over her face, her arms and legs. To me, it was obvious that he had killed her,’ Pitt continued even more quietly, his voice hoarse. ‘I said so. He agreed that he had. Then he reminded me that he knew the names, descriptions, and whereabouts of at least half a dozen British agents in Lisbon. He listed them off, and I knew he was right. He said he would betray them to the revolutionaries if I didn’t help him. They would all be murdered. I knew he was speaking the truth. He already set that in motion before he called me. Unless he rescinded it, it would happen. I knew he would do it. Amalia was dead and I couldn’t help her, but I could save our men in Portugal. I didn’t send them, but I knew the men who had.’ He looked at Daniel. ‘It was a bad choice, but the alternative was far worse. I called Tellman – you remember him?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Daniel had known Tellman ever since he had first become Pitt’s sergeant, when Daniel was a child. He was now superintendent at Bow Street. ‘You could trust him.’
‘Together, we tidied up,’ Pitt went on. ‘We made it look as if poor Amalia had been drunk, and tripped and fallen down the stairs. When the police came, they accepted our word for it.’
‘What happened to dos Santos?’
‘We – we gave him safe passage back to Lisbon.’
Pitt’s eyes were so steady on Daniel’s face, he knew it was not a lie, but not the whole truth either. ‘So, he got away with it? He killed Amalia, and you got him safely home.’
Pitt looked uncomfortable, but he did not avoid Daniel’s gaze. ‘Well – not exactly. Not safely. Most of the way there. There was a delay. Enough to get our men out of Lisbon.’
‘You . . .’
‘He met with an accident,’ Pitt said flatly, and the look in his eyes was enough to warn Daniel not to go further.
Daniel said, ‘Thank you . . . I think.’
Pitt reached across and put his hand gently on Daniel’s arm. ‘It’s an ugly business,’ he said, ‘and I wish you didn’t have to know. But this is an undeclared war, and there are some enemies who do so much damage that we have to stop them.’
Daniel had a new understanding of the weight his father carried, and why he had to make bad decisions sometimes: because the alternative would have been even worse. Better in his hands than the hands of someone who liked to use such power. For a moment, he was choked with emotion.
Pitt broke into the silence. ‘You have to save him if he’s innocent, but you know that already,’ he said softly. ‘Justice is not yours to deny. And if you do, you will regret it as long as you live. However a revolting creature he is, you’ve lost yourself if you decide to let him hang. In a sense, he’ll have won . . .’
‘I’m not going to! If I can stop it. You don’t think I would, really?’
r /> ‘No. But any mistake I may have made does not give you justification to do the same.’
Daniel smiled ruefully, to break the tension, which was growing unbearable. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make different ones.’
Pitt smiled also; there was anxiety, and an immeasurable tenderness in it. ‘That will restrict you quite a lot. Go on, get on with it. Good luck.’
‘Thank you.’ And before it could tip over into any more emotion, Daniel went out of the room into the hall.
Daniel spent most of the next day in pursuits that earned him nothing further.
It was not until mid-morning of the following day –a fortnight before Graves was due to be hanged – that Impney knocked on the door and told him, with some misgivings, that a Mr Roman Blackwell had an urgent message to deliver.
‘Thank you,’ Daniel replied. ‘Send him in, please.’
‘Would you like tea, sir?’ Impney barely raised his eyebrows.
‘No . . . at least not yet. I may have to go out immediately.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Impney withdrew, and barely a moment later Roman Blackwell came in, practically glowing with a sense of achievement. ‘Midnight,’ he said simply.
‘What?’
Blackwell closed the door behind him, then came back towards the desk. ‘Midnight,’ he repeated. ‘That’s the hour at which they disinter bodies.’
‘I knew that—’ Daniel began, then stopped himself. ‘Are you . . . are you saying you have permission?’ He found himself holding his breath.
