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came that they could lie, even if only to cover the fact that
they had made such an error. He gulped. It was clear in his
eyes that he believed Pitt would do that, and the rest of them
also. I wouldn t have killed him! You know that!
Yes, I do, Pitt agreed. At least not personally. But you
might have connived at it. You are keen enough to protect
184 Anne Perry
whoever did, so it s reasonable to suppose you are allies, or
even that you paid him. . . . He saw the horror in Welling s
eyes, and in that moment knew his innocence. But I was ac-
tually referring to the policeman in the street who was shot,
he finished.
He wasn t . . . dead . . . Welling s uncertainty was naked
in his face.
Pitt refused the temptation to imply that he was. No, but
that was lucky. You still tried to kill him.
I . . . I . . . Welling s voice died away. There was no argu-
ment that mattered.
Pitt waited while he considered it. Imprisonment would be
harder than Welling would have any idea of, but there was a
finality about the rope.
Are you a religious man? Pitt asked suddenly.
Welling was startled. What?
Are you a religious man? Pitt repeated.
The sneer came back to Welling s face, but it was more out
of bravado than confidence. You don t have to believe in
God to have a morality, he said bitterly. The Church has
got the biggest hypocrites of the lot! Have you any idea how
much they own? How many of them preach one thing, and
do something quite different? They condemn people whose
lives they don t begin to understand, and
I wasn t thinking of morality, Pitt cut across him. I ve
no more time for hypocrites than you have. I was thinking of
there being anything to hope for after death.
Welling went as white as a sheet. Suddenly he found it
hard to breathe.
You re a young man, Pitt said more gently. You don t
have to give up your life, or all you can do in it, the good
things and the mistakes, if you help me find out who killed
Magnus Landsborough, and prove it. It was a wrong thing to
do, by your morality and mine. I have the authority to give
you amnesty for the shooting of the policeman, or anything
else, if you help.
LONG SPOON LANE 185
Welling licked his lips. How do I know that? How do I
know you aren t lying? Maybe the policeman did die!
No, he didn t. He ll be back on duty in a few weeks. The
shot went through his shoulder. Didn t touch the artery. He
pulled the piece of paper from his pocket with the promise
Narraway had written for him and passed it to Welling, who
took it and read it, blinking several times, his hands shaking
slightly.
What about Carmody? he said at last. I . . . He had to
clear his throat. I won t save myself and let you hang him.
Pitt could only guess what it had cost him to say that. He
admired him for it. You won t have to, he promised. The
same offer goes for him, if he wants it. Now tell me all you
know about Magnus Landsborough, who ll be leader in his
place you can call him whatever you like and the old
man who spoke to him. How often, where, what time of day
or night? How did Magnus react?
Welling told him bit by bit, measuring every word so he
was not tricked into betraying something he had not meant
to. He could give no name to the man he believed would be
the new leader, but his respect for him was clear. He shared
Magnus s passion against unjust dominion of one person
over another. He was infuriated by the helplessness of the
poor, the disadvantaged in health or intelligence, in educa-
tion, birthright, or simply position in society. Power without
responsibility was for him the ultimate evil, the begetter of
cruelty, injustice, every kind of abuse one person may inflict
upon another.
Pitt discussed with him only the means with which he
sought to address it. Perhaps Welling sensed something of
that, because he began to speak with less contempt, and
more cordially of his hope to achieve some greater balance.
Pitt did not argue with him that in his belief it owed as
much to human nature as to any specific political system. It
rose to his mind to do so, but the coldness of the cell, the
186 Anne Perry
stale odor of the air, reminded him of the immediate urgency
of corruption today, and Wetron s power in the future.
Welling also told him of Magnus s meeting with the older
man. It had happened perhaps half a dozen times, and Mag-
nus had seemed disturbed by it. He had refused to say who
the man was, or what he wanted, but he would hear no ill of
him, nor would he permit any of the others to approach the
old man or warn him not to come again. The few of their
conversations that had been observed were obviously argu-
ments. The older man s feelings had run high, but no one
knew enough to say what they had been, and Magnus refused
to discuss it at all.
Pitt broached the subject of the source of the money,
obliquely at first, but he gained no response. Welling became
even more guarded.
There s no need to protect him, Pitt said casually. We
know who he is. In fact the police know as well.
Welling smiled. Then you don t need us to tell you, he
said.
No. I wouldn t mention it if there were any chance that
you would warn him.
Really. Welling s voice was back to its initial skepti-
cism.
Piers Denoon, Pitt told him, and saw the chagrin in
Welling s eyes. Not that he needed any confirmation. It was
on the edge of his tongue to ask if Magnus and Piers had
quarreled. Perhaps Magnus had realized that Piers was a
double player, both for the anarchists and the police, and had
threatened to expose him. Then, just before he spoke, he
thought of the danger to Tellman. Welling might testify in
court to defend himself, and the information could get back
to the police. He changed his mind. But the possibility re-
mained. Maybe it was Piers Denoon who had killed Magnus,
to safeguard himself.
* * *
LONG SPOON LANE 187
It was just after noon when Pitt began his round of the
public houses, replacing Jones the Pocket. He had seldom
performed any task he loathed more. Perhaps because he
knew how much he would hate it, he dressed in old clothes
as unlike his usual ones as possible, as if he were trying to di-
vorce himself from the act. He had brought a tweed jacket
that was patched in places, something he would never have
chosen otherwise. It was prickly to touch, and too warm in
the evening sun.
In every place he went to, he had to explain that Jones was
temporarily indisposed, and until he returned, Pitt was taking
his place.
Sick, is e? one landlord said hopefully. Real sick?
Probably, Pitt replied. And if he spends any time in the
Coldbath Fields, he ll get sicker. He was referring to the
London prison whose reputation was the worst.
Wot a cryin shame, the landlord said, smiling broadly.
Then the smile vanished and he glared at Pitt. I ope it s
catchin !
Maybe, Pitt had already made up his mind what he in-
tended to do. But I won t get it so badly.
Why s that then? You look jus the same ter me!
I m not as susceptible, Pitt answered. Jones was hard. I
want you to stay in business. I ll take half what he did. That ll
be enough. Just keep it regular.
The man looked startled, then suspicious. I don t want
that bleedin Grover comin ere an smashin up the place,
he said warily.
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