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fruits of what I ve built . . . he can have it! Very good, Tell-
man. Very good. In fact, I shall see that he has it and the
blame that goes along with it. He glanced at the clock on
the mantel. He will still be at home. Excellent. Just where
the proof will be. I shall go and arrest him.
His voice was shaking a little with a sudden excitement.
You say he tried to murder Pitt? Then he is a violent man. I
had better take a gun with me. He may resist. His smile was
wide, mirthless, and filled with a savage pleasure. Pitt is a
fool, but his escape from last night s adventure may prove
useful. He won t lie. If asked, he will say that Voisey tried to
kill him. He walked to a locked cupboard, took a key off his
watch chain, and opened it. He picked a revolver, loaded it,
and put it in the pocket of his jacket.
I shan t need you, Tellman, he said, straightening up.
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This is between gentlemen. You ve done a good job. He
walked past Tellman and out the door, his back stiff, the gun
invisible within the heavy fabric of his jacket.
Tellman waited until he was out of sight, then sprinted
down the stairs and out the door. Pitt was waiting in an alley
a couple of hundred yards away. They must follow Wetron
and catch him at exactly the right moment, before he mur-
dered Voisey. Then they would have them both, and all the
evidence that was left. In their hatred, one would testify
against the other.
He ran along the street, his boots echoing on the stones.
12
PITT WAS WAITING in the alley, pacing back and forth,
standing for a minute, peering around the corner, and then
pacing again. He saw Tellman when he was still twenty yards
away, his figure easily distinguishable in the momentary
crowd on the footpath because he was running.
Pitt started out, then realized in the tangle of people they
could miss each other, and stepped back again. The moment
after, Tellman nearly collided with him.
Wetron s gone after Voisey, he gasped. At his house.
He s got a gun. I think he s going to shoot him whatever, and
say it was self-defense. No one ll argue with him.
Voisey s house? Let s go. He can t shoot all three of us,
and the servants. Pitt strode towards the main street, Tell-
man at his side, and hailed the first empty hansom to pass.
He gave Voisey s address, and they both leapt in, shouting in-
structions to hurry.
It s a matter of life and death! Tellman added, his voice
so sharp that passing drivers swiveled to pay momentary at-
tention, but with disbelief.
The hansom plunged forward, fighting its way through
traffic. Neither Pitt nor Tellman spoke. They were both trying
to keep panic at bay, not allow their imaginations to race into
all the things that could go wrong: the nightmare of Voisey
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winning, revenge feeding more revenge until there was noth-
ing left.
And hope must be stifled too. They were not safe yet. They
would arrest Wetron for attempting to kill Voisey, the proof
of Wetron s guilt would be there, and Voisey would have it.
The whole machine of corruption would be broken, the bill
defeated. But Voisey would be alive, with all that that meant.
The hansom careered along a half-empty street and swung
around a corner, throwing them almost on top of each other.
Still, neither spoke. They picked up speed again.
It seemed an age before they slowed to a stop at last. Pitt
handed the driver a fistful of coins roughly what he thought
the ride would cost, plus a generous tip. He and Tellman ran
across the pavement and up the steps of Voisey s house. Pitt
banged on the door.
A butler opened it with a look of distaste on his face. Yes,
sir? His tone of voice conveyed his opinion of people who
made loud and vulgar noise, whatever the circumstances.
May I be of assistance?
I must see Sir Charles immediately! Pitt said, catching
his breath. His life is in danger.
I m sorry, sir, but Sir Charles is at the House. He custom-
arily goes at about this hour.
But he was here forty minutes ago, Tellman protested, as
if it could matter now.
No, sir, the butler said firmly. Sir Charles left over an
hour ago.
Superintendent Wetron said . . . Tellman insisted, his
voice raised.
I m sorry, sir, but you are mistaken, the butler repeated.
Wild thoughts of conspiracy raced through Pitt s mind, be-
fore he realized the obvious answer. He wasn t at home, he
said aloud. Wetron misled us on purpose. We must get to
the House.
He couldn t do anything in the House of Commons!
Tellman said incredulously.
LONG SPOON LANE 307
Yes he could, in a private office. Pitt started down the
steps again in time to shout at the hansom. The driver had
been giving the horse a few minutes rest while he enjoyed
the spectacle in the doorway, and was only just pulling away
now. He heard Pitt s voice and stopped again.
House of Commons! Pitt ordered.
I s pose that s as fast as yer can make it too, eh? the
driver observed. Don t you ever go nowhere at a normal
speed like other fellers? More life an death, is it?
Yes. Hurry! Or if this horse is exhausted, catch up with
another cab and we ll change, Pitt replied.
The driver gave him a look of total disdain, and started
forward again, picking up speed rapidly.
We re going to be too late! Tellman said between his
teeth. That bastard will have shot him!
Pitt did not answer. He was afraid Tellman was right.
It seemed like another long, tedious, traffic-congested
ride. All the impatience and sense of failure could not
shorten it, or prevent what they now felt to be inevitable.
They finally reached the House of Commons. Pitt paid
over nearly all the rest of the money he was carrying, with a
request that it be spent on the horse, then sprinted to follow
Tellman, who was already twenty yards ahead of him.
Once they had identified themselves they were allowed in
and conducted up to Voisey s office. But as soon as they
turned the corner of the long corridor they saw it was already
too late. There was a grim crowd blocking the way. Voices
were lowered, bodies tense, faces white and anxious.
What s happened? Pitt demanded, stopping as soon as
he reached them, although he feared he knew.
Terrible, one of the secretaries answered. He was a pale
young man formally dressed. He clutched a bunch of papers
in his hand and it was shaking, making a slight rustle as the
sheets flapped together. Absolutely dreadful.
What is? Pitt repeated urgently.
Oh! Don t you know? Sir Charles Voisey s been shot. The
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superintendent of police is here. Man from Bow Street. To
have a member shot dead in the House! What s happening to
the world?
Pitt pushed his way through, elbowing people aside until
he reached the door, and found himself a yard away from
Wetron who looked pale and shaken. However, the moment
their eyes met Pitt saw the gleam of triumph, and knew he
had been defeated.
Wetron gave nothing away. To all other onlookers he was a
man startled and grieved by an appalling event.
Ah! Superintendent Pitt, he said, as if Pitt still held his
old rank. I m glad you ve come. Dreadful thing. Irrefutable
evidence, I m afraid. Tragic. I went to question Sir Charles
about it, hoping against hope that he had some other expla-
nation, but he hadn t. Guilt overtook him. He lunged at me
with a paper knife in his hand. I had no choice. His words
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