{"product_id":"treason-at-lisson-grove-isbn-9780345510594","title":"Treason at Lisson Grove","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eNATIONAL BESTSELLER\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe man who lies bleeding to death in a London brickyard is no ordinary drifter but a secret informant with details of an international plot against the British government. Special Branch officer Thomas Pitt, hastening to rendezvous with him, arrives seconds after the knife-wielding assassin—who, in turn, flees on an erratic course that leads Pitt in wild pursuit to picturesque St. Malo on the French coast. Meanwhile, Pitt’s supervisor, Victor Narraway, stands accused of embezzling government funds. Since the man who ruined Narraway’s career is in Ireland, Pitt’s clever wife, Charlotte, agrees to pose as Narraway’s sister and accompany him to Dublin to investigate. But unknown to Pitt and Narraway, a shadowy plotter is setting a trap that, once sprung, could destroy not just reputations but the British empire itself.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The action is nonstop and the characters ring true.”—HuntingtonNews.net\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“[Anne] Perry writes with great urgency about the desperate actions of people who believe they’re fighting for a just cause.”—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Perry has always done her historical homework on the darker elements of the British ruling class, and she has outdone herself this time by including the queen in her cast of characters.”\u003ci\u003e—The Washington Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Fascinating . . . Perry brings forth the era [and] the ambience.”—\u003ci\u003eAsbury Park Press\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Suspense-filled . . . fast-paced [with] plenty of clues.”\u003ci\u003e—The Oklahoman\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cb\u003eAnne Perry\u003c\/b\u003e was the bestselling author of two acclaimed series set in Victorian England: the William Monk novels and the Charlotte and Thomas Pitt novels. She was also the author of a series featuring Charlotte and Thomas Pitt's son, Daniel, as well as the Elena Standish series; a series of five World War I novels; twenty-one holiday novels; and a historical novel, \u003ci\u003eThe Sheen on the Silk,\u003c\/i\u003e set in the Byzantine Empire. Anne Perry died in 2023.C H A P T E R \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e 1 \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Tha t’s  him!”   Gower yelled above the sound of the traffic. Pitt turned on his heel just in time to see a figure  dart  between  the rear  end  of  a hansom  and the oncoming  horses  of  a brewer’s  dray. Gower  disappeared after  him, missing a  trampling  by no more than inches. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt plunged into the street, swerving to avoid  a brougham  and stopping abruptly to let another hansom pass. By the time he reached the far pavement Gower was twenty  yards ahead and Pitt could make out only his flying hair. The man he was pursuing  was out  of sight. Weaving between clerks  in pinstripes, leisurely strollers, and the occasional early woman shopper with  her long skirts getting in the way, Pitt closed  the  gap until he was less  than  a dozen yards behind  Gower. He  caught a glimpse  of the man ahead: bright  ginger hair  and a green jacket. Then he was gone, and Gower turned,  his right  hand raised for a moment  in signal,  before disappearing into  an alley. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt followed after him  into  the shadows, his eyes taking  a moment or two to adjust. The alley was long and narrow,  bending in a dogleg  a hundred  yards  beyond. The gloom  was  caused by  the overhanging eaves  and  the water-soaked  darkness  of  the brick, long  streams  of grime running down from the broken guttering. People were huddled in doorways;  others  made their  way slowly, limping, or staggering beneath heavy bolts of cloth,  barrels, and bulging sacks. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eGower  was still  ahead, seeming  to find his way  with ease.  Pitt veered around  a fat woman with  a tray of matches to sell,  and tried  to catch up. Gower  was at least ten years younger, even if his legs were not quite so long, and he was more used to this kind of thing. But it was  Pitt’s experience   in the Metropolitan   Police  before he joined Special Branch  that had led them to finding  West, the man they were now chasing. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt bumped into an old woman and apologized before regaining his stride. They were around  the dogleg now,  and he could see West’s ginger head making  for the opening into the wide thoroughfare forty yards away. Pitt knew that they must  catch him before he was swallowed up in the crowds. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eGower was almost there. He reached out an arm to grab at West, but just then West ducked sideways and Gower tripped, hurtling into the wall and momentarily  winding  himself.   He bent  over  double, gasping to catch his breath. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt lengthened his stride  and reached West just as he dived out into the High Street, barged his way through   a knot  of people, and disappeared. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt went after him and a moment later saw the light on his bright hair almost at the next  crossroads. He increased his pace, bumping and banging people. He  had to catch him. West had information that could  be vital. After all, the tide  of unrest  was rising fast all over Europe,  and becoming more violent. Many people, in the name of re- form, were actually trying  to overthrow  government altogether and create an anarchy in which  they imagined there would be some kind of equality of justice.  Some were content with blood-soaked oratory; others preferred dynamite, or even bullets. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eSpecial Branch knew of a current  plot, but not yet the leaders be- hind it, or—more urgently—the target of their  violence. West was to provide that, at risk of his own life—if his betrayal were known. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWhere  the devil was Gower? Pitt swiveled  around once to see if he  could  spot  him. He was nowhere  visible in the sea of  bobbing heads, bowler  hats,  caps, and bonnets.  There was  no time to look longer. Surely  he wasn’t still  in the alley? What  was wrong with the man? He was not much more than thirty. Had he been more than  just knocked  off balance? Was he injured? \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWest was up ahead, seizing  a break in the traffic to cross back to the other side again. Three hansoms  came past almost nose-to-tail. A cart and four  clattered in the opposite direction.  Pitt fumed on the edge of the  curb.  To go out into  the roadway now would only  get him killed. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eA horse-drawn omnibus passed, then two heavily loaded wagons. More  carts and a dray went in the other direction. Pitt had lost sight of West, and Gower had vanished into  the air. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThere was a brief  holdup  in traffic and Pitt raced across the  road. Weaving  in and  out of  the way of  frustrated  drivers,   he only just missed  being caught by a long, curling  carriage whip. Someone yelled at him  and he took no notice. He reached the opposite  side and caught sight of West for an instant  as he swung  around  a corner  and made for another alley. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt raced after him,  but when he got there West had disappeared. “Did you  see a man with ginger  hair?” Pitt demanded of a peddler \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ewith  a tray of sandwiches.  “Where did he go?” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Want a sandwich?” the  man  asked with eyes wide.  “Very good. Made this morning. Only  tuppence.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt fished frantically  in his pocket; found string,  sealing wax, a pocketknife, a  handkerchief,  and several coins.  He gave the  man  a threepenny bit and took  a sandwich.  It felt soft and fresh,  although right now he didn’t care. “Which way?” he  said   harshly. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“That  way.”  The man pointed  into the deeper shadows  of  the alley. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt began to run again, weaving a path through  the piles  of rubbish. A rat skittered  from under his feet, and he all but fell over  a drunken figure lying half out of a doorway.  Somebody  swung  a punch at  him; he  lurched  to one side, losing  his balance  for a  moment, glimpsing West still ahead of him. Now West disappeared again and Pitt had no idea which way he had  gone.  He tried  one blind courtyard and alley  after another.  It seemed like endless, wasted moments  before Gower  joined  him from one of the side alleyways. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Pitt!” Gower  clutched at his arm. “This way! Quickly.” His fingers dug deep into Pitt’s flesh, making him gasp with  the sudden pain. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eTogether they ran forward, Pitt along the broken  pavement be- side the dark walls, Gower in the gutter, his boots sending  up a spray of filthy water.  Pace for pace, they  went  around  the  corner  into the open entrance  to a brickyard   and saw a man crouching over some- thing on the ground. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eGower let out  a cry  of fury and darted forward, half  crossing  in front of  Pitt and tripping   him up  in his eagerness.  They both fell heavily. Pitt was on his feet in time  to see the crouched figure swing around for an instant,  then scramble up and run  as if for his life. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Oh God!” Gower   said,  aghast, now  also  on  his feet. “After him! I know who it is!” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt stared  at the  heap on the ground: West’s green jacket  and bright  hair.  Blood  streamed from his throat, staining his chest and al- ready pooling  dark on the stones underneath him.  There  was no way he could possibly  be alive. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eGower was already pursuing  the assassin. Pitt raced after him  and this time his long  strides   caught up before they  reached the road. “Who is it?” he  demanded,   almost choking on his own breath. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Wrexham!” Gower  hissed  back. “We’ve  been watching  him for weeks.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt knew the man, but only  by name. There was  a momentary break in the stream of vehicles. They darted across the road to go after Wrexham, who thank  heaven was an easy figure to see. He was taller than average, and—despite   the good weather—he   was  wearing  a long, pale-colored scarf that swung in the air as he twisted  and turned. It flashed through Pitt’s mind  that  it might  be a weapon; it would not be hard to strangle  a man with  it. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThey were on a crowded footpath  now,  and Wrexham dropped his pace.  He almost  sauntered, walking  easily,  swiftly, with loping strides,  but perfectly casual. Could  he be arrogant enough to imagine he had lost them so quickly? He certainly  knew they had seen him, because he had swiveled  around at Gower’s cry, and then run  as if for his life. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThey were now  walking   at a steady pace, eastward toward  Stepney  and Limehouse.   Soon the crowds would  thin as they  left the broader streets behind. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“If he  goes  into an  alley,   be careful,” Pitt warned,  now  beside Gower,  as if they  were two tradesmen bound on a  common errand. “He has  a knife. He’s too comfortable. He must know we’re  behind him.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eGower  glanced at him  sideways,  his eyes wide for an instant. “You think he’ll try and pick  us off?” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“We practically  saw him cut West’s throat,” Pitt replied, matching Gower stride for stride. “If we get him he’ll hang.  He must know that.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“I reckon he’ll duck and hide suddenly, when he thinks we’re taking it easy,” Gower  answered. “We’d  better stay fairly close to him. Lose sight of him for a moment  and he’ll be gone  for good.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt agreed with a nod, and they  closed the distance  to Wrexham, who was still strolling ahead of them. Never  once did he turn  or look back. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt found it chilling that  a man  could  slit another’s  throat  and see  him bleed  to death, then  a few moments   after  walk  through   a crowd with  outward unconcern,  as if he were just one more pedestrian about some trivial daily business. What  passion or inhumanity  drove him? In the way he moved, the fluidity—almost grace—of his stride, Pitt could not  detect even fear, let alone  the  conscience of a brutal murderer. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWrexham wove in and out of the thinning crowd. Twice they lost sight of him. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“That  way!” Gower  gasped, waving  his right hand. “I’ll  go left.” He swerved  around  a window  cleaner with a bucket  of water,  almost knocking the man over. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt went the other way, into the north  end of an alley. The sudden shadows momentarily made him blink, half blind. He saw movement  and charged forward,  but it was only   a beggar shuffling  out of a doorway. He swore under his breath and sprinted back to the street just in time to see Gower swiveling  around frantically,  searching for him. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“That  way!” Gower   called  urgently    and  set  off, leaving  Pitt behind. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe second time  it was Pitt who  saw him first, and Gower who had  to catch up.  Wrexham  had crossed  the road  just in front of  a brewer’s dray and was out of sight  by the time  Pitt and Gower  were able to follow. It took them more than ten minutes  to close on him without  drawing attention. There  were fewer people about, and two men running   would  have been highly noticeable. With fifty yards’ distance between them, Wrexham could have outrun  them too easily. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThey were in Commercial Road East, now, in Stepney. If Wrexham did  not turn they  would  be in Limehouse,   perhaps the West India Dock Road. If they went that far they could lose him  among the tangle of wharves with cranes, bales of goods, warehouses,  and dock laborers. If he went down to one of the ferries  he could be out of sight between the ships  at anchor before they could find  another ferry  to follow him. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eAhead of them,  as if he had seen them,  Wrexham increased his pace, his long legs striding  out, his jacket scarf flying. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt felt  a flicker of nervousness. His muscles were aching, his feet sore despite his excellent boots—his one concession to sartorial  taste. Even well-cut jackets never looked right on him because he weighted the  pockets with too many pieces of rubbish  he thought  he might need.  His  ties never  managed to stay straight;  perhaps he knotted them too tightly,  or too loosely. But his boots were beautiful  and immaculately  cared for.  Even  though  most  of his work was of the mind, out-thinking, out-guessing, remembering, and seeing significance where others  didn’t, he still  knew  the  importance  of  a policeman’s feet. Some  habits  do not die.  Before  he had been forced out  of the Metropolitan Police and Victor Narraway had taken him into Special Branch,  he had walked enough miles  to know  the price of inattention to physical stamina, and to boots. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eSuddenly Wrexham ran across the narrow  road and disappeared down Gun Lane. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"He's going for the Limwhouse Station!\" Gower shouted, leaping out of the way of a cart full of timber  as he dashed after him. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt was on his heels. The Limehouse  Station  was on the Black- wall Railway, less than a hundred  yards away. Wrexham could go in at least three possible directions  from there and end up anywhere in the city. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eBut Wrexham kept moving, rapidly, right, past the way back up to the station.  Instead,  he turned  left onto  Three Colts Street, then swerved right  onto Ropemaker’s Field, still loping in an easy run. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt was too breathless  to shout,  and anyway Wrexham was no more  than  fifteen  yards  ahead. The few  men  and one  old washer- woman on the path scattered as the three running  men passed them. Wrexham was going to the river, as Pitt had feared. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eAt the end of Ropemaker’s Field they turned right again into  Nar- row Street, still running. They were only  yards  from  the  river’s edge. The breeze was stiff off the water, smelling  of salt and mud where the tide was low. Half a dozen gulls  soared lazily in circles  above a string of barges. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWrexham was still ahead of them, moving less easily now, tiring. He passed the  entrance to Limehouse Cut. Pitt figured that he must be making for Kidney Stairs,  the stone steps down to the river,  where, if they were lucky,  he would find a ferry waiting. There were two more sets  of  stairs before  the road curved twenty  yards inland   to Broad Street. At the Shadwell  Docks there were more stairs  again. He could lose his pursuers on any of them. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eGower gestured toward the river. “Steps!” he shouted,  bending  a moment   and gasping to catch  his breath. He gestured  with a  wild swing of his arm. Then he straightened up and began running  again, a couple of strides  ahead of Pitt. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt  could   see  a  ferry coming  toward  the shore,  the boatman pulling  easily at the oars. He would  get to the steps a moment  or two after Wrexham—in  fact  Pitt and Gower  would  corner  him nicely. Perhaps  they  could  get the ferry to take  them  up  to the Pool of London. He ached to sit down even for that short while. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWrexham reached the steps and ran down them,  disappearing as if he had slipped into a hole.  Pitt felt an upsurge of victory.  The ferry was still  twenty yards from the spot where the steps would meet the water. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eGower  let out a yell of triumph,  waving his hand high. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThey reached the  top of the  steps just as the ferry  pulled away, Wrexham  sitting in the stern. They were  close  enough  to see  the smile on his face as he half swiveled on the seat to gaze at them. Then he faced forward, speaking to the ferryman  and pointing to the farther shore. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt raced down the steps.  His feet slithered  on the wet stones. He waved  his arms  at the other ferry, the one  they  had seen.  “Here! Hurry!” he shouted. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eGower shouted also, his voice high  and desperate. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe ferryman  increased his speed, throwing   his full weight  be- hind his oars, and in a matter  of seconds had swung  around next  to the pier. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Get in, gents,” he said cheerfully.  “Where   to?” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“After  that boat  there,” Gower   gasped, choking   on his  own breath and pointing  to the other ferry. “An extra half  crown in it for you if you catch up with  him before he gets up Horseferry  Stairs.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt landed in the boat behind him and immediately  sat down so they could get under way. “He’s not going to Horseferry,” he pointed out. “He’s going straight  across. Look!” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Lavender Dock?” Gower  scowled,  sitting in the seat beside Pitt. “What the hell for?” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Shortest way across,” Pitt replied. “Get up to  Rotherhithe Street and away.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Where   to?” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Nearest train station,  probably. Or he might  double back. Best place to get lost  is among other  people.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThey were pulling well away from  the dock now and slowly catching up with the other ferry. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThere  were fewer ships  moored here, and they could make their way almost straight  across. A string of barges was still fifty yards down- stream, moving slowly  against the tide. The wind  off the water was colder. Without thinking about what he was doing, Pitt hunched up and pulled his collar higher around his neck. It seemed like hours since he and Gower had burst  into the brickyard  and seen Wrexham crouched over West’s blood-soaked body, but it was probably  little more than ninety minutes.  Their  source of  information   about whatever plot West had known  of was gone with  his death. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHe thought  back to his last interview with Narraway, sitting in the office with the hot sunlight  streaming through the window onto the  piles  of books  and papers on  the  desk.  Narraway’s face had been intensely serious under its graying mane of hair,  his eyes almost black. He had spoken of the gravity of the situation,  the rise of the passion to reform Europe’s old imperialism, violently  if necessary. It was no longer  a matter  of a few sticks  of dynamite, an assassination  here and there. Rather,  there were whispers  of full governments overthrown  by force. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Some things need changing,” Narraway  had said with  a wry  bitterness. “No one but  a fool would deny that there is injustice. But this would result in anarchy. God alone knows  how wide this spreads, at least as far as France, Germany, and Italy,  and by the sounds of it here in England  as well.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt had stared at him, seeing  a sadness  in the man he had never before imagined. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“This is a different breed, Pitt, and the tide of victory  is with them now. But the violence . . .” Narraway had shaken his head, as if awakening himself.  “We  don’t  change  that way  in  Britain, we evolve slowly. We’ll get there, but not with  murder, and not by force.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe wind was fading, the water smoother. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThey were nearly  at the south  bank of the river. It was time  to make  a decision. Gower was looking  at him,  waiting. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWrexham’s ferry was almost at the Lavender Dock. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“He’s going somewhere,” Gower said urgently. “Do we want to get him now, sir—or see where he leads us? If we take him  we won’t know who’s behind this. He won’t talk, he’s no reason to. We practically saw him kill  West. He’ll hang  for  sure.” He waited, frowning. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Do you  think we can keep him in sight?” Pitt asked. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Yes, sir.” Gower did not hesitate. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Right.” The decision  was clear in Pitt’s mind.   “Stay back then. We’ll split up if we have  to.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe ferry  hung back until Wrexham had climbed  up the narrow steps and all but disappeared. Then, scrambling  to keep up, Pitt and Gower went after him. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThey were careful to follow   from  more  of a distance, sometimes together but more often with  a sufficient space between  them. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eYet Wrexham now seemed to be so absorbed in his own concerns that he never looked behind.  He  must  have assumed he had lost them when he crossed the river. Indeed, they were very lucky  that he had not. With the amount of waterborne traffic, he must have failed to re- alize that one ferry  was dogging his path. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eAt the railway  station  there were at least a couple of dozen other people at the ticket  counter. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Better get tickets all the way, sir,” Gower urged. “We don’t want to draw attention  to ourselves from not paying the fare.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt gave him a sharp look,  but stopped himself from making the remark on the edge of his tongue. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Sorry,” Gower  murmured  with  a slight smile. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eOnce on the platform they remained close to a knot of other peo- ple waiting. Neither  of them spoke, as if they were strangers to each other. The precaution  seemed unnecessary.  Wrexham barely glanced at either  of them, nor at anyone else. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe first train was going north.  It drew in and stopped. Most of the waiting  passengers got on. Pitt wished  he had a newspaper to hide his face and appear to take  his attention. He should have thought of it before. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“I  think I can hear the train  . . . ,”  Gower said almost under his breath. “It should be to Southampton—eventually. We might  have to change . . .”  The rest  of what he said was cut off by the noise  of the engine  as the  train pulled in, belching  steam. The doors  flew open and passengers poured out. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt struggled to keep Wrexham in sight. He waited until the last moment in case he should  get out again and lose them, and, when he didn’t, he and Gower  boarded a carriage behind  him. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"He could be anywhere,\" Gower said grimly. His fair face was set in hard lines,  his hair  poking up where he had run his fingers through it. “One of  us better get out at every station  to see that  he doesn’t get off at the last moment.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Of course,”  Pitt agreed. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Do you  think West really  had something  for us?”  Gower went on. “He could  have  been  killed for some other  reason. A quarrel? Those revolutionaries are pretty volatile. Could have  been a betrayal within the group? Even  a rivalry for leadership?” He was watching Pitt intently, as if trying to read his mind. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“I  know   that,” Pitt said quietly.  He was by far the senior,  and it was his decision to make. Gower would never question him on that. It was little comfort now, in fact rather  a lonely  thought.  He remembered  Narraway’s  certainty  that  there  was something  planned that would make the recent random bombings seem trivial. In February of last year,  1894, a French   anarchist   had tried to destroy  the Royal Observatory at Greenwich with  a bomb.  Thank heaven he had failed. In June, President Carnot of France had been assassinated.  In August, a man  named Caserio  had been executed for the crime. Everywhere there  was anger and uncertainty in the air. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eIt was  a risk to follow Wrexham, but to seize on an empty certainty   was a kind of surrender.  “We’ll  follow  him,” Pitt replied.   “Do you have enough money for another fare, if we have to separate?” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eGower fished in his pocket,  counted what  he had. “As long  as it isn’t all the way to Scotland,  yes, sir. Please God it isn’t Scotland.” He smiled  with  a twisted  kind  of misery.  “You know in February they had the coldest temperature ever recorded in Britain? Nearly fifty degrees of frost! If the  poor bastard let off a bomb   to start   a fire you could hardly  blame him!” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“That was February,  this is April already,” Pitt reminded him. “Here, we’re pulling into a station. I’ll watch  for  Wrexham this time. You take the next.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Yes, sir.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt opened the  door and was only  just on the ground when he saw Wrexham getting out and hurrying across the platform to change trains for Southampton. Pitt turned to signal  Gower and found him already out and at his elbow. Together they followed, trying  not to be conspicuous by hurrying. They found seats, but separately for a while, to make sure  Wrexham  didn’t  double back and elude them,  disappearing into  London  again. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eBut Wrexham  seemed  to be oblivious,   as if he no longer  even considered the possibility of being followed. He appeared completely carefree, and Pitt had to remind  himself  that Wrexham had followed a man  in the East  End  only  hours  ago, then  quite  deliberately  cut his throat  and watched him bleed to death on the  stones  of a deserted brickyard. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“God, he’s a cold-blooded  bastard!” he said with  sudden fury. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eA man in pin-striped  trousers  on the seat opposite put down his newspaper  and  stared  at  Pitt  with distaste,  then rattled  his paper loudly  and resumed reading. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eGower  smiled.  “Quite,”  he  said  quietly.   “We had  best  be extremely  careful.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eOne or the  other  of them  got out  briefly  at every stop, just to make certain  Wrexham did not leave this train, but he stayed until they finally pulled in at Southampton. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eGower looked at Pitt, puzzled. “What can he do in Southampton?” he said. They  hurried along the platform to keep pace with Wrexham, then past the ticket  collector and out into  the street. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eThe answer was not long in coming. Wrexham took an omnibus directly  toward the docks, and Pitt and Gower  had to race to jump onto the step just  as it pulled  away. Pitt almost  bumped into Wrexham, who  was still  standing.  Deliberately   he  looked  away from Gower. They must  be more careful. Neither of them was particularly notice- able alone. Gower  was fairly tall, lean, his hair  long and fair, but his features  were  a trifle bony,  stronger  than  average. An observant per- son would remember him. Pitt was taller,  perhaps less than graceful, and yet he moved easily,  comfortable with himself. His hair was dark and permanently  untidy.  One front  tooth was a little chipped, but visible only when he smiled. It was his steady, very  clear gray eyes that people did not  forget. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWrexham would  have to be extraordinarily preoccupied not to be aware of seeing them  in London, and now again here in Southampton, especially if they  were together. Accordingly,  Pitt moved on down the inside of the bus to stand well away from  Gower,  and pretended to be watching  the  streets  as they  passed, as if he were taking  careful note of his surroundings. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eAs he had at least half  expected, Wrexham went all the way to the dockside. Without speaking to Gower, Pitt followed well behind their quarry. He trusted that Gower was off to the side, as far out of view as possible. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eWrexham bought a ticket  on a ferry  to St. Malo,  across the channel on the  coast of France.  Pitt bought one as well.  He hoped fervently  that Gower had sufficient  money to get one too, but the only thing  worse than ending up alone in France, trying to follow Wrexham without  help, would be to lose the man altogether. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eHe boarded the  ferry,  a smallish steamship called the Laura, and remained within sight  of the gangplank. He needed to see if Gower came aboard, but more important  to make sure that Wrexham did not get off again. If Wrexham were aware of Pitt and Gower it would  be a simple  thing  to go ashore and hop the next  train  back to London. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt was leaning on the railing  with the sharp salt wind in his face when he heard footsteps behind him.  He swung around, then was annoyed with  himself  for betraying such obvious alarm. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eGower   was a yard  away, smiling. “Did you  think I was going  to push   you  over?” he  said  amusedly. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt swallowed  back his temper.  “Not this close  to the  shore,” he replied. “I’ll watch you more closely out in mid-channel!” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eGower  laughed. “Looks like a good decision,   sir. Following him this far could get us a real idea of who his contacts are in Europe. We might even find a clue  as to  what   they’re planning.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt doubted it, but it was all they  had left  now.  “Perhaps. But we mustn’t be seen together.  We’re lucky he hasn’t recognized us so far. He would have if he weren’t so abominably  arrogant.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eGower was suddenly very serious,  his fair  face grim. “I think what- ever he has planned is so important  his mind is completely  absorbed in it. He thought  he lost us in Ropemaker’s  Field. Don’t forget  we were in a totally separate carriage on the train.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“I know. But he must have seen us when we were chasing him.  He ran,”  Pitt  pointed  out. “I  wish at  least  one  of  us had  a  jacket   to change. But in April, at sea, without  them we’d  be even more conspicuous.” He  looked  at Gower’s coat.  They were not markedly different in size. Even if they  did no more than  exchange coats, it would alter both their appearances slightly. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eAs if reading this thought,   Gower  began to slip off his coat. He passed it over,  and took  Pitt’s from  his outstretched hand. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt put  on  Gower’s jacket. It was  a little tight  across the chest. With a rueful   smile   Gower  emptied the  pockets of Pitt’s jacket, \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ewhich   now  sat a little loosely on his shoulders. He passed over  the notebook, handkerchief, pencil, loose change, half  a dozen other  bits and pieces, then the wallet with  Pitt’s papers of identity and money. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt similarly passed over all Gower’s belongings. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eGower  gave a little salute. “See you  in St. Malo,” he said, turning on his heel and walking  away without  looking  back, a slight  swagger in his step. Then he stopped and turned  half toward Pitt, smiling. “I’d keep away from the railing if I were you, sir.” \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePitt raised his","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304726024421,"sku":"NP9780345510594","price":17.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345510594.jpg?v=1767742929","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/treason-at-lisson-grove-isbn-9780345510594","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}