desk was old, the wood gleaming like satin.
“Good morning, Commander,” Blantyre said with interest, holding out his hand.
“Good morning, sir,” Pitt replied, accepting the greeting. “I appreciate your taking the time to see me so quickly. It may prove to be nothing of importance, but I can’t let this matter go until I know for sure.”
“Quite right,” Blantyre said. “Although I must say from the little you told my secretary, it all seemed rather coincidental, no real reason to suspect that any foreign visitor is the focus of an attack, if indeed an attack is even being planned.” He indicated the chairs near the fire and they sat down opposite each other.
“It is probably nothing,” Pitt agreed. “But a lot of issues start out as a whisper, one coincidence, and then another too soon after it, people showing an unexplained interest in something that appears to be harmless, but then isn’t.”
Blantyre smiled ruefully, curiosity lighting his face. “Well, how the devil do you know which coincidences matter? Is there an intellectual formula for it, or is it instinct, a particular skill?” His eyes were steady and bright. “Or something only experience can teach you, and perhaps one or two very near misses?”
Pitt shrugged. “I’m tempted sometimes to think there’s a hell of a lot of luck in it, but I suppose to call it luck is just a different way of saying that it requires constant observation and the need to run down everything that strikes a jarring note.” He smiled. “And, as you say, one or two close shaves.”
Blantyre nodded. “In other words, paying attention to detail, and a lot of damned hard work. Tell me more about exactly what alarms you in these particular inquiries. Do you really think this is about some intended violence? Against whom, for God’s sake? And if Duke Alois really is the target, why here? It sounds unlikely to me, conspirators setting up an attack in a foreign country. It would require them to go into a place where they have no network of friends nor many sympathizers. Every man’s hand would be against them.”
“True,” Pitt conceded. “But they would also be unknown to the general public. Fewer people here to recognize or betray them. And there is the other possibility.”
Blantyre frowned. “What’s that?”
“That they don’t intend to escape. If they feel passionately enough about their cause, they may be prepared to sacrifice their own lives in the process.”
Blantyre looked down at the worn pattern of the carpet. “I hadn’tthought of that,” he said grimly. “Of course, men do such things—and women too, I suppose. Patriots, misguided or not, come in all forms. Martyrs as well.” He looked up at Pitt again. “I still don’t find it very likely. That sort of great sacrifice isn’t something you offer in order to kill a nonentity. In sheer practical terms, the world doesn’t take enough notice.” He pulled his mouth into a bitter smile, and then let it fade. “Tell me exactly what you’ve found, and I’ll do all I can to learn if it’s part of a greater plot. God knows, the last thing we need is some Austro-Hungarian duke blown to bits on our front doorstep.”
Pitt told him the core of what he had gathered from Stoker’s reports, and added the further information he had received since then. As he spoke he watched Blantyre’s expression grow darker and more troubled.
“Yes, I see,” Blantyre said as soon as Pitt had stopped speaking. He sat pensively, with his strong hands held so the fingertips touched. “If there were substance to it, it would be appalling. But how seriously have you considered that it is a wretched string of coincidences making a few unconnected inquiries look sinister, when in fact they are not at all? Or else—and this seems more likely to me—someone deliberately concocting this stuff to take your attention away from something else that
is
serious, and far more relevant?” Blantyre raised his
“Good morning, Commander,” Blantyre said with interest, holding out his hand.
“Good morning, sir,” Pitt replied, accepting the greeting. “I appreciate your taking the time to see me so quickly. It may prove to be nothing of importance, but I can’t let this matter go until I know for sure.”
“Quite right,” Blantyre said. “Although I must say from the little you told my secretary, it all seemed rather coincidental, no real reason to suspect that any foreign visitor is the focus of an attack, if indeed an attack is even being planned.” He indicated the chairs near the fire and they sat down opposite each other.
“It is probably nothing,” Pitt agreed. “But a lot of issues start out as a whisper, one coincidence, and then another too soon after it, people showing an unexplained interest in something that appears to be harmless, but then isn’t.”
Blantyre smiled ruefully, curiosity lighting his face. “Well, how the devil do you know which coincidences matter? Is there an intellectual formula for it, or is it instinct, a particular skill?” His eyes were steady and bright. “Or something only experience can teach you, and perhaps one or two very near misses?”
Pitt shrugged. “I’m tempted sometimes to think there’s a hell of a lot of luck in it, but I suppose to call it luck is just a different way of saying that it requires constant observation and the need to run down everything that strikes a jarring note.” He smiled. “And, as you say, one or two close shaves.”
Blantyre nodded. “In other words, paying attention to detail, and a lot of damned hard work. Tell me more about exactly what alarms you in these particular inquiries. Do you really think this is about some intended violence? Against whom, for God’s sake? And if Duke Alois really is the target, why here? It sounds unlikely to me, conspirators setting up an attack in a foreign country. It would require them to go into a place where they have no network of friends nor many sympathizers. Every man’s hand would be against them.”
“True,” Pitt conceded. “But they would also be unknown to the general public. Fewer people here to recognize or betray them. And there is the other possibility.”
Blantyre frowned. “What’s that?”
“That they don’t intend to escape. If they feel passionately enough about their cause, they may be prepared to sacrifice their own lives in the process.”
Blantyre looked down at the worn pattern of the carpet. “I hadn’tthought of that,” he said grimly. “Of course, men do such things—and women too, I suppose. Patriots, misguided or not, come in all forms. Martyrs as well.” He looked up at Pitt again. “I still don’t find it very likely. That sort of great sacrifice isn’t something you offer in order to kill a nonentity. In sheer practical terms, the world doesn’t take enough notice.” He pulled his mouth into a bitter smile, and then let it fade. “Tell me exactly what you’ve found, and I’ll do all I can to learn if it’s part of a greater plot. God knows, the last thing we need is some Austro-Hungarian duke blown to bits on our front doorstep.”
Pitt told him the core of what he had gathered from Stoker’s reports, and added the further information he had received since then. As he spoke he watched Blantyre’s expression grow darker and more troubled.
“Yes, I see,” Blantyre said as soon as Pitt had stopped speaking. He sat pensively, with his strong hands held so the fingertips touched. “If there were substance to it, it would be appalling. But how seriously have you considered that it is a wretched string of coincidences making a few unconnected inquiries look sinister, when in fact they are not at all? Or else—and this seems more likely to me—someone deliberately concocting this stuff to take your attention away from something else that
is
serious, and far more relevant?” Blantyre raised his
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