Betrayal at Lisson Grove by Anne Perry

know.’ He interlaced his fingers and looked down at them a moment, then up again quickly. ‘Mulhare’s death has raised some ugly questions, which I’m afraid have to be answered.’
    Narraway was surprised. He had not realised it had already gone as far as Croxdale, and before he had even had a chance to look into it more deeply, and prove his own innocence. Was that Austwick’s doing again? Damn the man.
    ‘They will be,’ he said now to Croxdale. ‘I kept certain movements of the funds secret to protect Mulhare. His enemies would have killed him instantly if they’d known he received English money.’
    ‘Isn’t that rather what happened?’ Croxdale asked ruefully.
    Narraway thought for a moment of denying it. Special Branch knew who had killed Mulhare, but it was only proof they lacked; the deduction was certain in his own mind. But he did not need another moral evasion. His life was too full of shadows. He would not allow Croxdale to provoke him into another. ‘Yes.’
    ‘We failed him, Narraway,’ Croxdale said sadly.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘How did that happen?’ Croxdale pressed.
    ‘He was betrayed.’
    ‘By whom?’
    ‘I don’t know. When this socialist threat is dealt with, I shall find out, if I can.’
    ‘If you can,’ Croxdale said gently. ‘Do you doubt it? You have no idea who it was here in London?’
    ‘No, I haven’t.’
    ‘But you used the word “betrayed”,’ Croxdale persisted. ‘I think advisedly so. Does that not concern you urgently, Narraway? Whom can you trust, in any Irish issue? Of which, God knows, there are more than enough.’
    ‘The European socialist revolutionaries are our most urgent concern now, sir.’ Narraway also leaned forward. ‘There is a high degree of violence threatened. Men like Linsky, Meister, la Pointe, Corazath, are all quick to use guns and dynamite. Their philosophy is that a few deaths are the price they have to pay for the greater freedom and equality of the people. As long, of course, as the deaths are not their own,’ he added drily.
    ‘Does that take precedence over treachery within your own people?’ Croxdale asked with quiet, tense amazement. He left it hanging in the air between them, a question that demanded answering.
    Narraway had seen the death of Mulhare as tragic, but less urgent than the threat of revolution. He knew how he had guarded the provenance of the money, knowing those of whom Mulhare was afraid. He did not know how someone had made the funds return to Narraway’s own personal account. Above all, he did not know who was responsible, or whether it was incompetence or deliberately done in order to make him look a thief.
    ‘I’m not yet certain it was betrayal, sir. Perhaps I used the word hastily.’ He kept his voice as level as he could; still, he heard a certain roughness to it. He hoped Croxdale’s less sensitive ear did not catch it.
    Croxdale was staring at him. ‘As opposed to what?’
    ‘Incompetence,’ Narraway replied. ‘We covered the tracks of the transfers very carefully, so no one in Ireland would be able to trace the money back to us. We made it seem like legitimate purchases all the way.’
    ‘Or at least you thought so,’ Croxdale amended. ‘But Mulhare was still killed. Where is the money now?’
    Narraway had hoped to avoid telling him, but perhaps it had always been inevitable that Croxdale would have to know. Maybe he did, and this was a trap. ‘Austwick told me it was back in an account I have ceased using,’ he replied. ‘I don’t know who moved it, but I shall find out.’
    Croxdale was silent for several moments. ‘Yes, please do, and with indisputable proof, of course. Quickly, Narraway. We need your skills on this wretched socialist business. It seems the threat is real.’
    ‘I’ll look into the money as soon as we have learned what West’s killers are planning, and prevented it,’ Narraway answered with a chill inside him. ‘With a little luck, we’ll even catch some of them