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responsibility. It gave him a sharp jolt. There were scores of possibilities, a few of them serious. There had been a considerable rise in political power of left-wing movements in Britain recently. They were very tame compared with the violence of their European counterparts, but that did not mean they would remain that way. James Keir Hardie had stood for Parliament in Scotland, and lost, but three years ago he had stood for a working-class district just outside London, and become the Independent Labour Party’s first elected member. Pitt had never met him, but Charlotte’s brother-in-law was a member of Parliament, and he had said Keir Hardie was a remarkably decent man, just possessed of a few political notions Jack did not agree with.
    Gower was still staring at Pitt, waiting, his face puzzled and keen.
    ‘I think a concerted effort to bring about change would be more likely,’ Pitt said slowly, weighing the words as he spoke.
    ‘Change?’ Gower said quizzically. ‘Is that a euphemism for overthrowing the government?’
    ‘Yes, perhaps it is,’ Pitt agreed, realising how afraid he was as he said it. ‘An end to hereditary privilege, and the power that goes with it.’
    ‘Dynamiters?’ Gower’s voice was a whisper, the amusement completely vanished. ‘Another blowing up, like the Gunpowder Plot of the early 1600s?’
    ‘I can’t see that working,’ Pitt replied. ‘It would rally everyone against them.We don’t like to be pushed. They’ll need to be a lot cleverer than that.’
    Gower swallowed hard. ‘What, then?’ he said quietly.
    ‘Something to destroy that power permanently. A change so fundamental it can’t be undone.’ As he said the words they frightened him. Something violent and alien waited ahead of them. Perhaps they were the only ones who could prevent it.
    Gower let out his breath in a sigh. He looked pale. Pitt watched his face, obliquely, as if he were still more absorbed in enjoying the sun, thinking of swivelling round to watch the sailing boats in the harbour again. They would have to rely on each other totally. It was going to be a long, tedious job. They dare not miss anything. The slightest clue could matter. They would be cold at night, possibly hungry or uncomfortable. Always tired. Above all, they must not look suspicious. He was glad he liked Gower’s humour, his lightness of touch.There were many men in Special Branch he would have found it much harder to be with.
    ‘That’s Linsky now, coming out of the door!’ Gower stiffened, and then deliberately forced his body to relax, as if this sharp-nosed man with the sloping forehead and stringy hair were of no more interest than the baker, the postman, or another tourist.
    Pitt straightened up, put his hands in his pockets quite casually, going down the steps to the square after him.

Chapter Two

    In the early evening of the day that Pitt and Gower had followed Wrexham to Southampton, Victor Narraway was sitting in his office at Lisson Grove. There was a knock on his door, and, as soon as he answered, one of his more junior men came in.
    ‘Yes?’ Narraway said with a touch of impatience. He was waiting for Pitt to report on the information from West, and he was late. Narraway had no wish to speak to Stoker now.
    Stoker closed the door behind him and came to stand in front of Narraway’s desk. His lean face, with its high-bridged nose, was unusually serious. ‘Sir, there was a murder in a brickyard off Cable Road in Shadwell in the middle of the day—’
    ‘Are you sure I care about this, Stoker?’ Narraway interrupted.
    ‘Yes, sir,’ Stoker said without hesitation. ‘The victim had his throat cut, and the man who did it was caught almost in the act, knife still in his hand. He was chased by two men who seem to have followed him to Limehouse, according to the investigation by the local police. Then—’
    Narraway interrupted him again impatiently. ‘Stoker, I’m waiting for information about a major attack of