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had hired it. They inched past Northampton Street, Bedford Street, King William Street, and Duncannon Street right to Charing Cross. Everyone was in a hurry and determined to have the right-of-way. Drivers were shouting at each other. A brougham and a hearse had apparently got their wheels locked and were causing a major obstruction. Two youths with a dray were calling out advice, and a costermonger was having a quarrel with a pie seller.
    It was fifteen minutes before Pitt’s cab finally turned leftinto Whitehall and made its way towards Downing Street, and when it stopped, the duty constable approached to see what they wanted.
    “Superintendent Pitt, going to the Colonial Office,” Pitt told him, producing his card.
    The cabdriver opened his eyes with interest.
    “Yes sir.” The constable saluted smartly and stood rather more to attention. “Didn’t recognize you, sir.”
    Pitt paid the driver and turned to go up the steps, aware that he was a good deal less than smart, and certainly not attired like one of the officials and diplomats. In their cutaway coats, winged collars and striped trousers, they passed him on either side, carrying their furled umbrellas, although it was a fine May Day morning.
    “Yes sir?” a young man enquired of him almost as soon as he came inside the building. “May I help you, sir?”
    Pitt produced his card again as verification of his rank, which he admitted his appearance lacked. As always his hair was too long and curled untidily over his collar and from under his hat. His jacket was actually quite well cut, but his habit of poking all manner of things into the pockets had pushed it out of shape, and certainly his collar was not stiff, nor was it winged. His tie was something of an afterthought, and looked it.
    “Yes, please,” he replied immediately. “I have a confidential matter to discuss with the most senior official available.”
    “I’ll make an appointment for you, sir,” the young man replied smoothly. “Would the day after tomorrow be suitable to you? Mr. Aylmer should be available then, and I’m sure he will be happy to see you. He is Mr. Chancellor’s immediate junior, and a very knowledgeable person.”
    Pitt knew the name of Linus Chancellor, Secretary of State for Colonial Affairs, as did every other man in London. He was one of the most brilliant of rising politicians, and it was held by many that one day he would lead the government.
    “No, it would not,” he said levelly, meeting the young man’s eyes, and seeing a look of startled affront in them. “The matter is extremely urgent and must be attended to at the earliest moment possible. It is also confidential, so I cannot detail it to you. I have come at the request of the Foreign Office. If you wish to check with Lord Salisbury, you may do so. I shall wait for Mr. Chancellor.”
    The young man swallowed, uncertain now what he should do. He looked at Pitt with dislike.
    “Yes sir, I shall inform Mr. Chancellor’s office, and bring you his reply.” He looked back at Pitt’s card again, then disappeared upstairs.
    It was nearly a quarter of an hour before he returned, and Pitt was beginning to find the waiting onerous.
    “If you care to come this way, sir,” the young man said coolly. He turned on his heel, leading the way back up again, knocking at the mahogany door and then standing aside to allow Pitt through.
    Linus Chancellor was in his early forties, a dynamic man with a high forehead and dark hair which swept off his brow, showing a strong, jutting nose, wide mouth full of humor, volatility and a powerful will. He was a man to whom charm came easily, almost without conscious effort, and his natural fluency enabled him to say what other men struggled for and often missed. He was slender, of a good height and immaculately dressed.
    “Good morning, Superintendent Pitt.” He rose from his seat behind a magnificent desk and offered his hand. When Pitt took it, his grip was firm and strong. “I