The Angel Court Affair (Thomas Pitt 30) Read Online Free PDF Page A

was. His head and his back ached from the knotted muscles of being constantly expectant of violence. He watched Sofia Delacruz shake people’s hands, nod and smile as if she were utterly composed, and then when the last person had gone, turn to Ramon and walk slowly to the door, weariness at last acknowledged.
    Pitt turned away and his eye was caught by the light resting for a few moments on a mane of fair hair as a tall man moved with extraordinary elegance through the crowd. Many people made way for him, smiling, clearly recognising him. He acknowledged several of them with a nod, then continued on out through the doors, apparently too deep in thought to stop and speak.
    Pitt recognised him too. It was Dalton Teague, a gentleman about town, related to many of the great families of power, particularly that of Lord Salisbury, the Prime Minister. But the deference Pitt had seen here was to Teague the hero of the cricket field, who had outplayed almost every other sportsman of the age. The grace with which he moved was that of the athlete. The attention he commanded could never be bought, it could only be won.
    Pitt had no time to wonder what Teague was doing here. He had to check with all the policemen, and see that Sofia Delacruz left safely. It was another half-hour before he was able to speak briefly to Brundage, thank Drury and his men, then with a sigh of relief, go outside into the April night.
    The streetlamps were already lit, bright, comforting orbs like ornate jewels set in iron, stretching above the footpath. He was walking towards the main road to find a hansom to take him home when a man of middle height emerged from the shadow of the nearest building and fell into step beside him.
    ‘Evening, Commander,’ he said pleasantly. He had a rich voice, well-spoken and threaded by a warm humour. ‘You did well to contain that so unobtrusively.’
    ‘Thank you,’ Pitt said drily. He did not wish to enter into conversation with a stranger, even if it was civil, but there was something in the man’s tone that told him this was the beginning of the exchange, not the end.
    ‘My name is Frank Laurence.’ The man kept pace with Pitt, in spite of being three inches shorter.
    Pitt did not reply. Clearly Laurence knew who he was.
    ‘I’m a journalist with
The Times
,’ Laurence continued. ‘I find it very interesting that the Commander of Special Branch should be concerned with a visiting saint, as it were. Or do I overrate Sofia Delacruz’s holiness?’
    Pitt smiled in the darkness, in spite of his irritation. ‘I have no idea, Mr Laurence. I don’t know how you measure holiness. If that is what your newspaper wishes of you, you will need to acquire your help elsewhere.’ He increased his pace slightly.
    Laurence kept up with him without apparent effort.
    ‘I like your sense of humour, Mr Pitt, but I am afraid my editor will want something more from me than an estimate of holiness.’ He sounded as if the whole idea amused him. ‘Something more violent, you know? Scandal, attack, even the risk of murder.’
    Pitt stopped abruptly and faced Laurence. They were close to a streetlamp and he saw the man’s face clearly: he had regular features, and his slightly rounded, brown eyes were sharp and intelligent – at this moment bright with suppressed laughter.
    ‘Well, if you find any violence, Mr Laurence, I hope you will be kind enough to let me know,’ Pitt responded. ‘Beforehand would be good, even if it robs your story of some of its impact.’
    ‘Ah!’ Laurence said with pleasure. ‘I am sure that working with you is going to be less tedious than I had feared. Are you telling me that in your opinion there will be violence? She is a very unusual woman, isn’t she? I have always thought that the best saints, the real ones, would be troublesome. There’s nothing very holy about telling us all what we want to hear, is there? I think I could probably do that myself.’
    ‘I thought it was what you did