"That wasn't my idea, I told you. I told Mr. Greyforth it won't work. He'll be laughed at if he tries to insist."

After a pause Malcolm said, "It sounds as though you don't like him."

"I don't like or dislike him. I'm here to learn from him for a month and then take over when he retires next year. That's the plan--if I decide to join Brock's."

"You may have to take over sooner than you think." Malcolm's voice hardened. "Next Thursday--hopefully."

"You're set on having this duel?"

"Yes."

"May I ask the real reason?"

"He's gone out of his way to provoke me, surely at Brock's direction. It will be better for Struan's if he's removed."

"Will you try to remove me when I go against Struan's?"

"I will oppose you, compete with you, stop you if I can--I wouldn't want to fight you." Malcolm smiled a good smile. "This is a mad conversation, Mr. Gornt. It's mad to be so truthful and so open but we are and that's that. You said "revenge."

You're determined to have at us, because of what my grandfather supposedly did to Wilf Tillman?"

"Yes," Gornt said with a smile. "In due time."

"What about Jeff Cooper?"

The smile vanished. "Him too. In due time." Then, for a moment, Gornt's voice became thick with venom. "But that's not most of the revenge I seek. I want to destroy Morgan Brock, to do that I need your help ..." He burst out laughing. "My God, Mr.Struan, suh, sorry but if you could only see yourself."

"Morgan?" Malcolm spluttered.

"Yes." Gornt beamed. "I can't do it alone, I've got to have your help, that's ironic, isn't it?"

Malcolm groped to his feet and shook himself like a dog and stretched and sat down again, his heart in overdrive. He poured another glass and spilled some on his desk and quaffed it and all the time Gornt watched and waited, pleased with the effect his words had had. It took Malcolm a little time to respond. "Morgan? For God's sake why?"

"Because he seduced my mother when she was fifteen and ruined her life and abandoned her. In the Bible it says killing your father, patricide, is an unholy deed--my mama made me swear I'd not do it when she told me the truth of my parentage on her deathbed. So I'm not going to kill him, just ruin him." The words were said flatly, without emotion. "To do that I need Struan's."

Malcolm took a deep breath and shook his head again. None of this made sense to him though he believed it all--even Dirk Struan's behavior. Ayeeyah, so much to learn, he thought, and listened intently as Gornt continued, saying that Morgan was twenty at the time, apprenticed to Rothwell's and living in their countinghouse-residence, so it was easy for him to sneak into her bedroom: "At fifteen what would such a girl know, the classic Southern belle, nurtured like a rare plant? When Rothwell found out, he fired him, of course, but Old Man Tyler Brock laughed and quietly and secretly bought a controlling interest in the firm an--"

Malcolm was shocked. "Brock controls Rothwell's?"

"He did, for a time, just enough to fire Rothwell and all their directors and appoint new ones.

When Jeff Cooper found out, he had enough clout to force Old Man Brock to make it a hands-off deal, fifty-fifty. In return Jeff would run the company and keep it secret, particularly from Struan's. The deal's still in effect."

"Does Dmitri know?"

"No. Nor Mr. Greyforth, I stumbled on the details when I was in London."

Malcolm's mind was working hard. Struan's had been involved with Rothwell's over the years but no one had ever said they had been poorly treated, or cheated. Then something Gornt had said ran to the front of his mind. "Does Morgan know you know about him?"

"I wrote to him in London when Mama died. He replied it was all news to him and denied it, but telling me if ever I was in London to come to see him. I did. Again he denied it. Nothing to do with him, he told me, he'd been blamed for the mischief of some other apprentice, nothing to do with him. I was destitute at that time so he found me a job of sorts, then helped me get into Rothwell's." Gornt sighed. "Mama told me when Morgan had been confronted by Rothwell he had said that he would "marry the slut if her dowry be ten thousand nicker a year."" A shudder took him though his face did not change, nor the flatness of his voice. "I could forgive Morgan everything, maybe, but never that, never "the slut." That's in writing from Rothwell, he's dead now but his letter isn't. Thanks for listening." He got up and stretched and started for the door.

"Wait," Malcolm said, startled, "you can't finish there!"

"I don't intend to, Mr. Struan, but this sort of talk, confession is perhaps a better word, is good for the soul but exhausting. Also I can't spend too much time here or Mr. Greyforth might be suspicious. I'll arrange about the pistols, and about shooting from twenty paces, then come back."

"Wait a minute for God's sake! What help do you need? Why should I help you anyway?

What do you want from me?"

"Not much actually--you can kill Norbert Greyforth, but that's not essential," Gornt said with a laugh, then again became serious. "More important is what I can do for you. Before the end of January, the Brocks will crush Struan's, but that you already know, or should. I can stop them, for a price. As God is my witness, I can give you information that can turn their genius against themselves, to destroy Brock's forever."

Malcolm felt his heart turn over. If he could get Struan's off that barb his mother would concede whatever he wanted. He knew her too well. She'll give me anything I want, anything, he shouted silently, if I want her to become Catholic she'd even do that!

Whatever the cost, he knew he would pay it, and pay gladly. "The price--apart from revenge?"

"When I come back."

Malcolm waited all day but the stranger did not return. It did not worry him. That night he dined alone. Angelique had said she was tired, too many parties and late nights and an early night would do her good. "So, my darling Malcolm, I shall just eat a snack in my room and do my hair and then into dream time. Tonight I love you and leave you... you are abandoned." He did not mind. His brain brimmed with so much hope that he was afraid if she had stayed he would have to confide in her--and when Jamie dropped by early evening he had to stop himself blurting out the fantastic news.

"Heavenly found an answer?" Jamie asked.

"No, good Lord no, not yet. Why?"

"You seem so, so... as though the weight of the world has fallen off you. Haven't seen you looking so good in weeks. But you have had good news?"

Malcolm grinned. "Perhaps I've turned a corner and am really getting better."

"Hope so. Your accident on top of everything else... I just don't know how you do it. With all that's happened in the last few weeks, I'm truly tired, and that fellow Gornt's the last straw. Something about him frightens me."

"How so?"

"Don't know, just a feeling.

Maybe he's not as harmless as he seems."

Jamie hesitated. "Do you have a minute to chat?"

"Of course, sit down. Brandy? Help yourself."

"Thanks." Jamie poured a small measure from the sideboard then pulled the other, high-backed armchair beside the fire opposite him. The curtains were drawn against the night, the suite cozy. Nice smell of wood smoke and the sound of ship's bells from the fleet in the bay also comforting. "A couple of things: One way or another I want to go back to Hong Kong for a couple of days--before Christmas."

"To see Mother?"

Jamie nodded and sipped his brandy. "I'd like to be on Prancing Cloud. She'll dock ... why the smile?"

"You're one jump ahead of me. I was planning to be aboard her too."

Jamie blinked, then smiled seraphically.

"You've changed your mind and you're going to do what she says?"