The general manager looked haggard. Except for the dark pouches beneath his eyes, his saggy face looked pale and sallow, as though the folds and bags of translucent skin that made up his face were filled with soft suet instead of flesh. His smile seemed genuine, but it was as tired as the rest of him.

“Good afternoon, your lordships,” he said. “How may I help you?”

Lord Bontriomphe introduced Lord Darcy, and then explained their need for a temporary headquarters.

“I think… yes, we have just the thing,” said the manager after a moment’s thought. “I can put you in the night manager’s office. He can double up with the afternoon manager if… uh… when he comes back to work. I’ll clean out his desk and… uh… put his stuff in the other office. It’s a fairly good-sized office — just a little smaller than this one. Will that do?”

“We’d like to take a look at it, if we may,” said Bontriomphe.

“Certainly. If your lordships will come this way—”

He led them to a corridor that ran from the lobby to the rear of the building, just to one side of the registration desk. There were two doors leading off it to the right, just a few yards from the lobby. Further back, more doors led off on either side. Goodman Lewie opened the second of the two doors.

The first one is the afternoon manager’s office,” he explained. “This is what I had in mind, your lordships.” He waved his hand in a gesture that took in the fifteen-by-fifteen room.

“It looks fine to me,” said Lord Bontriomphe. “What do you think, Darcy?”

“Perfectly satisfactory, I should say.” He looked down the corridor toward the rear of the building. “Where does this corridor lead, Goodman Lewie?”

“Those are the service rooms back there, your lordship. Lumber rooms, furniture repair workshop, laundry, janitors’ supplies — that sort of thing. The door at the far end is the back entrance. It opens into Potsmoke Alley, which is an extension of Upper Swandham Lane.”

“Can it be opened from the outside?”

“Only with a key. It has a night lock on it. Anyone could go out, but one needs a key to get back in.”

“I have an idea,” said Lord Bontriomphe. “We can station an Armsman back there to make sure no unauthorized person comes in, then we’ll unlock the door. That way, the Armsmen can come and go as necessary without tromping through your lobby and disturbing your guests. Would that be all right?”

“Of course, your lordship!”

“Good. I’ll have a Sergeant-at-Arms down here to take charge of the office.”

“Very well, your lordship. I’ll have the desk cleared out. Will there be anything else?”

“Yes,” said Lord Darcy. “One other thing. Yesterday, the hotel was closed to all except members of the Healers’ and Sorcerers’ Convention, was it not?”

“And their guests, yes. Only those who had business here were allowed in. The doormen had explicit orders about that.”

“I see. Is any record kept?”

“Oh, yes. There is a register book kept at the door at all times. Not today, of course, since this is Visitor’s Day, but during those times when the Convention is closed.”

“I should like to see it, if I may,” Lord Darcy said.

“You certainly may, your lordship. Shall we return to my office? I’ll fetch the register book for you.”

A minute or so later, the three men were looking at a clothbound register book which lay open on Bolmer’s desk.

“That’s the page for Wednesday,” Lewie Bolmer said. “From midnight to midnight.”

Lord Darcy and Lord Bontriomphe looked down the list. There were four columns, marked Time Arrived, Name, Business, and Time Departed.

There were not many entries; the first one was for half past six, when a man from the Royal Postal Service had delivered the mail; he had left again at 6:35. At twelve minutes of nine Commander Lord Ashley had arrived, giving as his business “Official message for Master Sorcerer Sean O Lochlainn.” He had left at 9:55. At two minutes after nine, Lord Bontriomphe had come in, on “Personal business of the Marquis de London.” No time of departure was noted. The next entry was for 9:51. It simply said “Chief Master-at-Arms Hennely Grayme, and four Men-at-Arms. On the King’s Business.”

“No help there,” said Lord Bontriomphe. “But then, I didn’t expect there would be.”

Lord Darcy grinned. “What kind of entry were you expecting? ‘9:20 a.m.; Master Sorcerer Lucifer S. Beelzebub. Business: To murder Master Sir James Zwinge. Exit time: 9:31’ I suppose?”

“That would have been helpful,” admitted Lord Bontriomphe.

“I notice there’s no exit time down for you or for the Armsmen.” He looked up at Goodman Lewie. “Why is that?”

The hotel manager was stifling a yawn. “Eh? What, your lordship? The time of leaving? Well, there were so many Armsmen in and out that I simply gave the doormen orders to allow any Officer of the King’s Peace to come and go as he pleased.” He stifled another yawn. “Pardon me. Lack of sleep. My night manager, who has the midnight-to-nine shift, didn’t show up for work last night, so I had to take over.”

“Perfectly all right,” said Lord Darcy, still looking at the register book. There were more entries in the afternoon, mostly merchants and manufacturers who used sorcery or employed sorcerers in the course of their business. One entry caught his eye.

“What’s this?” he said, tapping it with his finger.

Lord Bontriomphe read it aloud: “ ‘2:54; Commander Lord Ashley; official business with Manager Bolmer.’ No exit time marked.”

“Wuh… well, your lordships, there were several Navy men in and out. Official business, you know.”

“Official business? Why did they want to talk to you?” Darcy asked.

“Not to me. To… to Paul Nichols, my night manager.”

“About what?”

“I… I’m not at liberty to say, your lordship. Strict instructions from the Admiralty. In the King’s Name.”

“I see,” said Lord Darcy in a hard voice. “Thank you, Goodman Lewie. There will be a Sergeant-at-Arms around later to take over that office. Come on, Bontriomphe.” He turned and strode out of the office, with Lord Bontriomphe at his heels.

They were halfway across the lobby, threading their way through the crowded exhibits, before Lord Bontriomphe spoke. “Do I detect blood in your eye?”

“Damn right you do,” snapped Darcy. “How far is the Admiralty Office from here?”

“Ten minutes if we walk, or we can take the coach and get there in three.”

“The coach, by all means,” said Lord Darcy.

Barney, the footman, was standing near the coach, which was drawn up alongside the curb a few yards from the front door of the Royal Steward.

“Barney,” Lord Bontriomphe shouted. “Where’s Denys?”

“Still in the pub, my lord,” the footman called back.

“Get ready to go, I’ll fetch him.” He ran across the street to the pub and was out again thirty seconds later with the coachman running alongside him.

“To the Admiralty Office!” Lord Bontriomphe ordered as Denys climbed into his seat. “As fast as you can.” He climbed inside with Lord Darcy.

“So Smollett is holding out on us,” he said, as the coach started forward with a jerk.

“He knows something we don’t, that’s for certain,” said Lord Darcy.

“Keep in mind that those orders to keep quiet were given to Bolmer yesterday, before the King ordered us to work together.”

“True,” said Lord Darcy, “but considering the fact that the Navy is all in a pother about a man who has suddenly turned up missing, and that Goodman Lewie Bolmer shows by his behavior that he is convinced that his night manager will not return, doesn’t it seem odd to you that neither Smollett nor Ashley mentioned it to us this morning?”

“More than odd,” Lord Bontriomphe agreed. “That’s what I said: Smollett is holding out on us. You want to hold him while I poke him in the eye, or the other way around?”

“Neither,” said Lord Darcy. “We’ll each take an arm and twist.”