“I hope that events may prove that it was a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” said Lord Darcy. Then, shifting, “But you have guests, my lord. Shall we continue in Anglo-French?”

“Of course,” said Sidi al-Nasir. He glanced at Lord Ashley. “So it was all a trap then?”

Lord Ashley nodded. “All a trap, my dear al-Nasir.”

“A poor one, I think,” said Sidi al-Nasir with a smile. “Poorly planned and poorly executed.” He chuckled softly. “I need not even deny the truth.”

“Well, we shall see,” said Lord Darcy. “What is the truth?”

Sidi al-Nasir’s smile did not vanish. He merely looked at Commander Lord Ashley.

Lord Ashley gave him one glance and then looked up at Lord Darcy with a smile. “Sorry to have pulled this on you. Didn’t know you’d be here. We have long suspected that the Manzana de Oro was the headquarters of a spy ring working for His Slavonic Majesty. In order to prove our case I ran up a debt here of…” He looked at Sidi al-Nasir.

The Moor, still smiling, sighed. “Of some one hundred and fifty golden sovereigns, my lord. More than you could earn in a year.”

Lord Ashley nodded calmly. “Exactly. And tonight you offered me two alternatives. You would either report my debt to the Admiralty, in which case — so you assumed — I would be ruined, or I could become a spy for His Slavonic Majesty.”

Sidi al-Nasir’s smile broadened. “That was why I said the trap was poorly laid, My Lord Commander. I deny that I made you any such offer, and you have no witnesses to prove it.”

Lord Darcy, still holding his pistol level, allowed a smile to come over his own face. “My Lord al-Nasir,” he said, “for your information, I shall say that I am quite confident that you have just made such an offer to my lord the Commander.”

Sidi al-Nasir showed his white teeth in a broad smile. “Ah, my lord, you may be certain.” He laughed. “Perhaps even I am certain, no? And of course Commander Lord Ashley is certain. But” — he spread his hands — “is this evidence? Would it stand up in court?” He looked suddenly very sad. “Ah, you might, of course, deport me. The evidence of My Lord Ashley may be strong enough for that. There is, certainly, enough suspicion here to force me to return to my native Spain. I must close down the Manzana de Oro. What a pity it will be to leave the chill and fog of London for the warmth, the color, the beauty of Granada…” Then he directed his smile at Lord Darcy. “But I am afraid that you cannot imprison me.”

“As to that,” said Lord Darcy, “possibly you are right. But we shall see.”

“Is it necessary, my lord, that you keep the muzzle of that weapon pointing at me?” said Sidi al-Nasir. “I find it distinctly ungentlemanly.”

“Of course, my lord,” said Lord Darcy, not deviating the aim of his weapon one iota. “If you would be so good as to remove — no! no!… not just the gun… the whole drawer from your desk. There may be more than one gun in it.”

Sidi al-Nasir very carefully pulled out the drawer and placed it on the desk top. “Only one, my lord, and I shouldn’t think of touching it in your presence.”

Lord Darcy looked at the weapon that lay by itself in the drawer. “Ah,” he said, “a Toledo .39. A very good weapon, my lord. I shall see to it that it is returned to you, if the law so allows.”

The Sidi al-Nasir’s obsidian eyes suddenly flickered as his gaze moved across Lord Darcy’s face. In that instant he realized that Darcy’s information covered a great deal more territory than a mere suspicion of espionage. The Sidi knew that this trap was more dangerous than it had at first appeared.

“It is possible, my lord,” he said smoothly, “that Lord Ashley’s losses were due to the machinations of a certain Master Sorcerer, whom I have decided to release from my employ. The Commander’s winnings up until a short time ago were considerable. The Master Sorcerer of whom I spoke may have decided to correct that. If so, of course, I am not personally responsible…”

“Ah,” said Lord Darcy. “So Commander Lord Ashley’s slight precognitive ability was overcome by Master Ewen.” He addressed the Commander without taking his eyes off Sidi al-Nasir. “What did you usually play, Ashley?”

“Rouge-et-Or,” said the Commander.

“I see. Then the precognition would be of little use at that game if a Master Sorcerer were working against you. If you made a bet on any given number, the sorcerer could almost always make certain that the little ivory ball did not land in the proper slot — even if he were operating from another room.”

His eyes gazed directly at those of Sidi al-Nasir. “A deliberate plot, then,” he said. “You tried to enlist the Commander by having your sorcerer force the game to go against him.”

“We suspected something of the sort,” Lord Ashley said cheerfully, “so we decided to let Sidi al-Nasir run it as he would and see what developed.”

The Sidi al-Nasir shrugged, still keeping his hands well above the table. “Whatever may have happened,” he said, “I assure you that this sorcerer is no longer in my employ. However, my information leads me to believe that you are rather eager to locate him. It is possible I may be of some assistance to you in your search. I might be in a position to inform you as to Master Ewen’s present whereabouts. After all, we are all of us reasonable men, are we not?”

“I am afraid your information is superfluous, my lord…” Lord Darcy began.

At that point the door of the office was flung open and Lord John Quetzal burst in. “Look out! He’s moving! He knows he’s being betrayed!” he shouted.

Even as he spoke, the rear door was swinging open. Master Ewen MacAlister ran out, heading for the door that led to freedom. Only Lord John Quetzal stood between him and that door. The black sorcerer gestured with one hand toward the young Mechicain.

Lord John Quetzal threw up his hand to ward off the spell that had been cast, but his journeyman’s powers were not the equal of those of a Master. His own shielding spell softened the blow, but could not completely stop it. He staggered and fell to his knees. He did not collapse, but his eyes glazed over and he remained in his kneeling position, unmoving.

But his moment of resistance, slight though it was, was enough to slow Master Ewen’s flight. The bogus Prince of Vladistov was already in action. Master Sean O Lochlainn ripped off his false beard and allowed his eyeglass to drop to the floor.

Lord Darcy did not move. It took every ounce of his self-control to keep his pistol fixed firmly on the Sidi al-Nasir. The Moor also remained motionless. He did not even glance away from the muzzle of Lord Darcy’s pistol.

The black sorcerer spun around to face Master Sean and gestured with one hand, describing an intricate symbol in the air with a flourish of his fingers, his features contorted in a strained grimace.

Lord Darcy and everyone else in the room felt the psychic blast of that hastily conjured spell. Master Ewen’s hours in hiding had obviously been spent in conjuring up the spells he would need to defend himself when the time came.

Master Sean O Lochlainn, toward whom the spell was directed, seemed to freeze for perhaps half a second. But he, too, had prepared himself, and he had the further advantage of having known the identity of his prey, while Master Ewen had no way of knowing — except by conjecture — who would come after him.

Master Sean’s hand moved, creating a symbol in the air.

Master Ewen blinked, gritted his teeth and, from somewhere beneath his cloak, drew a long white wand.

No one else in the room, not even Lord Darcy, could move. They held their positions partly because of the psychic tension in the air around them, partly because they wanted to see the outcome of this duel between two master magicians, but primarily because the undirected corona effects of the spells themselves held them enthralled.