Without a word, the Marquis de London handed Lord Darcy a pale blue envelope.

Lord Darcy looked at it. “This is postmarked Cherbourg. Tuesday October 25, is marked as the posting date, and it is marked as having been received on Wednesday morning, the 26th. It is addressed to Sir James Zwinge.”

He turned back toward the group, and noted with approval that Chief Master-at-Arms Hennely Grayme had moved up directly behind one man.

“There was one peculiarity about these communications,” he continued blandly. “Master Sir James had given to his agents special paper and ink, a special blue sealing wax, and a special seal. These had been magically treated so that unless the envelope was opened by either Master Sir James himself or by Captain Smollett, the paper within would be blank. Am I correct, Captain Smollett?”

“Yes, m’lud.”

Lord Darcy looked at the envelope in his hand. “That is why this envelope has not been opened. Only you can open it, Captain, and we have reason to believe that it will disclose to you the identity of the so-called Goodman FitzJean — Sir James’ murderer. Would you be so good as to open it?”

The Naval officer took the envelope, broke the blue seal, lifted the flap, and took out a sheet of paper. “Addressed to Sir James,” he said. “Barbour’s handwriting; I recognize it.”

He did not read the entire letter. When he was halfway through, his head turned to his left. “You!” he said, in a low, angry, shocked voice.

Commander Lord Ashley rose to his feet and his right hand reached toward his sword scabbard.

And then he suddenly realized it was empty, that the sword was halfway across the room, on Lord Bontriomphe’s desk. At the moment of that realization, he recognized one other thing — that there was something pressed against his back.

Chief Master-at-Arms Hennely Grayme, holding his pistol steady, said, “Don’t try anything, my lord. You’ve killed enough as it is.”

“Have you anything to say, Commander?” Lord Darcy asked.

Ashley opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed, then opened it again to speak. His eyes seemed to be focused upon something in the far distance.

“You have me, my lords,” he said hoarsely. “I’m sorry I had to kill anybody, but… but, you would have thought me a traitor, you see. I needed the money, but I would never have betrayed the Empire. I didn’t know the secret.” He stopped again and put his left hand over his eyes. “I knew that Barbour was a Polish agent. I didn’t know he was a double agent. I thought I could get some money from him. But I… I wouldn’t have betrayed my King. I was just afraid someone would think I had, after that.”

He stopped, took his hand down. “My lords,” his voice quivered as he tried to keep it even, “I should like to make my confession to Father Patrique. After that, I should like to make my confession to the Court.”

The Marquis de London nodded at Lord Darcy. He nodded back at the Marquis. “You have the Crown’s permission, my lord,” said Lord Darcy, “but I must ask you to leave behind your scabbard and your jacket.”

Without a word, Commander Lord Ashley dropped his sword belt on the chair behind him, removed his jacket and put it on top of it.

“Chief Hennely,” the Marquis de London said, “I charge you to take this man prisoner upon his own admission. Take him to the outer room, where the Reverend Father may hear his sacramental confession. You will observe the laws pertaining thereto.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Chief Hennely, and the three of them left the room.

“And now, my lord Advocate,” said the Marquis. “Would you kindly report the full story to the Court and the witnesses present”

Lord Darcy bowed. “I shall, my lord.

“I first began to suspect Ashley when I saw that, according to the register, he had come into the hotel at 8:48 on Wednesday, giving as his business there the delivery of a message for Master Sean — and yet he had not even attempted to locate Master Sean until 9:25, when he spoke to Lord Bontriomphe. But that is neither here nor there, my lord. Here is what happened.

“As he told us, Ashley needed money. I will explain why in a few moments. He attempted to sell a secret he did not have and could not prove he had. Finally he was reduced to accepting a payment of one hundred golden sovereigns from Georges Barbour merely to identify himself.

“On Monday night when he arrived in Cherbourg, he went to Barbour to identify himself and was told that he would be paid the following morning. Then, Tuesday morning, Commander Ashley was told to take the hundred sovereigns to Goodman Georges.

“At that point, he panicked — not as you or I might think of panic, but cold, frightened panic, for that is the way Ashley’s mind works.

“He knew that once he took the money to Barbour in his own persona, Barbour would recognize him. Besides, he knew that his scheme had fallen through, since Barbour was a double agent. So he went up to Barbour’s room, and, when Barbour opened the door, Ashley stabbed him, using a cheap knife he had bought for the purpose.

“Then he reported the murder, assisted by the fact that the concierge of Barbour’s rooming house had, fortunately for him, been out for a few minutes before Lord Ashley arrived. But he also found that, in the meantime, the information as to his identity had already been sent to Zed. Therefore, he had to cut off that information; he had to prevent it from reaching the Admiralty.”

Lord Darcy took a deep breath. “In a way,” he said, “you might say that I assisted him. Naturally, I did not know at that time that Ashley was a killer. Therefore, I made a request that he transmit a message to Master Sean. That enabled him to get into the Royal Steward Hotel.

“At 6:30 Wednesday morning, the mail from Cherbourg was delivered to the Royal Steward. Master Sir James picked up his at 7:00. Then, having decoded the messages he received, he went down to the desk and asked a man whom he trusted, Goodman Paul Nichols, to hold an envelope for an Admiralty courier, and at the same time he sent one of the hotel boys to the Admiralty with a message for Smollett to pick up the packet.

“Sir James returned to his room, followed by the Damoselle Tia. There followed the discussion and argument which all of you have heard of. When Tia left, Master Sir James locked his door for the last time. At 8:48 Lord Ashley arrived, ostensibly looking for Master Sean. He walked up to the registration desk and started to ask for Master Sean. But Paul Nichols immediately assumed that he was the courier from the Admiralty.”

Lord Darcy gestured with an open hand. “This can’t be proved, of course, but it fits in precisely. Nichols must have said something like this: ‘Ah, Commander, you are the courier from the Admiralty to pick up Sir James’ packet? And what could Lord Ashley do? He said, ‘Yes.’ He took the packet. Sir James’ room number was on the outside of that envelope, and Lord Ashley went directly to that room.

“Then he and Sir James played out some version of the little act that Master Sean and I enacted.”

He made a slight gesture with one hand. “And there I should like to point out a peculiar thing. Murderers are quite often — more often than we like to think — very lucky. It is quite possible that sheer luck could have allowed an ordinary person to kill Sir James in the precise manner in which he was killed. An ordinary person, if luck were with him, could have made that thrust through the door after having decoyed Sir James into just the right position, and the results would have been the same as they actually were.

“But that was not the way that Commander Ashley operated. The Commander has one advantage: Occasionally, in times of emotional stress, he is able to see a short time into the future.

“I call your attention again to that keyhole. The door is thick. The keyhole, though large enough to admit the blade of a Naval sword, allows very little play for it. There is no way to aim that blade except in the direction the keyhole guides it.