“But, in Sidi al-Nasir’s office this evening, Lord Ashley calmly admitted that he owed the Sidi some one hundred and fifty golden sovereigns, a rather large amount of money even for a Commander in His Majesty’s Navy.

“His explanation to me was that Naval Intelligence had long suspected the Sidi and that he, the Commander, had contrived to get himself into debt so that Sidi al-Nasir would propose that the Commander pay the debt off by acting as an agent for His Slavonic Majesty.

“That is why I say that his luck, at that point, had turned from fantastically good to fantastically bad. In actual fact, Commander Lord Ashley had no notion that Sidi al-Nasir was in the pay of the Poles. He had got himself into debt at the Manzana de Oro, and the Sidi had threatened to inform you of that fact. What would you have done, Captain Smollett, if you had been so informed? Would you have cashiered the Commander?”

“Doubt it,” said Smollett. “Would have had him transferred, of course. Can’t have a man who gambles that way in Intelligence work. I don’t object to gambling in itself, my lord; but a man should only gamble what he has — not upon his expectations.”

“Exactly,” said Lord Darcy. “I quite understand. There would, however, have been a black mark upon his record? He would have had little chance to rise above his present rank?”

“Little chance, my lord? I should say none whatever. Couldn’t give a man Captain’s stripes with a mark like that against him.”

Lord Darcy nodded. “Of course not. And Ashley knew that. He had to do something to pay off Sidi al-Nasir. So he concocted this fantastic scheme to pry money out of a man whom he knew to be a Polish agent. As His Grace the Archbishop of York remarked to me yesterday, there is no evil in this man. There is, as you can see, only desperation. I think we can believe his statement that he would not willingly betray King and Country.

“Had Sidi al-Nasir made his proposition to My Lord Commander two weeks ago, or even only a week ago, none of this would have happened. It is my personal opinion that if al-Nasir had asked Lord Ashley to pay off his debt by betraying his country before tonight, his lordship’s facile mind would have come up with the same lie that he told me this evening, except, Captain Smollett, that he would have told it to you.

“What would you have said if — say, a week ago — the Commander had come to you and told you that, by deliberately going into debt, he had trapped the head of the local Polish spy ring into betraying himself? That he, Commander Ashley, had been asked to become a double agent and could now become — if the term is proper — a triple agent? Be honest, Captain, what would you have said?”

Captain Smollett looked at his knees for what seemed a long time. The others in the room seemed to be holding their breaths, waiting. When Captain Smollett raised his eyes it was to look at the Marquis de London rather than at Lord Darcy. “If it please the Court, my lord,” he said slowly. There was pain in his eyes. “I am forced to admit that had things come about the way Lord Darcy has just outlined them, I should have believed Commander Lord Ashley’s story. I should very likely have recommended him for promotion.”

At that moment, the door opened, and Father Patrique came in. He was followed by Commander Lord Ashley, whose face was pale and whose wrists were encased in padded shackles. In the rear came the watchful-eyed Chief Master-at-Arms Hennely Grayme, his pistol holstered, but his hand ready.

“My Lord justice,” the priest said gravely, “it is my duty to request the attention of the Court.”

“The Court recognizes the Reverend Father Patrique as amicus curia,” the Marquis rumbled.

“My Lord justice,” the good Father said, “My Lord Ashley, a Commander of the Imperial Navy of Our Most Dread Sovereign the King, wishes, of his own free will, to make a statement and deposition before this Court.”

The Marquis de London glanced once at Lord Bontriomphe, who was taking down everything in his notebook, then back at Lord Ashley.

“You may proceed,” he said.

CHAPTER 23

Forty minutes later, Lord Bontriomphe looked over his shorthand notes and nodded thoughtfully. “That winds it up,” he said. “That covers everything.”

Commander Lord Ashley was gone, to be escorted to the Tower by Chief Hennely and a squad of Armsmen. The Court of Inquiry had been officially adjourned.

My lord the Marquis surveyed the room and then looked at Lord Darcy. “Except for a few minor details in what was said, you gave us the story of Ashley’s activities quite accurately. Satisfactory. I might say, most satisfactory.” He looked around at the others, “Does anyone have any questions?”

“I have a question,” said Sir Lyon Gandolphus Grey. He looked at Lord Darcy. “If I may, my lord, I should like to know why you were sure that there was no direct link between Master Ewen MacAlister and Commander Lord Ashley.”

Lord Darcy smiled. “I couldn’t be absolutely certain, of course, Sir Lyon. But it seemed most probable. Master Ewen was doing his best to get the Damoselle Tia to worm the secret out of Sir Thomas Leseaux. Would he have tried so hard if he had known that Lord Ashley was willing to sell it? Or, rather, claimed he had it to sell? That would have been much simpler than trying to get a stubborn child to betray everything she loved.”

“But how did you know she wasn’t a willing spy?” Sir Thomas asked.

“There were several reasons,” said Lord Darcy. “Of course, ecclesiastical commissions had twice given her a clean bill, but there were other indications. She had gone to Sir James and argued with him, and that was hardly the behavior of a spy. A spy would have acted immediately, not argued and walked out. And a well-trained spy does not — as Tia did — throw a note from one of her fellow agents into a wastebasket and forget about it. Also — while there was the possibility that the conversation in the Hound and Hare might have been an act put on for my benefit — the subsequent attempt to do away with her was a strong indication that it was not. Therefore, she had, as she said then, actually intended to tell everything to the King’s Officers.”

The Dowager Duchess of Cumberland said: “Ironic, isn’t it, that while all the Armsmen of London and half the Imperial Navy have been struggling to discover one man’s identity, that letter was actually here all the time, in that envelope.”

Lord Darcy reached out for the blue envelope on Lord Bontriomphe’s desk, where Captain Smollett had placed it. He held it up. “You mean this?” he asked rather apologetically. “I am afraid it wouldn’t have done us much good to look for that information here.”

“Why not?” the Dowager Duchess frowned. “Because of the spells?”

“Oh, no,” said Lord Darcy. “Because of the fact that this envelope and its contents did not exist until an hour or so ago.

“The handwriting, while a passable imitation of Georges Barbour’s, is actually my own. I had a chance to study Barbour’s hand thoroughly yesterday afternoon at the Admiralty Office.

“You see, I wanted Ashley’s confession. We actually had very little evidence. I knew what he had done, and how he had done it, by reasoned deduction. There is, of course, the evidence of the blood in his jacket pocket and in his sword sheath, but we couldn’t count on its being there. We needed more than that.

“So — this letter came into being. After all, you see, Ashley couldn’t have been certain that the information from Barbour had been sent to the hotel. Since I knew that he had opened the envelope from the hotel at his first opportunity, I also knew that what he found were blank sheets of paper. He had no way of being sure that those sheets had contained the information that was so dangerous to him.