'No,' I said, with, I hope, a credible tone of surprise in my voice. 'I assumed she was rich.'

She looked at me pityingly.

'Well, um . . .'

Fortunately, my attention was taken over by the stockbroker on my right, whose conversation was less fascinating but more useful. We established our mutual credentials, with me stressing my current labours writing on developments in French banking, the evolution of the capital markets, the poor state of the French Bourse in comparison to vibrancy of the London stock market. He was surprised that a journalist should be so interested in such things.

'For example,' I said, 'French banks have never taken up the opportunities of empire. I would have thought the possibility of loans to your colonies would have stimulated immense activity in the capital markets, yet I see very little.'

Monsieur Steinberg nodded. 'We are risk averse here,' he said. 'There have been too many disasters for people to trust the credit markets. And it is all a question of trust. Not, at the moment, something our colleagues in London have to worry about. The banks in London succeed in the most outrageous operations because people think they will succeed. They have a century's worth of trust to call on. But they do abuse that trust sometimes; it will rebound on them, and maybe sooner than they think.'

'Really? Why is that?'

'Well,' he said, leaning forward just a little, 'there are strange stories going around, you know. About Barings.'

'Dear me. What are they up to now?'

'A good question. I hear Barings may be having surprising difficulty getting takers for an Argentinian loan it is floating.'

'That's not so unusual. It's part of the negotiating process, is it not? Besides, with Argentina in the state it's in . . .'

'This is a bit more serious, I think. Credit International, so I heard, is about to refuse outright to take any of the issue at all. Which is ill-mannered of them.'

'What loan is this?'

'Buenos Aires Water Supply 5 per cent.'

'And the reasoning?'

'Argentine government is falling to bits, Finance Minister out on his ear, too much debt, fiscal policy in ruins. The usual sort of thing. But that has been known for some time and it has never deterred anyone before. The question is, whether anyone will follow Credit International, or whether the magic of Barings will sweep all doubts away once more. But I have never heard of anyone even hesitating before.'

Nor had I. Nor had I heard of a bank making public – even if discreetly – its doubts about taking part in a Barings operation. As M. Steinberg said, it was ill-mannered. And generally, when dealing with Barings, a refusal was generally taken to indicate a weakness of the bank which refused.

'I find this fascinating,' I said. 'Just the sort of thing that would interest Times readers very much. Do you think the Chairman of Credit International would talk to me?'

M. Steinberg looked shocked at the very idea.

'There must be some way of finding out more,' I said. 'Will you help me? I would be greatly in your debt.'

I had realised that, as a practitioner of espionage, asking for assistance is often the most effective way of going about your job. Again, tales of adventure tend to give a false picture, of deceit and subterfuge, of clever stratagems and cunning manipulations. I hope it is clear from my account so far that, in contrast, the most effective weapons in the arsenal of intelligence are money and goodwill. If you cannot buy what you want, ask for it. If you ask the right person, it produces the right response in nearly all cases of importance.

M. Steinberg, for example, was delighted to help. Why should he not be? He wanted to know what was going on as much as I did, and as long as I promised to share with him any discoveries I might make, he was more than willing to guide me in the right direction. Within a few minutes I had the name of a senior figure at Credit International, the information that he had a great weakness for horse-racing and so could be found at Longchamp whenever there was a race on, as well as names in other banks which, in the past, had taken part in Barings' issues.

I had a day at the races to look forward to, and a feeling that I was at last beginning to make headway. I relaxed, and began to enjoy the dinner for its own sake, rather than for professional reasons. It was, in fact, an excellent occasion, largely because of the way Elizabeth conducted the proceedings; there was no doubt whatsoever that, although Stone was paying, it was no longer his dinner party. He was her guest, as much as I was. Not that he seemed to mind this; he was a perfectly agreeable conversationalist, if a little serious, when alone. But he shrank in company, giving short and gruff replies, incapable of addressing the whole table, but rather fixing his attention on one person at a time. I could see the effort involved in not giving his entire attention to the woman next to him; every time the conversation flagged a little, he naturally tended to look back towards her, waiting for her lead. Madame Kollwitz was right; he was more than a little taken. I did not know whether she had any vacancies, but if there was one Stone looked as though he would pay a great deal to get on the list. But did she like him enough? She was gay, amusing, friendly, warm, but she could be so even to people she detested, when required.

When the dinner finally came to its end and the party prepared to disperse, one of the guests, a doctor I had not talked to, mentioned he had been invited to an entertainment, and asked if anyone wished to come along.

'A séance,' he said with a laugh. 'Table-turning. Spirits. Madame Boninska. She is said to be very good.'

'I will come,' said Elizabeth. 'Why not? Would you like to take me, Mr Stone,' she asked playfully, 'so we can find out all your secrets?'

The reaction from Stone was remarkable. 'No,' he snapped. 'And you will not go either.'

Elizabeth just managed to control a look of fury that passed over her face like a stormcloud before it burst. 'I beg your pardon?' There was ice in her voice; I had known her for long enough to want to signal to Stone that he would be well advised to drop the matter, and quickly. He, however, was entirely impervious to tonal subtleties and equally incapable of reading the expression on her face. Maybe he just didn't know her well enough.

'It is charlatanry, rubbish, for fools only. Any sensible person . . . I have seen what these people do to those of a weak or susceptible nature.'

'And which am I? A fool or weak?' Elizabeth asked haughtily.

'If you believe in such things? Both.'

'Really?'

'Yes. Don't expect me to pander to your desire for fashionable amusements.'

'And what does it have to do with you?'

'You invited me, I believe.'

'Mr Cort,' said the wife of the banker who had talked to me earlier, taking me by the arm and leading me away, 'would you do me the great honour of accompanying me home? My husband has decided to abandon me and go back to his office. So I am quite alone and in need of an escort.'

'I would be honoured,' I said. Relieved was the more appropriate word, I think; I did not want to witness a fight between Stone and Elizabeth. Well, I did, of course; it was fascinating, but I realised it would be safer to be out of range. Neither, I suspected, would give way easily, and both could be unpleasant when their authority was questioned. They were behaving in a way which was unseemly, embarrassing, and Elizabeth was neither of these. Stone had penetrated to a part of her which was never, ever on public view and forced it into the open. He had exposed her, and therefore weakened her. He would not be easily forgiven. I left them as swiftly as possible – not that either was minded to notice – facing each other and, in the most polite way possible, preparing for a battle to the death.