I was halfway there when Finch came out of the servants’ door with Jane. He said something to her, and she giggled and then stood there watching him as he left, smiling and waving her apron at him.

I went over to her. “Jane,” I said. “What was Finch doing here?”

“He brought the rock cakes for the fête tomorrow,” she said, looking longingly after him. “I am wishin’ he was our butler instead of Mr. Baine. Mr. Baine’s always goin’ on at me about reading books and how I should be trying to improve myself, do I want to be a maid all my life, but Mr. Finch is ever so nice, he never criticizes, he just talks.”

“What did he talk to you about?” I said, trying to make the question casual.

“Oh, this and that. The fête tomorrow and was I going to buy any chances on the cake and Princess Arjumand’s being lost. He was particular interested in Princess Arjumand, asked me all about her.”

“Princess Arjumand?” I said sharply. “What did he say?”

“Oh, only how lucky it was she wasn’t drowned, and had she ever had kittens, Miss Stiggins was saying she was such a pretty cat, she’d like to have one of the kittens, was she always with Miss Mering or did she wander off on her own sometimes and like that.”

“Did he ask to see her?”

“He did,” Jane said, “but I couldn’t find her. I told him she was very likely out at the fishpond, trying to eat the Colonel’s goldfish.” She suddenly seemed to realize who she was talking to. “I didn’t do nothing improper, did I, sorr, talking to him? We were working the whole time.”

“No, of course not,” I said. “I only asked because I thought he might have brought the curio cabinet for the jumble sale.”

“No, sorr,” she said. “Just the rock cakes.”

“Oh,” I said and took off for the fishpond, walking till I was out of Jane’s sight and then breaking into a gallop. Verity had been right. Finch was after Princess Arjumand.

I ran across the lawn, where Mrs. Mering was still yelling at the workman, and past the spot where Verity had been hanging Chinese lanterns. The ladder was still there, but she wasn’t, and I wondered if she had gone through to Oxford already.

I sprinted past the lilacs to the gazebo and then onto the path along the riverbank. There was no sign of Princess Arjumand or of her having recently been pitched in the river, and I remembered all over again how just a few minutes could have made an enormous difference.

“Princess Arjumand!” I called, and ran down the path and across the flower garden to the rockery.

The fishpond lay in the middle of the rockery, lined with brick and covered with waterlilies. Next to the pond sat Cyril, and on the edge of the pond sat Princess Arjumand, delicately swiping her paw into the water.

“Stop that,” I said, and Cyril jumped and looked guilty.

Princess Arjumand continued to dip her paw unconcernedly in the water, as if she were trolling.

“All right, you two,” I said. “You’re under arrest. Come along.” I scooped up Princess Arjumand and started back for the house, Cyril trudging behind with his head down.

“You should be ashamed,” I said to him. “Letting her tempt you into a life of crime like that. Do you know what would have happened to you if Baine had found you?” and saw the shimmer of the net up by the gazebo.

I looked round anxiously, hoping there was no one else close enough to see it. It began to glow, and Cyril reared away from it and began to back, growling.

Verity emerged next to the gazebo and looked around. “Ned!” she said, catching sight of me, “How nice of you to come meet me!”

“What did you find out?” I said.

“And you brought Cyril,” she said, patting him on the head. “And dearum-dearums Juju,” she cooed, taking Princess Arjumand from me and cradling her in her arms. She waggled her fingers at Princess Arjumand’s paws, and Princess Arjumand batted playfully at them. “How does oo stan’ your mistwess talking ootsy-cutesy baby talk to oo?” Verity said. “Oo ought to swat her when her does it.”

“Verity,” I said. “Are you all right?”

“I’m perfectly all right,” she said, still playing with the cat’s paws. “Where’s Terence?” she said, starting toward the lawn. “I need to tell him he can’t be in love with Tossie because the fate of the free world is at stake. Also,” her voice dropped to a stage whisper, “she cheats at croquet.”

“How many drops have you had?” I demanded.

She frowned. “Sixteen. No, eight. Twelve.” She peered at me. “It isn’t fair, you know.”

“What isn’t?” I said warily.

“Your boater. It makes you look just like Lord Peter Wimsey, especially when you tilt it forward like that.” She started for the lawn.

I took Princess Arjumand away from Verity, dumped her on the ground, and grabbed Verity’s arm.

“I need to find Tossie,” she said. “I have a thing or two to tell her.”

“Not a good idea,” I said. “Let’s sit down a minute. In the gazebo.” I led her toward it.

She came docilely. “The first time I ever saw you, I thought, he looks just like Lord Peter Wimsey. You were wearing that boater and — no, that wasn’t the first time,” she said accusingly. “The first time was in Mr. Dunworthy’s office, and you were all covered in soot. You were still adorable, though, even if your mouth was hanging open.” She looked at me quizzically. “Did you have a mustache?”

“No,” I said, leading her up the gazebo steps. “Now, I want you to tell me exactly what happened in Oxford. Why did you make twelve drops?”

“Seven,” she said. “T.J. wanted to test the slippage on drops to May and August of 1888. He’s looking for surrounding areas of radically increased slippage,” she said, sounding more coherent, and I wondered if the time-lag was just a temporary effect.

“He said our incongruity doesn’t fit the pattern,” she said. “There’s supposed to be an area of moderately increased slippage surrounding the focus. Do you know why Napoleon lost the Battle of Waterloo? It rained. Buckets.”

Nope. Apparently not temporary.

“Why did T.J. send you on all those drops?” I asked. “Why didn’t he send Carruthers?”

“They can’t get him out.”

“No, it’s the recruit they can’t get out,” I said.

She shook her head forcefully. “Carruthers.”

I didn’t know if what she was saying was true, or if she was confused. Or if we were even talking about the same thing — between Difficulty in Distinguishing Sounds, Blurring of Vision, and the sound of the ack-ack that was doubtless thudding in her ears, she might be having a different conversation entirely.

“Verity, I need to take you—” Where? Sleep was what she needed, but there was no way I could get her through the mine field between here and the house. The Reverend Mr. Arbitage would be on the lawn supervising the servants, Mrs. Mering would be there supervising the Reverend Mr. Arbitage, and Tossie might be back early from the Chattisbournes’ and looking for a couple of suckers for a game of croquet.

The stable? No, we’d still have to cross a corner of the lawn to get there. Perhaps the best idea was to stay here in the gazebo and try to get Verity to lie down on one of the benches.

“And what is wrong with a Grand Design, I should like to know?” Professor Peddick said from the direction of the fishpond. “Of course Overforce can’t envision a Grand Design. His idea of a plan is to train his dog to jump out of trees onto innocent bystanders.”

“Come on, Verity,” I said, raising her to her feet. “We can’t stay here.”

“Where are we going?” she said. “We’re not going to the jumble sale, are we? I hate jumble sales. I hate shells and tassels and embroidery and tatting and scrollwork and all those beads they put on everything. Why can’t they just leave well enough alone?”

“We cannot see the design because we are a part of it,” Professor Peddick’s voice, much nearer, said. “Can the thread in the loom see the pattern in the fabric? Can the soldier see the strategy of the battle he is fighting?” and I hustled Verity out of the gazebo and over behind the lilacs.