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J 53 i Then Sir Philip went to visit a man called Rawlings in Fleet Street. Over the years Sir Philip had dealt with a number of rather delicate matters. Some concerned affairs of state, while others were of a more private nature. In both he had come to regard Rawlings as exceptionally talented with a rare combination of skills and discretion. He was a spy, and he came with a colorful past. Sir Philip had first learned of him many years ago. Two drunken army officers were discussing a fellow officer who had recently been dishonorably discharged.

They clambered down a short iron ladder and sat in the waist of the launch as it retreated across the River Thames to the gunboat. Once they were in the captain’s cabin, Harrington found a decanter of sherry and poured two glasses. “It’s going to be a long day,” he said, handing one to Corrick. ” He took a sip and went on, settling in the captain’s chair. “The Belgians mustn’t know my official status, since it may complicate diplomatic relations. ” “Then I ask the questions,” Corrick said, his eyes firmly on Harrington.

Over here,” a voice called from down the hill. James looked around in surprise. The voice sounded familiar. He turned to Bartholomew. ” The whisper came from up the hill now. ” James smiled weakly but was too tired to talk more. His questions, and fears, would just have to wait. The remaining torch burned low and died. Darkness closed in. Slowly their eyes grew accustomed to the night until the whole valley was infused with the powdery light from Venus and the stars. “A maiden of the night to ease our plight,” Bartholomew recited.