She sniffed. “Devorax says there are things to arrange there, whatever that means. It will be nice to have money again.” She stopped, staring down at her son. “I don’t trust him, Toby. I’m not sure that either of you should go.”

He stood up, smiled, and kissed his mother on the forehead. “Let me talk to him. And don’t listen outside the window. You’ll catch cold.”

“I can’t hear the half of what he says,” Lady Margaret said imperiously. “He mumbles and growls. You tell me. Now go on! I want to know what’s happening!”

Common courtesy alone dictated that Vavasour Devorax should stand when Sir Toby, the master of the household, came into a room, but the soldier stayed slumped in the best chair, his gray eyes looking morosely at the newcomer. Toby ignored the rudeness.

“Colonel? You’re welcome.”

The ugly face nodded. His beard and hair, Toby noted, were strangely streaked with black. A bottle of wine, half emptied, was by his side.

Campion came to Toby, lifted her face to be kissed, and he saw the relief in her eyes that he had arrived. He smiled. “Hello, wife.”

She mouthed at him, her back to Devorax. “He’s drunk.”

Toby looked at Devorax. “Do you want food, sir?”

The face shook. “No. Do you want to know what’s happening?”

Toby sat beside Campion on the settle. The candles flickered about the room. Vavasour Devorax groaned, pulled himself straighter in the chair and stared at Toby. “I’ve told your wife. Cony’s dead, we’ve got his seals, and you’re to take them to Holland.”

Campion stared at Toby, Toby at the grim soldier who now put the bottle to his lips.

“Cony’s dead?”

“Sir Grenville has gone to meet his maker.” Devorax put the bottle down. “I don’t suppose his maker will be very pleased with what he made.” He laughed.

“How?”

“How?” Devorax laughed. “How do you think? I killed him. With this.” He tapped the hilt of his sword.

Toby could hardly take the news in. He shook his head. “Didn’t he have guards?”

“Of course he had guards!” The question seemed to annoy Devorax, but then he sighed, leaned back, and told the tale in a toneless, bored voice. “There was a murder in London last night. The Reverend Faithful Unto Death Hervey was also despatched to his maker. I did it. Then I went round London to Sir Grenville’s house, demanded entry with my men on the plausible pretext that we were the watch and wished to talk to a man who had known the Reverend Hervey, and once inside we did our business.” He smiled. “The fat little lawyer fought surprisingly hard and I ruined a perfectly good rug with his blood. We had to blow the locks of his strongbox, and inside were the two seals: Matthew and Mark.”

Campion was holding Toby’s hand, gripping his finger stumps beneath the thin leather glove. Toby stared at Devorax. “You have the seals?”

“Not with me.” He smiled pitifully at Toby. “You really think I’m going to ride halfway across England with half a fortune in my pouch? Of course I don’t have them. My men have them. They’re taking Lopez’s ship to the place where it will meet you.” He flourished the bottle at them. “All is over, children, your fortune has been secured by Vavasour Devorax.”