“We didn’t. Our Chinese partners did, but I suppose we encouraged them. Bowman was a nuisance, bringing you out to the biological-research facility, helping you get Navarre out. We could applaud you, but not Bowman. He was ours. We bought him, but he did not stay bought. When I finally realized that poor Arthur didn’t know about the Navarre operation—that you had simply manipulated him—I had no more use for him. The Chinese insisted on his removal, and I said all right. Many people were pleased to be rid of him. But they did not dare go after you. That is an honest answer. Are you happy?”

“I’m glad to have the truth. But I should tell you, since we’re being honest, that Navarre’s escape wasn’t my doing. The agency did it. I simply delivered a message.”

“I know, I know. I come back to my question: What is your price, Mr. Truell? How do we obtain your support?”

“I don’t have a price. I’m a reporter for The New York Mirror.”

A smile came over Bézy’s face. My repeated invocation of the Mirror had emboldened him to share the real secret he had been holding in reserve. He leaned toward me.

“You keep repeating that you work at the Mirror. All right, I believe you! And I’m glad of it. So how would you like to work for me?”

“I wouldn’t. I’m a journalist.”

“But I’m a journalist, too, Mr. Truell, in my way. I’m the best friend The New York Mirror has. And I repeat: How would you like to work for me? If you say yes, you can run Mirror Alert tomorrow, and perhaps someday soon, you will run the Mirror, too.”

“What are you talking about?” I was struggling to fit the pieces together. They were all there—I had seen each of them separately—but I hadn’t assembled them.

“Mr. Truell, I own Mirror Alert. Through my company, Press Alert, I have invested five hundred million dollars in your newspaper. With luck and good management, someday I will own it. And I want you to be part of my team. Your connections would be of enormous value. You are a man of the world. You are a journalist in the tradition of Arthur Bowman, but a cleverer man. So I ask you, will you come work for me?”

“Absolutely not.” I was trembling, like an animal whose hiding place has suddenly been ripped away. I had known for months that an international investor was backing Press Alert, and I’d known that Bowman had been scouting for money. But I had not imagined that a share of my newspaper had been delivered into the hands of a killer.