“So it would seem. According to some of this information, the false passport Zivon traveled under was even given to him by the Bolsheviks—though that would make sense if his brother is among them.” He turned back to the table. “Take a look at these others. I need to find someone who can translate this.” He tapped the article he’d been holding. “It’s in Russian.”

“Father Smirnov.” Mama grinned. “And I just transferred his telephone number into my book this morning. I recall it, if I can use your phone, Blinker.”

“Of course. I’ll take you up. Lily?”

She surveyed the spread of photographs. “More than enough to keep me occupied here for a while, sir.”

While they were gone, she went over each image, making notes on separate sheets of paper as to what was added into—or where something was blotted out of—each one, clipping the paper to the images. The further she got, the more confident she grew.

Nearly every one was altered in some way. The story these enemies of his had told—they were fiction, without doubt. And she could prove it, which was the important thing. There were even a few that clearly used the same original photo of him, pasted onto another image and re-photographed.

Whoever had done it had been careless, though, or in a hurry. There were places where she could see bubbles or spots that indicated a glare on the original pieces. Shadows underneath the imposed images.

Hall never would have let her get away with such sloppy work. And frankly, she was surprised that the reporters who had received these hadn’t noticed the inconsistencies. Some of them were obvious.

She was nearly finished by the time she heard footsteps approaching. They’d been gone quite a while, but the number of voices told her why. Father Smirnov had joined them. And so, apparently, had Daddy.

Mama took the priest directly to the Russian newspaper clipping. He accepted it with a smile. “This will only take me a minute. Shall I write a translation?”

Lily motioned him to the paper and pen she’d been using. “Help yourself.”

“The sender provided a translation,” Hall added. “But I’m not much inclined to trust its accuracy.”

“I should think not.” Lily turned back to the photos. “Especially given how inaccurate all of these are. Shall I talk you through them, sir?”

“Please.”

By the time she’d gone over everything she’d found, even Daddy looked convinced that Zivon was anything but a Bolshevik out to undermine capitalism and imperialism. And certainly there was no evidence that he’d had anything to do with Alyona’s death.