“You realised,” said Sparks. “Take credit where it is due.”

“I realised that the sender of the letters must have known they’d be intercepted by Lady Matheson, which means they were intended for her, not the princess. And when we received the photographs from Mr. Cornell, we realised that the origin of this scheme, at its heart, was something even more tawdry. Mr. Cornell, if you would?”

“Certainly, ma’am,” he said, holding up more photographs. “I continued to maintain my watch as instructed. At twelve minutes past two, the three people from the Bentley exited the building. The driver, as you see here, held the door for the ladies. The one who was in charge got in first, followed by the shorter one. The car then drove off. Now, look at the sidewalk here.” He pointed at a small bit of white that was resting by the curb next to where the car had been parked.

“If you compare it with this photograph from before they came out, you’ll notice that the sidewalk was clear,” he said, holding up an earlier one. “Look again at the ladies entering the car. Look closely at the right hand of the shorter lady. There’s a bit of white showing as she gets in. I was lucky enough to catch it as it fell from her now empty hand.”

A woman began to weep in the darkness.

“Immediately after the Bentley departs, this gentleman walks up,” continued Cornell. He had caught Magoulias mid-stride. The following sequence of photographs showed Magoulias stopping in front of the building, kneeling and reaching for the scrap of paper, reading it, then dashing back to a nearby car.

“We don’t know for which faction Mr. Magoulias worked,” said Mrs. Bainbridge. “We suspect one in league with the Soviets, given that this despicable plot had its genesis in British Intelligence. It was cooked up to draw out spies who had infiltrated the Palace, and whatever networks they were connected to. In this case, by throwing red meat into shark-infested waters. Only the plan didn’t anticipate another plot, one based on simple, brutal greed, getting in the way. We don’t know which man got there first, but they were both armed, and both ready to kill. Mr. Magoulias was sent to his doom by the woman who dropped that note. Mrs. Fisher, come into the light, please.”

“No!” Mrs. Fisher shrieked, struggling in the grasp of two spivs who had come up behind her. “It wasn’t like that! I’m loyal, Lady Matheson. You must believe me!”

“What is happening to me?” asked Lady Matheson faintly.

“To you, nothing,” said Sparks. “You’ve done nothing other than hire one spy and one thief for your staff. Happens to the best of us. Well, not to Mrs. Bainbridge and me—we don’t have a staff.”

“Hey,” objected Sally.

“You’re not staff, darling, you’re a freelance private contractor.”

“Oh. That’s all right, then.”

“So now that we’ve caught these two, there is only one thing left to do,” said Mrs. Bainbridge.