“Unless she’s gone back to France. What about people who were in Corfu? The prince traveled with a small retinue of servants. And what was the name of that ship, again?”

“The HMS Calypso,” said Iris. “Maybe the captain’s still around. Know anyone with nautical clout?”

“I have a cousin who is some form of admiral,” said Gwen. “Rear or vice, I forget which. They both sound horrid, when you think about it. I’ll give him a ring.”

“We have a plan, then,” said Iris. “I call this a good day’s work. Shall we—”

She stopped when she turned and saw Gwen looking at her sternly.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re leaving out the most obvious avenue,” said Gwen. “Titled friends. Greek friends. And—”

“No,” said Iris.

“Spy friends,” finished Gwen.

“I told you—”

“We have a job to do, and not much time in which to complete it,” said Gwen. “If he was still in the spy game, then there should be other players who knew about it. You have access to them.”

“Not as much as you think,” said Iris.

“Still more than me,” persisted Gwen. “They would have the most interesting scuttlebutt. If Talbot did turn up something in Corfu, don’t you think he would report it back to his masters?”

“Unless he kept it for himself. A little side benefit to go with the knighthood.”

“Ah,” said Gwen thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s been the source of his business success all these years. Funded through the sale of his silence. And now he’s as silent as the grave.”

“Only his secrets didn’t die with him,” said Iris.

“We still don’t have proof of any of this,” said Gwen.

“It’s out there. Somewhere. I’m sure of it.”

“Then let’s go find it. Who was Calypso again?”

“A nymph. She fell in love with Odysseus and kept him on her island for seven years.”

“Another woman in love with a married man,” said Gwen. “I take it he left her in the end.”

“He did,” said Iris. “The gods intervened, and she had to let him go. She made him a raft, and off he went.”

“What happened to her?”

“Homer didn’t say. Maybe she’s still on that island, hoping he’ll come back. But I think she must have moved on by now.”

“Good for her,” said Gwen. “We should send her a flyer. We should be able to find a good husband for a raft-building nymph.”

CHAPTER 5

By the time Iris reached her flat, the sniffles she had obtained in Colindale had escalated into a full-blown cold. She closed the door and put the kettle on, then hauled out a hankie and blew her nose loudly enough to summon the dead.

As the echoes faded and her ears returned to a partially clogged state, she became aware of a ringing that wasn’t from an internal source. She staggered over to her telephone and picked up the handset.

“Hello,” she said.

“’Allo, Mary Elizabeth McTague,” came a man’s voice.

She grinned in spite of her misery.