She thought she would give Madame Bousquet until noon, then give up. A few minutes short of her deadline, she was rewarded by the sight of the Frenchwoman walking briskly towards the intersection. Iris slid behind the tree and waited until she walked by her. Then she followed, waiting until they were close to the town center before increasing her stride and coming up beside her.

“Hello again,” Iris said.

Madame Bousquet glanced at her, then her eyes grew wide in surprise. Or was it fear? “Go away,” she said.

Fear. Definitely fear, thought Iris. Why?

“I wouldn’t be the crack reporter that I am if I did that,” she said with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Look, this can be off the record, but once I have a lead on a story, I am very hard to get rid of.”

“Please, I cannot. They told me—”

She stopped.

“Who told you?” asked Iris. “Who are they? How did they know about me?”

Madame Bousquet merely shook her head despondently.

“Come on! This happened twenty-five years ago. Nobody cares about it but me. If it’s a question of money—”

“It is not money!” blurted out Madame Bousquet. “They—No, I cannot. Please go away.”

“They? Who?” asked Iris. “Are you being threatened? I can help you. I have friends who can protect you.”

“I lose my position,” said Madame Bousquet. “My husband loses his position. We are not young anymore. New positions for a couple are difficult. I cannot talk to you.”

“Then point me to someone who can,” said Iris. “You were the lady’s maid to the daughters. Give me the name of Alice’s maid and where I can find her, and I’ll leave you alone. No one will know that we spoke.”

Madame Bousquet hesitated, looking around.

“There is no one here to see us,” said Iris. “If you’re still unsure, whisper the name, then walk away from me like you’re angry. I don’t reveal my sources. It’s the code of the journalist.”

Though not of the spy, she thought.

“Vivienne,” whispered Madame Bousquet. “Vivienne Ducognon. She is on staff of Mrs. Calvert in London.”

“Which Mrs. Calvert?”

“That is all I know. Now leave me alone!”

This last was spoken loudly enough to be heard to the end of the block. Madame Bousquet abruptly turned and stormed away, leaving Iris standing there openmouthed in what she hoped would present a suitable picture of shock and frustration. Then she closed it and trudged dispiritedly back to the station. She wasn’t followed, as far as she could tell.

But she was much more mindful of the possibility that she might be.

Who got to Madame Bousquet? she wondered. Their mystery correspondent? He had to suspect that his letter would set off alarms. Was he covering his tracks by reaching out to threaten witnesses? After all, if one has the temerity to blackmail royalty, one would hardly pause at blackmailing a servant.

She had better find Vivienne Ducognon before he did.