“Yes, but—”

“Then Cecily can deliver them for you.” And before Ernest could stop him, he shouted, “Cecily!”

“But Cess doesn’t know the editors. It would make more sense for him to go to Dover and me to stay here. I could deliver them on my way to Camp—”

“No, Algernon specifically requested you make this delivery.”

He did? Why? he wondered.

“Yes, sir?” Cess said, appearing in the doorway.

“Ernest needs you to deliver his planted articles to the newspapers tomorrow morning. Take the Austin,” he said, adding insult to injury, and waved them out of his office.

“Thank you,” Cess said out in the hall.

“For what?”

“For trying to get me out of drilling in the rain. I appreciate the attempt, even though it didn’t work.”

“That’s the story of my life,” Ernest said, more bitterly than he meant to. And when Cess looked curiously at him, “Attempts that don’t work.”

“Where are the articles you need me to deliver?”

“I’ll fetch them,” Ernest said, and to get rid of Cess, asked “You wouldn’t have a pair of dungarees I could borrow, would you? These trousers of mine look too good to be a sailor’s.”

“What about the ones you wore the day you had that run-in with the bull?” Cess said. “They surely look bad enough.”

“You’re right,” Ernest said, and tried again. “Ask Prism if he has a knitted cap I can borrow.” As soon as Cess had gone, he shut the door, dug the envelope out of the duffel bag, and pried the sealed edge open. He took the papers halfway out and began pulling out the ones he couldn’t let Cess take.

“Did you find your cap?” Cess’s voice said outside in the corridor.

“Yes, it’s in fairly bad shape, though,” Prism said.

I should have marked the coded articles somehow, Ernest thought, leafing through the papers. Or written them in red ink that would dissolve when it got wet, like the bigram books.

There were four of them. Where the hell was the fourth one? There it was. “Lost, locket inscribed E.O.…”

He yanked it out, jammed it and the other three sheets of paper into the duffel bag, resealed the envelope, and was putting his razor and shaving soap into the bag when Cess came in, carrying a cap even grimier and more ragged than the jumper. “Perfect,” Ernest said, handing the envelope to Cess. He tried on the cap. “What do you think?”

“Very seamanlike. All that’s wanted is the smell of fish and a two days’ growth of beard. Which means you won’t be needing that razor,” Cess said, reaching for the duffel bag.

Ernest jerked it out of his reach. “That’s what you think,” he said, cinching it shut. “On my way back I’m supposed to stop at assorted pubs and talk about Calais, and I wouldn’t like to frighten the barmaids.”

“Yes, well, stay away from the Bull and Plough,” Cess said. “Chasuble doesn’t want anyone poaching on his time with Daphne.”