Victor obeyed, revealing gray streaks at the sides of his ebony hair. The man commenced searching him from back of neck to back of boots before the satchel was returned. By this time Julian was depositing his pistol into the basket, and then came Matthew’s turn. As Matthew gave up his pistol and dagger he noted that a number of other guns and knives were already in the basket, including a thing that looked like a knuckle-duster studded with small nails.

“One moment,” said the Owl. He placed a pale hand upon Matthew’s chest.

Matthew tried to stand very still, but his knees began to tremble. The Owl’s protuberant golden eyes were unblinking, the eerie gaze moving here and there over Matthew’s face. Matthew felt himself being examined down to the white-powdered pores.

“I know you,” the Owl said. “Do I not?”

“Pardon,” said Julian, “but Baron Brux speaks no English.”

“Ask him then where I might have seen him before. His face … I know it from somewhere.”

Julian hesitated only an instant. Then, in a clipped and harsh accent remembered from the real Count Pellegar: “Hammer estad ugla kalein, ja?”

“Nein,” Matthew answered past the lump in his throat.

“He says no,” Julian reported, speaking as sweetly as honey from the jar, “that you and he have not to this moment met. It would be impossible, since the Baron and I have spent all our time at the Mayfair Arms. May I ask if you’ve ever travelled to Prussia?”

The Owl had given Julian only the briefest of glances; his attention was focused upon Matthew, who realized the man had looked into his unpowdered face before the fireplace at The Green Spot.

“Move along,” said the Owl, but the way he spoke it held the underlying statement I will be watching you.

Matthew got his knees unlocked and lurched forward, and damned if that head didn’t swivel on its neck to watch him continue to the next checkpoint, where Julian was already doffing polar bear coat, tricorn and giving up the satchel. “Key,” said the man who took the case, saw the keyholes and assumed correctly that all satchels coming through the front door tonight would be locked. Julian gave it up from an inner pocket of his jacket before being searched from backs of ears down to his heels. The satchel was looked into, returned to him and the way clear for him to follow Victor deeper into the house.

“Coat off, hat off, wig off,” said the gent advancing upon Matthew, who had the sense to shrug and make motions in the air until the man removed the items for him.