The golden eyes left him and the head began to swivel back to a normal degree. The man’s full attention was being directed to Britt, and freed from that optic bondage Matthew looked to his side at the serving-girl who had come out from behind the bar.

“Sir?” the waif-like creature prompted.

“No,” Matthew said. He was stunned and oddly enough his own neck felt strained to its limits. “No,” he repeated. “I just … no.” And then he was moving away from the fireplace, past the bar and between the tables, out the Green Spot’s door and into the cold, up the crusty white steps and there stood Julian in a doorway around the corner.

“Well?” Julian asked.

For a few seconds Matthew could not speak.

“Who did he meet?” Julian prompted. “My God, what’s wrong with you?”

“He met … it was … I mean to say … it was a man … unbelievable … I couldn’t fathom such a thing …”

“All right, all right, it was a man! Now speak English instead of jabberguese!”

“A moment,” said Matthew, to clear his mind. “Yes, a man,” he continued. Snow blew into his face and clung to his eyelashes. “This man … he could twist his head around. I know it sounds insane, but he could—”

“Twist his head almost all the way around?” Julian asked. “So he can look behind himself? Ah. I know that man.”

“Who is it?”

“It is the Owl,” said Julian. “Real name unknown. Pardon me but I could laugh at the expression on your face. I do understand how witnessing that particular talent of his could upset one’s cart.”

“My cart,” Matthew answered, “has been turned upside-down.”

“Well get it righted in a hurry because we’re not here to dawdle and dance. I want to know why Britt stalked out in this weather to find the Owl. Did you see money being exchanged?”

“No. At least not that moment.”

“I’ll wager the Owl paid Britt for the information that I was asking questions,” Julian said. He tapped his chin with a forefinger. “But … who is paying the Owl?”

“I don’t … quite understand this.” Matthew still felt brain-fogged, even in this cold. “Who is the Owl and why should he be paying Britt for information?”

“The Owl,” said Julian, “is a security specialist. He takes care of … shall we say … keeping things buttoned up that need to be, and maintaining order. He’s been working that angle for underworld gatherings for the last two years. Which means there’s something cooking we should know about.”

“Agreed, but how to find out?”

“We wait again. If Britt’s information interests the Owl—and I think it will—our man of the twisted neck will be on the move himself very soon, and this time he might be reporting to someone we really do care to meet.”

“The admiral?” said Matthew.