“And you made a stop before you came here?” Julian said. “I presume also you stopped there to learn where you were staying for the night?” Julian didn’t wait for an answer because he knew it wasn’t going to come. “Whose house was that?”

“Whose house where?”

“No!” said Matthew suddenly, making Julian jump. Matthew drew his pistol from beneath his cloak, for he’d seen that Brux was reaching for an apple from the bowl and it wouldn’t do to get one of those in the face. Brux looked at him blankly. Matthew recalled some of Dahlgren’s language, but only the little bit: “Nein!” he said, and waved the pistol back and forth until Brux smiled again and settled the hand back against his chest as innocently as a dove alighting on a church ledge.

“Whose house?” Julian repeated, his own gun steady.

“I’m going to sit down, as my tailbone is somewhat bruised.” Pellegar backed away from Julian and took a seat on the room’s sofa. He stretched his legs out and laced his fingers across his chest. “I have no idea who you two miscreants are and it appears this is not a robbery … or, not exactly a robbery. You have come here to steal information, yes?”

“I know it’s the house of an admiral in the Royal Navy,” said Julian. “I want the name.”

“I want a large portion of weisslacker and a plate of wheat crackers to materialize before me, but one doesn’t always get what one wants. Now what are you going to do? Shoot us for a name?”

Matthew’s gaze found the brown satchel that Pellegar had been carrying sitting on a low table nearer the harpsichord. He said, “Let’s take a look at this,” and walked the few paces to fetch it. The item was much heavier than expected when he picked it up. There were two metal snaps, both with small keyholes. “It’s locked,” he told Julian when the snaps would not budge.

“Where’s the key?” Julian asked Pellegar, who had not moved an inch on the sofa but was still smiling blandly, as was Baron Brux.

“I will tell you,” said Pellegar, “that you are playing with fire, and if you do not leave this room immediately I will make sure both of you are burnt to crisps.”

“Oh, will you?” Julian walked purposefully forward and placed the pistol’s barrels against Pellegar’s mouth. The man did not shrink back, but continued to smile up at his interrogator. “I won’t shoot you,” Julian said, “but if you don’t produce that key your teeth will be lying all over this floor and—alas—your beauty cream will no longer be of assistance.”

Pellegar pulled his head back a few inches. “Er will den Schlussel zum Koffer,” he said to the baron. “Ich werde gehorchen. Mach dich bereit.” Brux gave a grunt and a nod.