“I should think her address would be on her hotel registration card,” Stone said, “and that the nearest American consulate could be of assistance in tracing her next of kin.”

“Of course,” Sir Winston replied. “That is all being taken care of.”

“If I can be of any further assistance in making inquiries, let me know.”

“No, no; that won’t be necessary.”

Coffee and petit fours appeared on the table, and both men helped themselves.

“Tell me, Stone, if I may call you that?”

“Please do.”

He smiled broadly. “And you may call me Winston, of course. Tell me, just what is in all this for you?”

“In all what?”

“The trial, your, ah, services to the second Mrs. Manning.”

“We have not discussed a fee, Winston,” Stone replied. He had no doubt of what Sir Winston meant by “services.”

Sir Winston allowed himself a small smile. “But, I take it, you have accepted a retainer of sorts?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” said Stone, putting on his best poker face.

“I’m reliably informed that the second Mrs. Manning has taken you into her…confidence.”

“I am her attorney; she would be foolish not to take me into her confidence.”

Sir Winston smiled again. “While I do not wish to be indelicate, reports have reached me that you have been seen entering and leaving Mrs. Manning’s very beautiful yacht at, shall we say, odd hours.”

Stone tried to appear confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what this has to do with my representing Mrs. Manning.”

“Then I will be blunt,” Sir Winston said, clearly out of patience, “I believe that you have been providing services to Mrs. Manning which are above and beyond those which might be construed as legal.”

Stone, cornered, decided to tack. “Winston, where did you attend law school, if I might ask?”

Sir Winston pulled himself up to his considerable full height. “I read law at Oxford,” he said.

“At Oxford University, in the town of the same name, in England?” Stone asked, sounding surprised.

“The very same.”

“Then, with such an illustrious legal background, perhaps you could provide me with some precedent for a prosecutor—let alone a minister of justice—indulging in such conjecture with a defense attorney.”

“Sir,” Sir Winston said, leaning forward, “you are fucking the lady, aren’t you?”

“Is that why I was brought here?” Stone demanded. “To indulge your prurient curiosity?” He stood up. “Sir,” he said, “neither my sex life nor hers is your proper concern. Rather, you should be concerned with this extremely strange prosecution of an innocent and bereaved woman for a crime which she could never have committed.” He threw down his napkin and left, in the highest dudgeon he could manage.