A white stubble covered the man's chin. He removed his soiled cotton work gloves and extended his hand in a firm grip. “I'm Dodson,” he said, to Zavala's surprise. “You must be the American gentleman who called yesterday.”

Zavala hoped Dodson didn't see his embarrassment. After hearing the upper-class accent on the phone, Zavala had pictured a craggy-chinned Englishman in tweeds with a bushy upturned mustache decorating a stiff upper lip. Dodson was actually a small, slim, balding man. He was probably in his seventies, but he looked as fit as a man twenty years his junior.

“Are those orchids?” Zavala asked. His family's adobe house in Santa Fe was surrounded by flower beds.

“That's right. These are frog orchids. Spotted here, pyramidal there.“ Dodson raised an eyebrow in a hint that his own stereotype of Americans had been shattered. ”I'm surprised you recognized them. They don't look like those big meaty plants everybody thinks about when you mention orchids."

“My father was crazy about flowers. Some of those blossoms looked familiar.”

“Well, I'll have to show you around after we're done. Now, you must be thirsty after your trip, Mr. Zavala. You said you were in Istanbul? Haven't been there in years. Fascinating city.” He invited Zavala to follow him around behind the house to an expansive flagstone patio. Dodson called in through the open French doors to his housekeeper, a stout ruddy-faced woman named Jenna. She eyed Zavala as if he were an insect her employer had picked off one of his orchids and brought them tall glasses of iced tea. They sat under an oriental pergola laced with ivy. The broad lawn, as well manicured as a golf course, sloped down to a slow- flowing river and extensive marshes. A boat was tied up at a small dock.

Dodson sipped his tea and gazed out at the vista. “Paradise. Sheer paradise.” His piercing blue eyes turned to his guest. “Well, Mr. Zavala. Has this something to do with the telephone call I received a few days ago from Mr. Perlmutter?”

“Indirectly.”

“Hmm. I've made some inquiries. It seems Mr. Perlmutter is highly respected in marine-history circles. How may I help you?”

“Perlmutter was doing some research for NUMA when he came across a reference to your grandfather. He was puzzled about why you were reluctant to talk about Lord Dodson's papers. And so am I.”

“I'm afraid I was abrupt with Mr. Perlmutter. Please offer him my apology if you see him. His query caught me off-guard.” He paused and let his eyes sweep over the roof of his cottage. "Do you have any idea how old this house is?”

Zavala studied the weathered stones and massive chimneys. “I'll take a stab at it,” he said with a smile. “Old?”