“These—the Hungerbach family—some are here, then, in London?”

“Yes. Baron Joseph zu Egkh und Hungerbach is the head of the family, but his heir is a distant cousin, named Reinhardt Mayrhofer—he keeps a quite large house in Mecklenberg Square. I have been there sometimes—though of course with the situation as it now is . . .” He lifted one shoulder in acknowledgment of the delicate diplomatic issues involved.

“And this . . . Reinhardt. He—is he a small man? Dark, with long . . . curling . . . h-hair.” The gnats had become suddenly more numerous, and illuminated, a nearly solid mass of flickering lights before his eyes.

“However did you—Major! Are you quite well?” Dropping the paper, he grabbed Grey by the arm and guided him hurriedly to the sofa. “Sit, please. Water I will have brought, and brandy. Wilhelm, mach schnell!” A servant appeared briefly in the doorway, then disappeared at once at von Namtzen’s urgent gesture.

“I am quite—quite all right,” Grey protested. “Really, there is . . . not . . . the slightest . . . n-need—” But the Hanoverian put a large, firm hand in the center of Grey’s chest and pushed him flat on the sofa. Stooping swiftly, he seized Grey’s boots and hoisted his feet up as well, all the while bellowing in German for assorted incomprehensible things.

“I—really, sir, you must—” And yet he felt a gray mist rising before his eyes, and a whirling in his head that made it difficult to order his thoughts. He could taste blood in his mouth, how odd. . . . It mingled with the smell of pig’s blood, and he felt his gorge rising.

“Me lord, me lord!” Tom Byrd’s voice rang through the mist, shrill with panic. “What you done to him, you bloody Huns?”

A confusion of deeper voices surrounded him, speaking words that slipped away before he could grasp their meaning, and a spasm seized him, twisting his guts with such brutal force that his knees rose toward his chest, trying vainly to contain it.

“Oh, dear,” said von Namtzen’s voice, quite near, in tones of mild dismay. “Well, it was not such a nice sofa, was it? You, boy—there is a doctor who is living two doors down, you run and fetch him right quick, ja?”

Events thereafter assumed a nightmarish quality, with a great deal of noise. Monstrous faces peered at him through a nacreous fog, with words such as “emesis” and “egg whites” shooting past his ears like darting fish. There was a terrible burning feeling in his mouth and throat, superseded periodically by bouts of griping lower down, so intense that he now and then lost consciousness for a few moments, only to be roused again by a flood of sulfurous bile that rose with so much violence that his throat alone provided insufficient egress, and it burst from his nostrils in a searing spew.