“Ready!”

“Wait!” An architect sprang up the ladder and propped a sailor doll with red cheeks and a straw hat in the spotting top.

The test chamber rang with laughter, Kent’s the loudest of all. “Starboard salvo. Fire!”

The rope was jerked, the top of the mast swayed sharply, and the doll flew across the room.

Bell caught it. “Mr. Kent, may I see you a moment?”

“What’s the matter?” asked Kent as he snipped another vertical wire and his assistants watched carefully to see the effect on the mast.

“We may have caught our first spy,” Bell said in a low voice. “Could you come with me, please?”

Lieutenant Yourkevitch jumped from the stool before the Van Dorn Protection Services operative could stop him and grabbed Kent’s hand. “Is honor to meet, is great honor.”

“Who are you?”

“Yourkevitch. From St. Petersburg.”

“Naval Staff Headquarters?”

“Of course, sir. Baltic Shipyard.”

Kent asked, “Is it true that Russia is building five battleships bigger than HMS Dreadnought?”

Yourkevitch shrugged. “There is hope for super-dreadnoughts, but Duma perhaps say no. Too expensive.”

“What are you doing here?”

“The idea is that I meet legend Farley Kent.”

“You came all the way here just to meet me?”

“To show. See?” Yourkevitch unrolled his plans and spread them over Kent’s table. “What do you think? Improvement of form for body of ship?”

While Farley Kent studied Yourkevitch’s drawings, Bell took the Russian officer aside, and said, “Describe the Marine officer who gave you the password.”

“Was medium-sized man in dark suit. Old like you, maybe thirty. Very neat, very trim. Mustache like pencil. Very . . . what is word—precise!”

“Dark suit. No uniform?”

“In mufti.”

“Then how did you know he was a Marine officer?”

“He told me.”

Isaac Bell’s stern expression grew dark. He spoke coldly. “When and where are you supposed to report back to him?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You must have agreed to report to him what you saw here.”

“No. I do not know him. How would I find him?”

“Lieutenant Yourkevitch, I am having difficulty believing your story. And I don’t suppose it will do your career in the Czar’s Navy any good if I turn you over to the United States Navy as a spy.”

“A spy?” Yourkevitch blurted. “No.”

“Stop playing games with me and tell me how you learned the password.”

“Spy?” repeated the Russian. “I am not spy.”

Before Bell could reply, Farley Kent spoke up. “He doesn’t need to spy on us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that we should spy on him.”

“What are you talking about, Mr. Kent?”

“Lieutenant Yourkevitch’s ‘improvement of form for body of ship’ is a hell of a lot better than it looks.” He gestured at various elements of the finely wrought drawing. “At first glance it appears bulky amidships, fat even, and weirdly skinny fore and aft. You could say it resembles a cow. In fact, it is brilliant. It will allow a dreadnought to toughen its torpedo defense around machinery and magazines, and increase armament and coal capacity even as it attains greater speed for less fuel.”