“Wilfred Thomas and Jennifer Sands’s father, Elihu Sands, known as Eli, were lifelong friends and shared rooms at Oxford. They both met their wives at Oxford and Jennifer’s mother got pregnant while still a student. That’s all perfectly straightforward, but their history contains a rumor.”

Lance smiled. “Don’t tell me. Thomas fathered his friend’s girlfriend’s child.”

“That is the rumor,” Winn said, “but I can’t prove it.”

Lance handed him the photograph and the magnifiers. “There’s your proof,” he said. “Look at those two faces, Wilfred Thomas and Jennifer Sands. They have to be closely related.”

“I believe you’re right,” Winn said.

“So, Thomas came to Oxford and got bitten by the Communist bug, probably courtesy of his favorite don, who, I’ll bet, taught Russian.”

“And Sand’s girlfriend got bitten by Wilfred Thomas, with Jennifer as the result. I love it.”

“So do I,” Lance said, “but I don’t know if it means anything for us. Let’s just keep it in mind, for the moment.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll revise the files of the relevant parties.”

“Stay with the rumor theory, for the time being. Let’s see what else emerges. It would be interesting to know if Jennifer knows who her father is, and if Eli knew.”

“I think that would have to be a job for operations,” Winn said. “We’re unlikely to find that information in a file or a book.”

“I believe you are right,” Lance said.

—

When Winn had gone Lance placed a call abroad.

“This is Dame Felicity,” she said.

“Good day, Felicity, this is Lance.”

“Why, Lance, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“It would seem that both our services have taken an interest in Brigadier Fife-Simpson.”

“Oh?”

“Certainly, and you are well aware of that, so let’s not be coy.”

“How may I help you, Lance?”

“I believe it might be in our mutual interest to share our findings with each other.”

“It might make for a more economical operation, as well.”

“Ah, I see we’re on the same page. I propose that you meet with our operative, perhaps over the weekend, and that the two of you pour out your hearts to each other.”

“Let me guess: The operative in question is Stone Barrington?”

“Convenient, isn’t it, since you are close, ah . . . neighbors and you will probably both be in residence at Beaulieu this weekend.”

“Quite convenient,” Felicity replied.

“May we speak again after you two have had a chat?”

“Indeed. Goodbye, Lance.”

—

Lance called Stone’s cell. It was after lunch in London.

“Yes?”

“Scramble.”

“Scrambled.”

“Good day, Stone.”

“Good day, Lance.”

“I have an assignment for you—a pleasant one, to be sure.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I believe Holly is leaving England shortly.”

“She is being driven to the airport as we speak.”