“That surprised Langley, too,” Stone said. “This photo,” he said, pointing at one, “shows a gentleman, unidentified currently, handing Roger a Russian diplomatic passport with his photo in it and bearing the name Sergei Ivanovich Ostrovsky, which would seem to mean that they think highly enough of Roger to provide him with a means of escape from Britain or Europe, in the event that he finds himself in deep water.”

“Ah, yes,” Felicity said. “I’ve no doubt that they will be providing him with a complete identity package and a legend in due course, if they haven’t already.” She picked out a shot of the dinner table. “I know all of these people except this gentleman,” she said, pointing at Alex. “Anything on him?”

“A great deal, as it happens. He turns out to be an Englishman. You recall that you and I had dinner last year at the London home of the Duke of Kensington?”

“Of course.”

“Thomas is the duke’s family name, is it not?”

“It is.”

“The gentleman to whom you refer is Wilfred Henry Charles Thomas, the duke’s third son, who is also Earl of Chelsea.”

“I recall that the duke had an heir and a spare, but I thought that number three had been shuffled off into the Royal Army, the Royal Navy, or the Church, which are the usual destinations of third sons.”

“Apparently Wilfred exhibited a more independent streak. After studying at Harrow and Oxford, where he read languages, prominently including Russian, he set himself up as a dealer in rare and antique books, and also bookbinding, at a shop in the Burlington Arcade.”

“What a nice cover for a newly cultivated spy for the Russians,” she said. “I believe I have been into that shop once or twice.”

“As has Lance,” Stone added. “A little more history: Wilfred and a fellow named Elihu Sands, known as Eli, were friends from childhood and at school and shared rooms at Oxford, where they both found suitable girls to marry. It is rumored that Wilfred also found the time to impregnate Eli’s girlfriend, resulting in one Jennifer Sands, the brigadier’s new squeeze, who sits at the table next to Wilfred. Perhaps you can detect a family resemblance?”

“It seems quite obvious, now that you point it out. Do we know what the state of knowledge is among this group? Who knows what and who doesn’t?”

“I think we should assume that they all know, except Lady Thomas, who expired some four years ago. If he didn’t know at Oxford, certainly before his death Eli Sands had observed the resemblance of his friend, Wilfred, to his supposed daughter, Jennifer.”

“Very probably,” Felicity said. “Now, what does all this mean?”

“Lance and I were hoping it might mean something to you and your people because he doesn’t have a clue.”