One has to phrase questions carefully with James. If I had asked what piece of information led Commander Woodhead to believe such a story, he would quite rightly have said that he did not know. He was not privy to Mr. Woodhead’s thinking. I also needed to curb my annoyance, or I would have asked what the Bolshevik was expected to do with this gold. Buy up the rhubarb supply? Steal agricultural secrets so as to set up sheds for forced rhubarb on the Siberian plains? That all seemed more likely than the ability to start another national strike and begin the revolution.

James scratched his cheek. “We received a letter, containing reliable information from a trusted contact in Riga.”

“We?”

“Not I, at least not initially. It landed on the desk of an SIS officer.”

“It’s the wrong time of day for me to fathom your sets of initials.”

“Secret Intelligence Service.”

“So you saw a copy? And did Scotland Yard?”

“Yes.”

“Because it’s SIS’s task to keep Britain safe from the Bolshevik threat?”

He brightened at my understanding. “Of course.”

“And so lots of people would have been sent a copy, just tell me who.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Then nod your head if I hit the right ones: MI5, the War Office, the Admiralty, Scotland Yard Have I missed anyone?”

“Yes.”

“MI5.”

“You said that.”

“How detailed was it? Did you have dates, time of arrival, a name?”

“We didn’t have a name. Naturally the person in question would have an alias and false papers. There was no specific date, just a broad timescale.”

“So this could have been a low-level informant trying to earn his keep by inventing a fanciful tale that SIS would swallow. He was testing gullibility and laughing at his own cleverness.”

“Any suggestion of a threat has to be taken seriously.”

“Or, perhaps the person from Riga was correct and at this moment a Bolshevik stalks the realm, distributing money to malcontents. Because the man on the train was not a spy. Harry Aspinall was a British subject from a good family who just happens to have made his life in France. He was here at the behest of his old nanny. You can’t get more British than that. He was here to right a wrong, and hoping that while here he might see the Ryder Cup and toast the winners with a glass of champagne.”

“If you are right, that would be unfortunate and embarrassing.”

“And we hate embarrassment.”

“Kate, there is no way of knowing whether this upright golf-loving Briton had been turned. Traitors do not go about announcing the fact. If he stayed abroad for years, he didn’t love his country that much.”

“Choosing to live abroad isn’t a sign of treachery.”

“You’re tired, and emotional.”

“And you are stubborn and your establishment-issue blinkers are too big.”

“You’ve changed.”

“Haven’t we all?”