She scribbles something on her own notepad. "Did Dr. O'Brien tell you anything about this particular note?" she asks.

I blink. "I have no idea. She simply gave me the file reference number—no codeword."

More notes, more significant looks. The senior Auditor stares at me over the gold half-moon rims of his spectacles. "Mr. Howard. Please indicate if you are familiar with any of these individuals. Matthias Hoechst, Jessica Morgenstern, George Dower, Nikolai Panin—" He nods at my hand signal. "Describe what you know about Nikolai Panin."

"I had a pint with him in the Frog and Tourettes the day before yesterday."

The effect is astonishing: the Auditors jerk to attention like a row of frogs with cattle prods up their backsides. I meet their appalled gaze with a sense of sublime lightness. They want the truth? Okay, they can fucking have the truth.

"I reported it as a contact to the BLOODY BARON committee at the first opportunity, and it was agreed to keep it quiet for the time being. Panin seems to have wanted to pass on a warning about Teapot. He was concerned that it was missing, and that as its last custodians we ought to ensure it was found before the wrong persons got their hands on it and, uh, 'made tea.'" I smile blandly. "Angleton authorized me to read the WHITE BARON files and I have inferred the identity of Teapot."

The Chief Auditor shakes his head. "Bloody hell," he grumbles, then, to me: "Do you know where Angleton is?"

I open my mouth—then pause. Now I can feel the electric flare of the geas tickling the fine hairs on my legs.

The blonde Auditor narrows her eyes. "Speak," she commands.

I can't not speak, but I still have some control. "I don't believe Angleton has assigned it a codeword yet," I hear myself saying, "but his disappearance is connected with an ongoing investigation and I don't think he wants me to tell anyone about it . . ."

My legs feel as if they're immersed in cold fire up to the knees. I gasp for breath, just as the Chief Auditor hastily holds up his hand: "Stay of execution! The subject has invoked the security variance." He peers at me. "Can you confirm that you are cognizant of Angleton's whereabouts?"

I nod, jerkily. The chilly, searing fingers recede down my calves.

"In your judgment, is Angleton working in the best interests of this institution?"

I nod like a parcel shelf ornament.

"Also in your judgment, would it impair his work on behalf of this institution if we continue to explore this line of enquiry?"

I think for a moment. Then I nod, emphatically.

"Very well." Light glints on his spectacles as he looks at me for a few seconds. "On your recommendation, we will not enquire further—unless you have something you would like to tell us?"