"You English!" For a moment, Panin looks exasperated, then he quickly pulls a lid over it. "The teapot is missing," he repeats, as if to a very slow pupil. "It has been missing since last week. Everyone is looking for it, us, you, the opposition . . . ! You were its last keepers. Please, I implore you, find it? For all our sakes, find it before the wrong people get their hands on it and make tea."

Committed to paper, this dialogue might sound comical: but coming from Panin's mouth, in his soft, clipped diction, it is anything but.

I shiver. "Ungern Sternberg's teapot didn't get misplaced by accident," I hazard.

Panin's response takes me by surprise: "Idiot!" He leans back in disgust, raises his glass, and takes a deep and disrespectful swig. "You are fishing, now."

Bother, I've been rumbled. "'Fraid so. Let me level with you? I know it's missing, but that's all I know. But I'll tell you what, if you can tell me what happened in Amsterdam last Wednesday and why it followed my wife home on Thursday I would be very grateful."

"Amster—" Panin shuts his mouth with a click. "Your wife is unhurt, I hope?" he asks, all nervous solicitude.

"Shaken." But not stirred. "The—intruder—was attributed to your people, did you know that?"

"Not unexpected." Panin makes a gesture of dismissal with one hand. "They do that, you know. To muddy the waters."

"Who? The opposition?"

Panin gives me that look again, the look you might give to the friendly but stupid puppy that's just widdled on the carpet for the third time that day. "Tell me, Mr. Howard, what do you know?"

I sigh. "Not much, it seems. I have been seconded to a committee that's trying to work out why you folks are currently running up an eBay reputation score like there's no tomorrow. I am trying to deal with an unpleasant domestic situation, namely work following my wife home. My boss is out of the office, and I'm trying to pick up the pieces. If you thought you could shake me down for useful information, I'm afraid you picked the wrong spy. I could tell you more than you could possibly want to know about the structured cabling requirements for our new headquarter building's fourth subbasement, but when it comes to missing teapots, nobody put me on the flash priority classified briefing list."

"I see." Panin looks gloomy. "Well, Mr. Howard, many would not believe you—but I do. So, here is my card." He passes me a plain white business card—unprinted on either side, but pressed from a very high grade of linen weave. It makes my fingertips tingle. "Should you have anything to discuss, call me."

I slide it into my breast pocket. "Thanks."

"As for the teapot, it was never the same after Ungern Sternberg retrieved it from the Bogd Khan's altar."