His silence spoke eloquently as he looked over her shoulder at the marks and circles obscuring some of the print on the page. “Margot.”

She knew how it looked. But she also knew she was not mad. “DID said one of the German agents in custody mentioned their suspicion that we communicated with our agents through coded messages hidden within newspapers. Why would they assume that unless it was a method they were using? If my mother was targeted, there could be information to be found here.”

She could only hope he wouldn’t remember that it was the method her father had used to train her. That would make it seem a bit . . . desperate.

Given the look he shot her, he did recall. “Margot. If you need help with something, you know well you can simply ask me.”

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t considered doing just that, after Drake confessed last night that he’d been called off the investigation. Barclay certainly had connections she didn’t—the very ones that made him an invaluable asset to Admiral Hall. After years of scavenging and thieving through the city, he knew the ins and outs better than just about anyone.

But his connections to the intelligence world were all through Mr. V, the man who had recruited her to Room 40 to begin with. V answered directly to Admiral Hall. Using Barclay’s aid in this question would lead her right back where she started, and the admiral had been firm this morning. No more Room 40 resources could be dedicated to the question of her mother’s death.

“There’s nothing you can do, Barclay. Though I thank you for the offer.” She dug up a smile that probably bore only the slightest resemblance to a real one. “What are you doing here today, anyway?”

“What, I can’t come and visit my favorite cryptographer for no reason?” With a grin, Barclay leaned against her desk in that way he always did, as if he had all the time in the world and nothing better to spend it on than a conversation. He had a way of looking instantly relaxed that clashed with the Wavy Navy uniform he now wore. “V said Hall had a task for me. I appear to have arrived a bit early, so I thought I’d take a minute to bother you.” He made a show of looking around. “Where’s Dot? I thought you took lunches together.”

“Usually. But she’s having lunch with a . . . friend today. From outside the OB.” It wasn’t jealousy that had wriggled through her when Dot had shared, with pink cheeks, that she was meeting Redvers Holmes at noon. A bit of sorrow for herself, perhaps. Such a new friendship, and already they were being pulled separate directions. But Margot wouldn’t begrudge her any happiness.

“So instead you decide to pass your lunch with newspapers and sad questions?”