Back on the street, Margot led the way to the redbrick house that looked very much like every other redbrick house in this section of the city. It was far nicer than the flat she and Maman shared, and Lukas and Willa had of course offered them rooms here. But they’d already been settled in the flat, and Lukas and Willa had been so newly married when they found this place. Still, she and Maman spent enough time here that Margot felt perfectly comfortable mounting the doorsteps, ringing the bell, and smiling at the housekeeper who opened the door for her. She stepped inside knowing exactly where to put her coat and how many steps it would take to find her favorite chair in the drawing room. She knew which boards squeaked and how the pipes rattled in the winter.

It wasn’t quite home, but it was close enough. And as she motioned Dot to follow her into the drawing room, she said a prayer that it would feel as comforting to her friend as it did to her.

Das Gespenst hunched over the game board and jerked his handkerchief out of his pocket with shaking fingers. He did his best to keep his cough muted, shallow. It had improved with his last brief venture to the Continent, after he’d been released from hospital. It would improve more, he hoped, with his next trip he’d been ordered to take.

But in the meantime, this dratted British damp. He detested England’s weather. Why couldn’t he have been stationed in Spain or North Africa or South America? His lungs wouldn’t be itching like this in those climates.

His gaze flicked again to the old woman with her yarn, then to the park exit through which the two young women had gone. He recognized them both. He’d seen them coming from the Old Admiralty Building on Friday, when he’d stationed himself on a bench near its doors, his back curved against the damp.

His superiors had assured him that it had been an oversight that his ship was torpedoed. They’d assured him that he was trusted, that he was an appreciated asset.

He wasn’t entirely certain he believed them. He’d utterly failed to make contact with the agent they’d sent him here to find, so they could have deemed it a failing worthy of termination. He’d have to prove himself anew. So he’d taken his new orders—to try to get his hands on British codebooks—as a challenge in which he could not fail.

Codebooks. They would be on every naval vessel, of course, with other officers and agents in the field. But they’d also be there, in the Old Admiralty Building, and those would be guaranteed to be up to date. That must be his target.