He began his speech by recounting his visit to the kitchen prior to their meal today. “I watched the chef as he prepared the mustard-cream sauce for the braised chicken we all just enjoyed,” he said. “Every ingredient that went into that pan was natural. Ground mustard seeds, minced garlic, and fresh cream. He chopped dill and basil that had been snipped from the garden earlier this morning. He finished the sauce with a splash of white wine.”

And given the state of the plates, it looked as if the men had enjoyed their meal. Dickie Shuster from The Washington Post had liked it so much, he’d ordered a second plate.

Gray continued in the same confident, clear voice. “You will be glad to know that the chef didn’t add any wood-tar to the recipe. No petroleum was used to thicken the sauce. There were no attempts to use sulfur to imitate the depth and heat of natural mustard.”

While he still couldn’t tell who his allies were in the crowd, he could spot the ones who were hostile. Men began to shift in their seats and look away from the podium. He continued without faltering.

“As advances in science allow us to find cheaper and easier alternatives, we must begin policing ourselves. If we don’t clean up our act, the government will step in and do it for us. Do you want government men in your factories, rummaging through your files and purchase orders, regulating your products? Yes, it’s hard to keep agricultural goods fresh while being shipped from around the world. That is where we should be investing our scientific research: in how to preserve our fruits, herbs, and vegetables rather than in adulterating them with chemicals.”

Now he could spot his allies. They were nodding and smiling. A few were leaning over to whisper to each other.

There was a commotion in the back of the room. A woman entered. Gray’s eyes widened, for it was Caroline. An usher near the door tried to offer assistance, but she ignored him as she wended through the tables toward the stage.

Something was wrong. Her face looked sick.

Gray dropped his notes and left the podium as she reached him. “What’s going on?”

She grabbed his forearms. She was shaking. “Luke has been arrested. You need to come now.”

“What? But he’s in Cuba.” This didn’t make sense. Luke ran afoul of the authorities all the time. It was hardly something to get so agitated about. Men swiveled in their chairs to listen in, curious about the family drama unfolding in the middle of the closing luncheon. Dickie Shuster had his notebook open and his eyes pinned on them.

Caroline lowered her voice, and he could barely hear her shaking whisper. “They are accusing him of treason. They say it’s a hanging offense.”