“And too unpleasant,” said Bell. “Who should Clyde go to instead?”

“There’s the rub.” Again, she answered carefully. “He has little choice. Edison will be the only market Lynds can sell to—unless he’s willing to risk joining up with an independent who could be crushed any moment by the Trust. You know, maybe you should invest in it. Put some of your grandfather’s fortune to good use.”

“Grandfather Ebenezer told me on his deathbed that a man who acts as his own banker has a fool for a client.”

“I’ve heard that said by lawyers.”

“I mentioned as much, and Grandfather gasped, ‘Lawyers stole that expression from bankers.’ His dying words: ‘Spend all you like on wine, women, and song, but swear to me you won’t invest it.’ So I’ll leave investing in Talking Pictures to the professionals. But I have an idea about getting Joe Van Dorn to waive the agency’s protection fee in exchange for Clyde sharing a piece of his profits.”

“Where is Clyde now?”

“He’s safe. Archie’s with him.”

Marion frowned. “Lillian told me that Archie is still not entirely well.”

“Archie promised to shoot first and avoid fisticuffs.”

“But is he well? Lillian says he still drifts off to sleep sometimes.”

Bell nodded. “It happened last week in Nice. But he snapped out of it. The fact is it’s important to Archie that he pull his own weight. I have to honor that,” he added evenly. “Whether I like it or not.” A warm smile softened his no-nonsense expression. “Which leaves me with time on my hands until we join Captain Turner for dinner tonight. Is there anything you would like to do on our last day at sea?”

Marion stretched across the bed and lifted the receiver from the switch hook of a white telephone affixed to the paneling. “If you would like to shed your scratchy outdoorsy tweeds, you’ll find in that closet a silk dressing gown that I bought for you at Selfridges— Oh, yes, good morning, steward. We would like our breakfast in bed, please— They’re asking what we want.”

“Honeymoon specials.”

THAT NIGHT, THEIR LAST NIGHT at sea, Isaac and Marion and Lillian Hennessy Abbott ate at the Captain’s table in the First Class dining saloon. Archibald Angell Abbott IV sent his regrets. He was busy babysitting Clyde Lynds.

CLYDE LYNDS WATCHED ARCHIE ABBOTT DRIFT toward sleep, start awake, then drift again.

Isaac Bell’s redheaded pal would be a goner in ten more minutes, he predicted, and indeed in eight he was fast asleep, sitting up in the chair squeezed into a corner of Clyde’s cabin. Having noticed Archie’s condition, Clyde had prepared for this opportunity by visiting the purser’s office to remove some money from the wallets he and the Professor had left in the safe.

He slipped quietly out the door and signaled a deck steward he had primed to wait, touching a finger to his lips to ensure silence. The steward hurried off and returned quickly with two mates, bigger men then he. They padded quietly along the corridor, their shoes making no sound on the rubber tiles. All three were grinning like men who were about to earn enormous tips for very little effort.