“Around fifteen years ago, France paid an American inventor named Robert Fulton to develop a submarine to use against us,” he said. “He did so, but the Treaty of Amiens in 1802 put an end to the war. When hostilities resumed a year later, the French had lost interest in the project, but our own Admiralty had taken note. The government was terrified Napoleon would invade, and they thought Fulton’s innovations could help derail that, so they brought him over to our side.”

Georgie raised her brows. “Very sneaky.”

“All’s fair in love and war. Fulton moved to London and signed a contract with Prime Minister Pitt and Lord Melville, First Lord of the Admiralty, to attack fleets using his ‘submarine bombs.’ By October 1805, he’d actually succeeded in blowing up a brig with this ‘torpedo’ system.”

Wylde’s mouth twisted wryly. “Unfortunately for Fulton, Nelson destroyed the French fleet at Trafalgar that very same month. The Admiralty told him to stop work, believing the threat eliminated. He demanded to be paid in full, despite his invention never having been used. Some bitter negotiating ensued, which resulted in the vessel being broken up and Fulton returning to his homeland, very unhappy, in 1806.”

“What a shame!”

“That’s not the end of the tale, though. When war broke out with France again, four years ago, the Admiralty decided to revisit the idea. Since Fulton was working for the Americans by then, they contacted an acquaintance of his who’d helped make the original vessel, a character called Tom Johnstone.”

Georgie bounced in her chair. “This is fabulous! Just like one of Mr. Defoe’s adventure novels! Who is this Johnstone fellow?”

“A smuggler and an adventurer, by trade. But the Admiralty turned a blind eye to that and commissioned him to work on a new vessel using Fulton’s original designs.” He indicated the papers spread out on the desk. “These designs. They gave him enough money to start building and the use of a shipyard at Blackwall Reach on the Thames.”

“I have warehouses at Blackwall!” Georgie exclaimed. “This has all been going on right under my very nose! Did Johnstone build the vessel?”

“Not quite. Once again, the war ended before work was completed. Johnstone, like Fulton, was ordered to stop work, and went back to smuggling on the Kent coast. Until a few months ago, when Bow Street sent me to investigate rumors of a smuggler who was trying to engage a crew of competent sailors for a mysterious voyage.”

“You think it’s Johnstone?”