“What was it?”

“It’s sensitive information, in fact. I fear I must exact the traditional promise from you.”

“Nothing you say will leave this room,” promised Lenox gravely.

“According to Exeter, Pierce and Carruthers were two of the three journalists who gave testimony against Jonathan Poole at his trial.”

Lenox inhaled sharply.

The British government had executed Poole six years before for high treason. During the Crimean War, Poole, born an aristocrat but with a grandmother from the Baltic region, had spied on England for Russia. Poole’s subordinate, an anonymous navy officer called Rolk, had written to three newspapers in England when he started to suspect his superior of treason. Before the letters made it home Rolk was dead-accidentally drowned, or so it appeared. By then Poole was already making plans to defect to Russia, but the British navy had apprehended him at the last moment. The trial had been a celebrated one, titillating both because of the high-ranking personages who spoke on behalf of Poole’s character and the perceived heroism of poor Rolk. Three journalists had testified behind closed doors to receiving Rolk’s letters. Apparently two of them were Carruthers and Pierce.

“Yes,” said Jenkins, as if to confirm Lenox’s surprise.

“Have you looked out for the third journalist?”

“He died four years ago.”

“How?”

“Naturally, from all we could gather this morning. His widow didn’t appreciate our questions. According to the coroner it was an entirely average death. In his sleep.”

“Still-Poole has been dead for years! I doubt most people have thought of him since it all ended.”

“Well-yes,” said Jenkins in a measured tone.

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure I should say before we’ve gathered all of the information we need.”

Lenox understood. “Yes, of course.”

Jenkins stood up. “At any rate, you’ll know before anybody else.”