“That’s goat, isn’t it?” Felicity asked. “Or something very like it?”

“You know very well that it’s veal,” Stone said.

“If you say so.”

“Excuse me a minute,” Dino said, and then headed for the men’s room.

“He’s being discreet,” Stone said. “He knows you want to talk to me about something.”

Felicity polished off her Rob Roy. “I wish to engage you,” she said.

“I’d be delighted,” Stone said.

“Not in that capacity,” she said.

“In my capacity as an attorney?”

“In one or more of your capacities,” she replied, “although Her Majesty can’t compete with Mr. Fisher’s generosity.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Well, we can do this one of two ways,” she replied. “At your hourly rate-two hundred dollars, isn’t it?”

“Five hundred,” Stone replied.

Felicity blinked.

“Everything has gone up,” Stone said.

“Apparently.”

“What was the other way we could do this?”

“I had in mind a more result-oriented arrangement,” Felicity said.

“What sort of result, and what sort of arrangement?”

“The result would be complete success, and the arrangement would be a payment of one hundred thousand dollars upon achieving it-to include all your expenses and any subcontractors you may require.”

“And what is the assignment?”

“The location and disposition of a weasel,” Felicity said.

“Have you tried the pet shops?”

“A weasel in the person of a disloyal former employee.”

“More information, please. What do you mean by ‘disposition’?”

“I mean putting him into my hands or those I may designate. You don’t have to kill him. I’m afraid that is all I can tell you until you have signed this,” she replied, removing a document from her briefcase.

Stone looked at the title. “The Official Secrets Act?”

“You read well.”