Grentham thought for a moment. “So in fact, we don’t have a clue as to whether this was an attempt on the reigning sovereign’s life, or merely another example of his appetite for pleasure getting him in trouble.”

Looking unhappy, Jenkins nodded. His superior was known as a man who preferred to view the world in black and white. An infinite range of grays merely muddied the subject—which did not bode well for whoever presented the ill-formed picture.

“I should be tempted to let him stew in his own juices . . . ,” began the Major, but a sharp look from Grentham speared him to silence.

The minister fingered one of the leather document cases piled on his desk. “Given the current situation, it is imperative— imperative—that we ascertain whether foul play was involved. What with the upcoming arrival of the Allied delegation and our troubles with the upstart Americans, the death of the Prince Regent could be catastrophic for the interests of England.”

The assistant instinctively backed into the shadows of the dark oak filing cabinets, though he had a feeling that the basilisk stare of his superior could see straight through to the deepest coal-black pit of hell.

“And so,” he mused, “however unpleasant a task, we must extract the truth from this sticky mess.”

Jenkins gave a sickly smile, unsure whether the minister had just attempted a witticism.

“The question is, who among our operatives is best equipped to handle such an investigation?” Grentham pursed his lips. “Any suggestions?”

The Major quickly shot a look at Jenkins.

“Well, milord, I . . . I . . .”

“Spit it out, man,” ordered the Major. “We haven’t got all day.”

Sweat beaded on the assistant’s brow, though his throat remained bone-dry. “I was just going to say, perhaps one of our Peninsular allies might prove u-u-useful. Seeing as it was the Spanish who brought cacao to Europe from the New World, it would seem logical that they would be the most knowledgeable on the subject.”