“How do you know about Derringers?” he asked.

“I read.”

“It’s not a bad idea.”

“Can we get one here?” I asked.

“Probably, but you’d need to be trained before you could carry it. It would be more of a danger to you than a protection until you’re fully competent using it.”

“I’m sure I could learn.”

“I shall teach you when we get back home,” he said. “I’m something of an expert marksman.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said, feeling my brow crease. “What other fascinating secrets are you hiding from me?”

“None that I can recall at present. For now, though, you’ll have to be doubly diligent. Take no chances.”

We’d reached the edge of the water, and I gripped his hand hard as I stepped into the vessel rocking violently before us, disappointed that my romantic notions of cruising the Bosphorus were being dashed on a daily basis by rough water that, so far as I was concerned, ought not to have troubled my stomach. Once we’d disembarked, it was into a carriage to take us the rest of the way through Pera, the section of Constantinople that housed not only the majority of foreign embassies and consulates, but also the Europeans who worked in them. Despite the preponderance of Western dress and more than one façade that looked straight out of London’s Mayfair, the neighborhood did not lack flourishes of the exotic, from elaborately carved wooden buildings to veiled ladies ducking in and out of alleys.

Sir Richard’s house, with its tall, Empire edifice, was a neoclassical vision, situated on the corner of a street near the British embassy. We were ushered inside by an English butler and served tea almost before we’d taken our seats in a drawing room furnished to showcase the eclectic mix of objects one would expect to find in the home of an international traveler. Serene-looking Isis, queen of the Egyptian gods, her arms outstretched, supported the cherry table on which a silver tea service was laid, and the heads of sphinxes decorated the chairs surrounding it.