Their assignment had not been all work; their mutuality of interests resulted in a number of social nights at plays, pubs, and private gambling clubs. As a minor member of the aristocracy, Gordon was welcomed virtually everywhere, and Patrick tagged along for the very pleasant ride. There had also been a standing invitation to visit the Gordon castle, which Ian assured a disbelieving Patrick stood atop a bleak, rocky crag that jutted into the North Sea.

Patrick again pulled out his watch as a means of both gathering his thoughts and actually checking the time.

“Don’t worry,” Gordon said. “Your secret meeting isn’t for another half an hour.”

Bastard, Patrick thought. “Actually I make it twenty-five minutes. That assumes there actually is a secret meeting, which, if there were, I wouldn’t admit to anyhow.”

Gordon chuckled. “Wonderful. Nothing’s changed you. How’s your malaria?”

“Fine, thanks. I think I am now completely cured, although I am going to do my damnedest to avoid the Tropics from here on in.” Good lord, he thought again, he knows about my malaria. Does he know whether my bowels move regularly?

“Ian, can I assume your being here with me this lovely summer day is no coincidence at all?”

“Of course, although the fact that I am assigned to the embassy here is a coincidence. When it was decided to arrange a meeting with you prior to your meeting with McKinley, I thought it logical that I be the one to talk with you.”

“About what?”

“Do you know the purpose of the meeting with the president?” When Patrick shook his head, Ian continued. “Then I will also presume you know nothing about the problems with Kaiser Wilhelm. Don’t feel left out, very few people have any inkling that the situation between the United States and Germany is so very critical-perhaps even more critical than your government realizes.” He took out a thin, dark cigar and lit it, oblivious to the angry stares of a mother who promptly yanked her young son away from the offending object.