Easton released my hand but peered up at me nearsightedly. "Back home now, are you? What are you going to do with the place?"

"I have some idea of repairing the house and living in it," I said.

Easton's look told me he doubted my sanity but wouldn't argue. "And, you are getting married. Do not look so surprised. We read the London newspapers even here. My felicitations."

I bowed politely in thanks. I put my hand into my pocket and withdrew the message from Denis.

"I did not come here only to call on a neighbor," I said. "I was charged with delivering this to you. From London."

Easton frowned. He took the folded paper-thick, cream-colored, and expensive-walked to his desk, sat down, and opened a drawer. He removed a pair of spectacles, put them on, and opened the paper. He read the one word on it and went utterly still.

I approached the desk. Easton stared down at the page, his face drained of color.

The one word on it was Corn. Obviously a code, but what Denis meant by it I could not say.

The expression on Easton's face was telling me, however. The brigadier stood slowly, his skin wan, the man looking ten years older than when I'd walked in.

"You brought this from Mr. Denis," he said.

"I did. Denis… asked me to."

Now what was in his eyes was abject fear. Easton studied me anew, taking in my large build, my big hands, the walking stick I held, inside of which rattled a sword.

"I suppose I ought to have known. What else did he ask you to do? Tell me quickly; I've faced it before."

I looked at him, puzzled. "Nothing. To deliver the message was my only charge. What does it mean?"