'Who the devil is he?' Drinkwater asked testily, his eye catching sight of a folded paper in Templeton's hand.

'An Inspector of Fencibles…'

'Well?'

'He is holding a prisoner there, sir, a man claiming to be a colonel in the service of the King of Naples.'

'The King of Naples? Marshal Murat?'

'The same ...'

'Let me see, damn it!' Drinkwater shot out his hand, took the hurriedly offered note and read:

Sir, I have the Honour to Acquaint Their Lordships that I am just Arrived at Harwich and have in My Custody a Man just lately Arrived upon the Coast and claiming to be a Colonel Bardolini, in the Service of the King of Naples and Invested with Special Powers. I have Lodged him in the Redoubt here and Await your Instructions at the Three Cups Inn.

Sparkman, Lieutenant and Inspector of Sea Fencibles

Drinkwater turned the letter over and read the superscription with a frown.

'This is addressed to the Secretary…'

'Mr Croker is at Downing Street, Captain Drinkwater, and Mr Barrow is paying his respects to Mr Murray, the publisher.'

A wry and rather mischievous expression crossed Templeton's face. 'And it is getting rather late.' Templeton paused. 'I was alone in the copy room when the messenger was brought in...' The clerk let the sentence hang unfinished between them.

'A coup de hasard, is it, Mr Templeton?'

'Better than the coup de grâce for the Department, sir.'

'Perhaps.' Drinkwater paused. 'What d'you think it means? I recollect it was Murat's men who approached Colonel ... damn me, what was his name ...?'

'Colonel Coffin, sir, he was commanding Ponza and received overtures from Naples to Lord William Bentinck at Palermo,' said Templeton, already moving across the room to the long wooden box on the table from which he pulled an equally long drawer.