Chapter 6

The two cousins spent the next several hours downstairs in the common room playing cards, darts, anything Phileas could think of to distract Rebecca from the death of her friend. It worked only on the surface. Inside, Rebecca had been repeating what Richard's ghost had said to her. There was something in it that bothered her. Some message he had given her that Rebecca had missed in her shock. She folded her incomplete straight and decided to cross the breach no matter what Phileas said.

"Phileas, I am going to tell you something," she began. "Please just listen until I am finished and tell me what you think at the end." From there, she recited everything that Richard had said to her before disappearing. "He's the only one I am sure of, he and you, Richard said," she finished. "Now, assuming I did not imagine it, and Richard was trying to convey something important to me, what do you think he meant? It has been at least two hours. No one has come. But what of that other part about only Chatsworth and I being trusted?"

Phileas sat for a moment not sure how to answer. He did not believe in cryptic warnings from beyond the grave. But there had been the dream he had been treated to that featured Richard. In it the man had also demanded that the satchel be taken to Chatsworth straight away. But of course, that had been Richard's last request before succumbing to his illness. And "trust no one" was a Secret Service mantra.

"One can get rather paranoid being shot at and on the run from the enemy," he said at length. "If it was Richard and if he were trying to convey a message, those papers upstairs should hold the answers. If you think it will help, you should look over what is in that satchel."

"That would be a good idea," Rebecca agreed. "I have not had the chance yet."

Rebecca rose from the table and headed up the stairs following Phileas to his room. His room lamp was turned on in addition to the one they had from her room to give them light. Rebecca sat on the bed and began spreading out the papers. The maps she set aside, not expecting them to hold what she sought. The reports she scanned one after another. Rebecca understood German and several of its dialects perfectly. She could tell if someone was from Berlin or Hamburg or Vienna by both speech and their written words.

"These intelligence reports on border defenses seem to be written by the same person," Rebecca said. "I would suspect a mole in King William's provinces."

"I noticed that, too," Phileas said taking the three reports she handed him. He sat on the opposite side of the bed from her and began scanning the papers again. "Queen Victoria does not like William II of Holland very much. She calls him an uneducated farmer from time to time, I hear."

"Queen Sophie and she correspond often," Rebecca said. "Poor match that one. I hear the King and Queen are such opposites, they never agree on anything. Odd," she smiled, a touch of amusement in the curve of it. "I only attend a few Court functions a year these days, and still, I manage to keep up with the royal gossip."

Phileas approved of her lighter mood. Scanning the reports, he pieced together their similarities. It was no longer his job, but old habits die hard. The wording looked like a translation from another language. As such, these probably were not original reports, but copies of copies.

"Phileas, see this name here on this progress report?" Rebecca pointed to the signature. "William Howard? Odd name for a Prussian. His signature is on two… three… five… eight of these. You think this William is also Richard's Will?"

Phileas looked at the papers again. "Possibly. Although that would make him a traitor, would it not? If this is Richard's Will, and he was betraying the emperor's plans to us and the Dutch, no wonder he was killed." All the reports also appear to be translated copies. The word flow is a bit off. Actually…

"Rebecca, look at these again," Phileas directed. "Do they look to you to be written by the same interpreter? William Howard may have been writing all these reports and translating the original intelligence from the mole. If I am not mistaken the originals may have been written in English."

"Possibly… Yes, I think you are right Phileas."

"Rebecca."

"Yes, Phileas?"

"What?" Phileas said back.

"What did you want to say?" Rebecca asked again.

"I did not want to say anything."

"Rebecca! Get away!"

Both cousins looked up at each other, shocked surprise in both faces. "Did you hear–"

"Yes, I did," Phileas said. "And no, I did not say it."

"They are here Rebecca!"

"Good God!" Phileas called out.

Secure in knowing her doubting cousin had heard Richard's voice this time, Rebecca jumped several steps ahead of him. She gathered up the papers and satchel, running with them to her room. Phileas came off the bed too but headed toward the stairs. Halfway down, the front doors opened splashing rain and a flash of bright light into the common room.

He got a clear view of two newly arriving male faces with the next flash of lightning. One of the men he had never met before. He was tall and gray, at least sixty, and walked without a sound, even on the wet flagstones. The other was Alan Brighting. The flaxen-haired man had been a junior agent when Phileas had left the service. This must be Chatsworth's party. But where is Chatsworth?

Alan caught sight of Phileas as he scanned the inn's interior. "Mr. Fogg? Good to see you again, sir. I was only expecting to meet Rebecca. She is here with you?"

"Yes, and is Sir Jonathan with you?" Phileas said. "There is no one up presently but us. The rest of the guests are in their rooms.

"No, Sir Jonathan is not with us. We were told to retrieve information from Miss Fogg. I do not believe Sir Jonathan ever intended…"

"I am William Moore, sir." The other man said in introduction, cutting Alan off as he met Phileas halfway across the room to shake his hand. "I come in Sir Jonathan's place. He was unable to come himself. Duties close to the Queen, I believe. We came as soon as we could. I am to take possession of Miss Fogg's findings and carry it to London."

Phileas accepted the man's hand, sizing him up. He was a ramrod straight figure with fading blonde hair only half gray. His dark gray eyes were the color of storm clouds and looked hard as steel despite his friendly demeanor. He scanned the room as he greeted Phileas, all business and in a hurry to be off again in a storm nobody had any business traveling in. The sooner he was off, the sooner he could put an unpleasant assignment behind him, no doubt.

"Indeed, Rebecca is upstairs."

"Rebecca is downstairs," his cousin's voice corrected behind him.

All three men greeted Rebecca, who was holding the satchel in her hands, standing two steps from the main floor. "Hello Alan," she said in greeting. They had never worked together, but Rebecca had met him in France. Richard had had good things to say about him. She turned her attention to the older man. "And you are?"

"Ah, Rebecca," Phileas said, walking back to take her hand. "This is William Moore come to relieve you of Richard's findings."

"Richard? The missing agent?" Moore asked in surprise. Where is Richard? Chatsworth said this was word of his safe return. Is he well? Was his mission successful?"

"He developed pneumonia," Rebecca said, "and had gunshot wounds. He died last night."

"Sorry to hear it," Alan said, coming closer to Rebecca and taking her hand in greeting. "Richard was a good man. We have all been quite worried about him. I will send a dispatch to Berlin for Brenda as soon as we return to London."

"Miss Fogg, the satchel, please?" Mr. Moore said, again cutting off his companion. "It is an awful night, and I would like to get going as soon as possible."

"Of course," Rebecca agreed. She handed it to Phileas, who was closer to her and blocking her path. "A major find that. Chatsworth will be quite interested in it. We may avoid a war by getting this to the Dutch."

"You have seen the papers?" Mr. Moore said guardedly. He took the satchel from Phileas.

"We had to identify its importance before we sent word to London," Phileas answered.

"I see," Moore said. "You will be kind enough to see that Richard's body is sent to Whitehall? Once brought to London, we can hold it until his wife tells us his wishes concerning burial."

"Certainly," Rebecca agreed.

With that, Moore tipped his drenched hat and headed back out into the storm. Alan took a moment longer to make his farewell to Rebecca before following.

After they had left, Rebecca continued to stare after them through the window. "Odd that Chatsworth did not come himself."

"I agree," Phileas said.

"Well, I do hope Chatsworth understands when he receives that satchel in the morning." Rebecca turned back to her cousin. "Richard said to give it only to Sir Jonathan. I have the papers upstairs in my room. The satchel, I stuffed with a sheet and some books."

Phileas grinned and shook his head. "I thought it did not feel quite right. You are becoming awfully suspicious Rebecca. Talking to ghosts is having a bad effect on you."

"You disapprove?"

"On the contrary, I approve completely. I would have come up with a reason to keep them here had I not suspected you of acting already." Phileas turned to the stairs. "Now, if you do not mind, I think I need to have an early morning chat with my valet."

"At three in the morning? Phileas?"

Phileas headed up the stairs. "Oh, he will have to be rising in another few hours anyway."