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that?”
    “No trouble, except that I can’t oblige you,” I said, doing my best to sound more resolute than ignorant; I was convinced that any sign of weakness now would set Vickers against me and I would fail in my mission for Mycroft Holmes.
    The man he had ordered tested the poker. It was red but not yet glowing; he put it back in the fire.
    “Think of all I can do for you. And in return I want only to know the importance of that... unusual tattoo.” Vickers looked toward the window. “Such a minor thing, really.”
    “It may be,” I said, swallowing hard. “But I can tell you nothing. Do what you will, I cannot tell you.”
    Vickers sighed. “Bring the poker.”
    This could not be happening, I thought as the man approached me. I knew these men were dangerous, but I had not supposed they were mad. I could not move from my place without falling into their hands, so I did my best to maintain an outward composure. “I can tell you nothing,” I repeated as the poker—now seeming the size of a loaf of bread—was brought near enough for me to feel the heat of it.
    “Suppose we should burn it off” Vickers suggested.
    I recalled the scar I had seen on Mycroft Holmes’ wrist, so small I had not thought it worth notice, and I realized it was a burn scar. Good God, had they done this to him? “I still can tell you nothing,” I said. To my astonishment my voice did not shake.
    The glowing metal was near enough now to singe the frayed cuff of my jacket. Vickers studied me. “Well?”
    “I have nothing to say,” I told him.
    “Not even about the Valley of the Kings?” he asked, and signaled his man to move away. “For now, I am willing to assist you.”
    I was startled at the suddenness of his offer, at his abrupt change of demeanor, which did not diminish my conviction of his sinister intent. In the persona of August Jeffries, I demanded, “What are you talking about? You were prepared to maim me, and now you extend yourself as if there were no... question, or bargains? You are not a charitable man, of that I am certain. So what benefit do you expect?” I managed to sound scornful and pleading at once, and decided that the hours I had spent with Edmund Sutton were not wholly wasted.
    “Oh, there are questions, and you have answered the most pressing,” said Vickers, and his voice was as cold and piercing as a hangman’s pity. “Rest assured, you have given the answer.” He turned on his heel and strode out the door without looking back.
    The Devon man glowered at me. “Let’s go over the terms of your father’s will, shall we?”
    I made a half-hearted and truculent protest, then sat down again and let them draw my story out of me; all the while I wondered what I had said that had so changed Vickers’ mind. I reckoned I must have given him the response he expected in the denial of all knowledge of the meaning of the tattoo. But what did that denial mean to him?
    FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS:
    G. has been started on his mission. M.H. told me that he is apprehensive about the assignment for there is much we do not know, and G . is still untried. Once enmeshed in the intrigue it may be difficult to extricate G. from it. If, indeed, we have such an opportunity. So much depends on G. himself.
    There was a note from G.’s fiancée delivered here, summoning him to a fete tomorrow night. M.H has sent her a note, informing her that G. will not be available for the occasion, being as he is on business for the government.
    M.H. was displeased to read in the Times that there are yet again rumors of another naval scandal. The author of the article claims that an effort is being made to conceal any evidence of wrongdoing, for it is feared that another blow to the government could lead to a vote of no confidence. In these uncertain times, even the appearance of mismanagement might be sufficient to do the government severe damage.
    The messenger from hospital informs me that Mothers condition remains