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newspaper?'
    'They should be drawn so that you don't want to discard them.'
    'Ah. Because of their beauty?'
    'Yes.' He looked round at her to find that she was already looking at him. He was suddenly aware of her perfume enveloping him and of how close they were, the lace ruff at her elbow just touching his sleeve. 'Exactly.'
    'So, your maps are works of art?'
    'I only wish—'
    The door opened abruptly, too abruptly for the arrival of a servant. And clearly the person who entered was nothing of the kind. He was a short, barrel-chested old man in russet greatcoat and black suit, the coat worn draped over his shoulders like a cape, the sleeves empty. His face was lined but mobile, broken veins reddening his sharp cheekbones beneath grey, wary eyes framed by a mane of his own snowy white hair. The absence of a wig and the way he had shrugged on the coat, presumably the more readily to shrug it off, conveyed at once a certain bluntness, if not brusqueness. Ysbrand de Vries, as Spandrel felt sure the newcomer was, lacked his old friend Sir Theodore Janssen's polish and perhaps also his subtlety. But he was the one of them who, according to his wife, had scorned the lure of South Sea and Mississippi alike. He, Spandrel reminded himself, was the better judge of the two.
    'Mr Spandrel,' the man growled unsmilingly. 'I am de Vries.'
    'Your servant, sir. I've come—'
    'Enough of that.' He glanced at his wife. 'You may leave us, madam. Ga weg.' It sounded like what it undoubtedly was: a dismissal verging on the curt.
    'Goodbye, Mr Spandrel,' said Estelle de Vries, so unembarrassed by her husband's manner that Spandrel could only suppose it was what she was well used to. 'I hope you enjoyed your tea.'
    'I did. Thank you.' Already, as he spoke, she was on her way out of the room. As the door closed behind her, he looked at de Vries and summoned a respectful smile. 'Mijnheer—'
    'Janssen sent you?'
    'Sir Theodore Janssen, yes.'
    'With an article for safe-keeping.'
    'Yes. But...' Spandrel retreated to the armchair and retrieved the satchel. 'I must take precautions, mijnheer. You understand?'
    'What precautions?'
    'I'm instructed to ask you to name the third member of the party on the occasion of your and Sir Theodore's first meeting.'
    'Ha. Spelletjes, spelletjes, spelletjes. Janssen plays too much. You cannot always win.' De Vries pulled off his coat and tossed it over the back of the armchair. 'You liked the tea, Mr Spandrel? You enjoyed the... tart?'
    'The cake was good.'
    'The secret is in the spices.' De Vries scowled at him.
    'No doubt.'
    'Jacob van Dillen.'
    'I beg your pardon?'
    'The name you require... for Sir Theodore's game. Van Dillen.'
    'Yes. Of course. I'm sorry.'
    'So. The article. It is in the bag?'
    'Yes.'
    'Give it to me, then.'
    Spandrel took the satchel to the table, laid it next to the map of London, opened the flap and slid out the despatch-box. De Vries's shadow fell across it as he did so, the old man's hand stretching out to brush the map aside.
    'There were no... difficulties on your journey?'
    'None, mijnheer.'
    'That is good.' De Vries reached for the despatch-box and Spandrel noticed how swollen his knuckles were, how claw-like his fingers. He imagined them touching Estelle's soft, pale flesh and could not suppress a quiver of disgust at the thought. 'You are cold?'
    'No. It's nothing.'
    'Relief, perhaps.' De Vries slid the despatch-box towards himself. 'At a mission accomplished.'
    'Perhaps.'
    'You require a receipt?'
    'Yes. Please. I do.'
    De Vries smiled with half his mouth, then marched to the desk by the window and seized pen and paper. He did not sit down, but stooped to write, quickly, in a practised hand. Spandrel watched him, marvelling at how lightly his distorted fingers held the pen. Then he was done, and marching back to the table, holding out the receipt for Spandrel to take.
    'Thank you, mijnheer.' Spandrel glanced down at the document and flushed at once with a sense of his own stupidity.