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shook his head and said, “You’re all welcome to a berth on my boat if we see the fleet coming. I can outrun anything the French have in the water. We’ll nip down the channel and scoot over to the ould sod–Ireland.”
    “You’re in shipping, are you, Mr. Dougherty?” Aiglon inquired with some show of interest. “Does the invasion scare interfere with your business?”
    “Shipping is a bit too grand to describe what I do,” Mickey answered. “What I have is a nifty three-masted lugger. I use her for fishing or a bit of short-distance hauling, and for pleasure.”
    “What pleasure do you find in sharing your space with a cargo of aromatic fish?” Aiglon inquired.
    “ ‘Tis a bit of a problem,” Mickey admitted readily. “But a good dose of bleach does wonders for the stench.”
    It was, of course, the smell of brandy that necessitated these occasional rinsings out with bleach. I believe it was another of his ploys to dump a load of bass or gray mullets on top of his real cargo. He never sold any fish but ones that liked the estuaries and those he bought from local fishermen to lend an aura of legality to what he did.
    “I’ll sprinkle her with attar of roses if you’d do me the honor of joining me some fine afternoon. Lord Aiglon,” he added, smiling blandly.
    “We shall see. My own yacht will be coming forward in a day or two.” An invitation for Mickey to join Aiglon was not offered, but Mickey took no offense. He was really the best-natured man in the county.
    There was a little more general conversation, after which Mickey said, “I wonder if I might have a word with you in private, Lady Savage? Business,” he added for Aiglon’s and my benefit.
    “Certainly. We’ll go to the study. Excuse us, Aiglon.”
    They left, and Aiglon smiled at me. I was extremely uncomfortable at being abandoned to the sole company of a murderer and sought for any excuse to escape. “I’ll see if your bathwater is ready yet,” I said, and arose.
    “No, stay,” he said, rather imperiously. I sat down again and waited to hear what he had to say.
    “What business would Mr. Dougherty have with my cousin?” he asked.
    “I don’t know. He doesn’t usually have any business with her. I was quite curious myself.”
    “Surely her fishmonger doesn’t visit her to be entertained in her saloon?” he prodded.
    “Good gracious, no! Mickey’s not a fishmonger. He’s a smuggler, but Rachel bought a bottle just a day ago, so it can’t be that. He might have a new load of silk he’s telling her about. She usually gets it directly from Madame Bieler. That’s who handles the silk and small orders of brandy for Mickey,” I explained.
    All this is as well known as a ballad in our area, so I was surprised when Aiglon broke out into a sardonic laugh at hearing it.
    “It’s comforting to know I have such law-abiding citizens keeping house for me,” he said.
    “At least we haven’t murdered anyone!” I shot back.
    He leaned forward and smiled softly. “I may have overstated the case. I hit my man, but whether it was a fatal shot is not certain. I felt it wise to leave before the doctor was called,” he explained.
    “Who did you shoot?”
    “A Mr. Kirkwell.”
    “Why did you do it?” I stared in fascination. I had never seen a murderer before, and wasn’t likely to do so again, but somehow I never thought a murderer would look as refined and civilized as Aiglon.
    “Because I was drunk,” he answered bluntly. There was no air of apology in the speech though perhaps a little embarrassment.
    “But you must have had time to sober up between the challenge and the duel. There is the business of seconds and of arranging a meeting place ...”
    “I was drunk for two days,” he assured me.
    He didn’t look as dissipated as all that. Men who are habitually drunk have ravaged faces and bleary eyes. Aiglon had about the sharpest pair of eyes I had ever encountered, and his flesh was firm.
    “I hope this has taught