"To my knowledge we have not been at war with the Portuguese for some time."
"Would you call Spain a friend, my lord?"
"Of course not."
"And are the Portuguese not close to the Spanish? Twins of the same isthmus? Would you step on Romulus's foot and expect Remus to remain unaffected?"
"Your friend makes a good argument, though not much sense," Alain told Alison in a confidential tone. "He seems to have learned his logic in Circe's cave, rather than Plato's. Are you familiar with the ways of the Greek philosophers?"
Alison shook her head. Lord Peter smiled broadly.
"You would like the ways of the Academy, I believe. I will be departing for the theater with some friends following our refreshments. Would you wish to join us?"
"Well, my lord, besides extending my respects, I am here with a business proposition," said van Clynne, reminded by the reference to the play that Keen was on his way. "You have heard, no doubt, that the Seneca control a large store of salt in the upper province."
"I had not heard of that," said the young lord.
"Oh yes, the finest store of salt in the entire New World. Now, with the proper financial backing, we would be able to exploit — what was that?”
"What was what?"
"The noise upstairs. Al — quickly, go and investigate."
"I heard nothing."
"Tut, tut, my lord, there are spies everywhere. One has only to mention the word salt and they come rushing from the woodwork, like worms from a rotten ship's hull. A quick profit is a ready goad, as your father used to say."
"My father said that?"
"Al, quickly — up the stairs and investigate. I will talk no further of business until we are sure this house is secure."
"It was probably just the maid."
"Just the maid! If I had threepence for every business deal scuttled by a maid, I should have retired long ago. Up with you, Al."
"Perhaps I should go along," said Lord Peter. "I will fetch a few of my cigars while I am upstairs."
"My lord," said van Clynne, putting his hand on the young man's arm and easing him back to his seat. "There is a certain order to things. Even at your tender age, I am sure you understand that we must attend to our business before smoking. The Indians sometimes skip the order, and it leads them into all sorts of mischief."
While Alain tried to puzzle out van Clynne's meaning, Alison walked briskly to the stairs. She knew she must not run, yet felt her heart pounding fiercely. It was all she could do to control herself. Until a few days ago, bravery had been a child's game, played out in her mind as she drifted off to sleep, her eyes shut to the consequences of failure. But her father's last gasp came to her now, and Fear in the Gorgon's guise walked at her shoulder. With every step she took, the serious danger she faced stroked its icy ringers of dread across her neck.
As the servant surrendered into his arms, Jake deepened his kiss, pressing the young woman's ample bosom to his chest with a degree of pressure that might crush a bear, yet mingled with a softness that would tame a screaming baby. He slipped his fingers around the soft back of her neck, then with a flick closed his forefinger and thumb so sharply the woman fainted.
If asked, Jake would say that he had learned the complicated technique from an old Iroquois warrior. That was far from the truth; the confederation, after all, rarely sanctions the kissing of its enemies. The fainting grip was practiced as a parlor trick among certain London swains — but there is no time now to dredge up details of our hero's past.
The spy pulled the unconscious servant with him to the side of the doorway as footsteps approached from the stair. Holding her with one arm, he reached to his belt and drew his pistol, intending to wield it as a hammer on the newcomer's head — not as fancy a technique as the one he had just practiced, to be sure, but just as effective. Jake's hand was already proceeding downward when he realized the dark body in front of him had a familiar shape.
Alison ducked the blow by throwing herself to the floor.
"What are you doing here?" Jake said. He let the servant slip to the floor as he helped Alison up.
"Looking for you," said Alison. "If I knew you were having your way with a tart, I would not have come to rescue you."
"Watch your mouth, girl."
"Boy, if you please. I am in disguise. Your Dutch friend has a very peculiar way for a spy. He does not act like one at all."
"I'm glad to see you're such an expert on the subject. What the hell are you doing here?"
"We are here to warn you. Dr. Keen is coming."
"Keen? He drowned in the river above Albany. I watched him die myself."
"Not according to the Dutchman. He says he's seen him, and he's on his way here right now. You're to get out immediately." Alison shook her head. "That lord fellow is a queer duck."
"Quickly — go to the window and stand lookout while I finish going through these papers."
"But — "
"Do it."
Jake found a bundle of sketch maps with fresh ink piled at one end of the floor. The large pile was inviting, but he postponed his search through them, instead pulling open the books on the desk. He had just realized one was a thin ledger book showing payments to different informants when Alison tapped him on the arm.
"A carriage has drawn up."
"Downstairs," he hissed as he rushed to the front window to see. "Tell Claus — no, wait. Too late. It is Keen, damn him, back from the dead. He's already at the steps." Jake pulled Alison to the door. "Ordinarily I never kill a man twice, but in his case I will have to make an exception.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“ You’ll have to go out the hall window,” Jake told Alison, grabbing the ledger book. He reached into his sock and pulled out the Segallas. "Take this pocket pistol. Do you know how it works?"
Alison nodded. "I twist the barrels around for two more shots?"
"If anyone tries to stop you, pull both triggers and then run as fast as you can. I'm going to drop down this book to you; it's very important. The alley here," he said, leading her to the window, "connects with an old building. Run through it, then meet me at the infirmary. Hurry."
"But your friend is still downstairs."
"I will see to him," said Jake. "Come on."
Even hanging from the window ledge, it would be a long jump for the girl. She looked down and hesitated.
"But, Jake, if he really is in danger?"
"I'm glad to see that you have changed your opinion about him," Jake told her. "I will hold you out and drop you. Roll on your feet like a cat when you hit the ground."
"I know how to jump," she said indignantly.
"Out, then. And don't wait for me."
"But — "
"General Washington is waiting." Jake took her and dangled her out, then watched with some satisfaction as she fell with an "oooff!" and immediately righted herself. He tossed the book down, then yelled "Go!" as she started to run toward the old creamery.
Jake's shout did not go unnoticed downstairs, though by now it was only one of a panoply of noises whose origin and meaning were a great puzzle to Alain. Van Clynne, of course, realized that his friend must have taken the warning to heart and was even now making good his escape.
Which meant that, despite the perfect moistness of the meat and the excellent — nay, superior — stout the butler had produced, it was time for him to exit as well.
"Well, my lord, I see by the clock that I must go," he said, rising with some reluctance.