The Cocoa Conspiracy by Andrea Penrose Page B

specters,” answered Saybrook slowly. “A few months after our investigation was over, I met with a former comrade in the upper echelon of military intelligence, who confirmed that the government had linked the name with several other instances of espionage. But then, Napoleon abdicated and the war was over, so I assumed that the threat had disappeared.”
    “And yet it’s possible that Renard is still running free, teeth and claws as sharp as ever,” said Arianna.
    “Yes, it’s possible,” he replied. “But so are a myriad of other speculations, ranging from the plausible to the absurd.”
    Arianna didn’t blame him for sounding so sardonic. Regardless of his innocence, Mellon’s reputation would be blackened by her discovery—or worse. The evidence was awfully incriminating. Two of the papers seemed to be written in a secret code, but the third bore the official stamp of the Foreign Office. Written in Mellon’s hand, it summarized the progress of highly secret negotiations taking place with one of the German states. Knowing such privileged information would give any enemy of England a potent weapon at the upcoming Peace Conference in Vienna. The diplomatic jockeying for power would be intense as borders were redrawn, alliances reformed. And so, Europe was like a giant powder keg.
    Just one spark could ignite chaos.
    “Then we shall have to find solid proof of who is the real culprit,” said Arianna. “Or . . .” She hesitated, wondering whether to admit that her thoughts had sunk to such a shameful depth. “Or deal with it in a different way. I confess, I was sorely tempted to throw it all into the fire.”
    That Saybrook said nothing was in itself eloquent of his own inner turmoil.
    “It’s something to consider,” she went on in a near whisper. “We could warn your uncle of the danger, and together work discreetly on setting a trap for the traitor. Nobody else need be privy to the problem until the traitor’s capture is a fait accompli . Think on it—in many ways it’s the most logical tactic. The fewer people who know that the betrayal has been discovered, the better. A wary fox is harder to catch than one who thinks the henhouse is unguarded.”
    “Like your sinfully seductive confections, your well-reasoned arguments are tempting, my dear,” replied the earl. He lifted his chocolate-dark eyes from the pages and she couldn’t quite see what lay beneath the shuttered gaze. A soldier must make himself impenetrable in order to survive, she reminded herself.
    “ Too tempting,” he added. “What you suggest would be easy, and I fear that there is going to be nothing easy about this affair.”
    “Then what do you intend to do?” asked Arianna.
    “I am not sure.” Saybrook carried the papers to the leaded window and angled them into the light. “It depends partly on what I can learn from these coded pages that you found enclosed with the document written by Charles.”
    Codes.
    She had guessed as much, but how the disjointed words could be turned into a meaningful message was its own puzzle. “They look like an opium eater’s wild ramblings,” she said. “It seems an impossible task to try to make sense of them.”
    “I am surprised that you think that.” For the first time since he had returned from the moors, her husband allowed a small smile. “Codes are all based on a logical system. Some may be more complex than others, but the underlying principles are the same. As in mathematics, you simply have to see the patterns.”
    Arianna’s father had been a mathematical genius, and she shared his knack for numbers.
    “I hadn’t thought about it that way,” she murmured.
    “You’ve had no need to,” replied Saybrook drily. “I, on the other hand, spent some of my time on the Peninsula working with George Scovell on cracking Napoleon’s military codes. The man was a veritable wizard.” Moving to the escritoire, he set the papers down and absently smoothed at the creases. “Let