A Conspiracy of Paper

TWENTY-EIGHT

IN A STRANGE mirroring of my motions, Miriam began to wipe her hands upon the hoops of her gown. She looked at me. She looked at the door. She could hardly hope to escape, but the thought, as absurd thoughts do in moments of confusion, surely crossed her mind.

I asked the girl for a private room and a bottle of wine, and we retired into a small and neat closet that offered little more than a few oldish chairs scattered around a table. It was a room of business, and I appreciated that. From the wall, crudely rendered portraits of Queen Anne and Charles II stared at us; there was no mistaking Mr. Kent’s Tory politics.

Miriam sat stiffly in her chair. I poured a glass of wine and set it in front of her. She wrapped her delicate hands around the glass but neither lifted it nor tasted the wine. “I did not expect to see you here, Cousin,” she said quietly, not meeting my eye.

I proved myself less shy than Miriam about the drinking of wine. After taking a long sip, I sat down and tried to decide if it was more comfortable to look at her or away from her. “What is your connection to Rochester?” I said at last. I had hoped to moderate my tone, to sound relaxed, concerned, simply curious. It came out as an accusation.

She let go of her glass and met my gaze. She had the frightened and outraged look of a parish beggar. “What business have you speaking to me thus? I have responded to your notice in the paper. I do not believe that to be a crime.”

“But I assure you murder is a crime, and a very serious one, and it is in connection to murder that I seek Mr. Rochester.”

She gasped. She moved to stand up, but then sat again. Her eyes darted about the room in search of something that would comfort her, but she could find nothing. “Murder?” she breathed at last. “What can you mean?”

“I shall withhold nothing from you, Miriam, but you must tell me what you know of Rochester.”

She shook her head slowly, and I watched her spotted green bonnet sway with her movements. “I know so little of him. I bought—that is to say, I had some funds bought through him. That’s all.” She now drank of her wine, and drank vigorously, too.

“South Sea funds,” I said.

She nodded.

“How did you buy these funds? It is very important you tell me everything. Did you meet him, correspond with him, talk with a servant of his? I must know.”

“There’s so little,” she said. Her fingernails gently scratched on the roughhewn surface of the table. “I—I had no contact with him myself. I had someone who dealt with him for me.”

“Philip Deloney.”

“Yes, it’s been clear to me for some time that you know we . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“That you are lovers, yes. And that he is some kind of petty gamester and jobber.”

“He has bought and sold at Jonathan’s for me,” she explained quietly. “I have so little money, and I needed to try to secure more that I might afford to establish a household of my own.”

I could not but laugh. Elias should have been delighted to hear about this odd commingling of hearts and money, of romance being bought and sold upon the ’Change. Miriam looked at me in puzzlement, and I shook off my mirth, for it was a kind of panicked laughter.

“What is the nature of Deloney’s relationship with Rochester?”

“I know that it is a distant one. Philip has been searching for him and unable to find him.”

“And why has he been searching? Indeed, why are you looking here today?”

“Philip arranged to have Rochester buy South Sea stock in my name. In his name as well.”

“But why? You have a connection, albeit a strange one, with Adelman. Surely you did not need a third party to secure you stock.”

“Mr. Deloney told me that Rochester could get stock at a discount—fifteen, even twenty points below market. I know from Mr. Adelman that the stock is soon to rise, so with the discount, I thought I could secure enough money to move from your uncle’s house. But Philip grew tired of waiting, and needed to convert his stock to ready cash. The agreement was that we were not to attempt to convert the stock for a year from the time of purchase—something having to do with the way in which we received the discount—but Philip wanted silver. He tried seeking out Rochester to find out how he might go about the conversion, and I know not the nature of the correspondence, but I do know that it agitated him severely. He would hardly speak to me of it, only to say that the stock was now but dross. So when I saw the advertisement in the paper, I thought I might learn more.”

“Do you own—that is to say—possess your South Sea stock?”

Miriam nodded. “Certainly.”

I pressed my hands together. “I have hardly heard such good news.”

“Good news? Why should my stock prove good news for you?”

“Take me to the stock, and I’ll show you.”

We left the coffeehouse in a hurry, after telling the girl there to collect the names of anyone else who came in search of me. We returned to the house at Broad Court, and Miriam invited me into her dressing room, where she removed a gold filigree box containing a large pile of thick parchment paper. I first looked at the thinner documents—projecting shares, mainly for the construction of two new bridges across the Thames. I had seen Elias deceived with his projects often enough to recognize mere stuff when I saw it.

“I believe Mr. Deloney has fooled you with these. They are but empty promises.”

“Fooled me?” Miriam stared at them. “Then where has the money gone?”

“To the hazard table, I presume.” I found myself asking the question that I had not thought to articulate. “Is it for this thief that you wished to borrow twenty-five pounds of me?”

“I had given him all I had of my remittance, and I had promised him future remittances,” she said quietly. “I was worth less than nothing after purchasing these.” Miriam’s hand trembled as she then produced the South Sea issues. These were an impressive set of documents, written on the finest parchment in the finest hand. They bespoke their authenticity to all who would but take a moment to glance in their direction.

Nevertheless, I was entirely convinced that they were false.

I knew that Rochester sold false stock, and I knew that Deloney had dealings with Rochester. The inexplicable discount that Miriam received only confirmed my suspicion.

From what little I knew of the price of shares, I could see why Miriam was so short of ready money. She had spent five or six hundred pounds on issues not worth five or six farthings. It pained me to tell her that she had destroyed her savings. “I believe these stocks are but forgeries,” I said softly.

She took them from me and stared at them. I could see her thoughts. They looked so very real. She had been a fool to believe those project shares, but these—these looked official, embossed, approved. “You are mistaken,” she said at last. “If they were forgeries, I would not have received a dividend payment, as I did last quarter.”

I felt a kind of cold terror. I slowly lowered myself onto Miriam’s divan and attempted to understand what I had heard. A dividend payment! Then the stocks were not false, and if she had bought them of Rochester, then perhaps Rochester sold only true stock. After all, Virgil Cowper, the South Sea clerk, had told me he had seen Miriam’s name in the South Sea records. I clenched my fists and attempted to understand what Miriam’s dividend payment might mean—and how it might not mean what I most feared: that Rochester was no villain and that I had been mistaken all along.

I reached out and took the papers back from Miriam. My eyes wandered all about the parchment, looking for something I knew not what, some kind of evidence of their falseness, as though I would recognize such a thing were it right before my eyes. I feared my ignorance had led me to this moment—to this revelation of my foolishness. Elias’s probability had yielded nothing but failure.

Miriam took the issues from me again and replaced them in her box. “How can they be false?” she asked, unaware that her information had devastated me. “I would think that if they were forgeries should not a stock-jobber such as your father have seen their falseness at once?”

I pulled myself out of my misery. “My father? He saw these?”

“Yes. He happened to pass by one afternoon when I had them out of the box. I suppose I was daydreaming, thinking about the house I might rent when I sold them. He asked to look at them, and I dared not refuse. I asked him to tell no one, that I wished to keep my speculation a secret, and I hoped he would understand.”

“What did he say?”

“He was very strange. He gave me a kind of knowing look, as though we shared a secret, and said that I might depend upon his silence. I will admit he surprised me because I feared he should tell your uncle about the secret just for the pleasure of doing so.” She lowered her eyes, feeling some sudden shame at having insulted my father. “I’m sorry,” she said.

I would have none of it. Had she told me my father had revealed himself a secret Mohammedan I should hardly have cared. Instead I grabbed her hand and smothered it with kisses. In the hours to come I would think back and laugh at myself, for in that moment I hardly thought of Miriam as a beautiful woman, but as a beautiful bearer of news. My father had seen the stocks. And if I had not studied his pamphlet, if I had not read enough of it to even remember it well, I had read enough to understand the nature of Miriam’s stock, and how it was that she had received dividends.

More to the point, I understood now that I had not been a fool and that Elias’s philosophy had served me well—better than I could have imagined.

Miriam pulled her hand from me, but she only just managed to stifle a burst of genuine amusement. “You are either mad or the most changeable man in the world. Regardless, I should thank you to cease drooling upon my hand.”

“I beg your pardon, madam,” I almost shouted. “But you have given me the very news I needed, and I am most grateful.”

“But what is it? Can there be some connection between this stock and your father? What could he have—” She stopped. The blood drained from her face and her mouth slowly slid open into an expression of understanding and horror. “Your search for Mr. Rochester. It’s about your father, isn’t it? Mr. Sarmento was wrong.”

It only then occurred to me that she did not know. I had been so deep within my own inquiry that I thought its nature obvious to all. But Miriam had not known—and she had wondered what my uncle and I spoke about in his study, and she had wondered why I had moved into the house.

I nodded, for I now understood Miriam’s odd behavior had been based upon groundless speculation—her own failed exercise in probability. “Aye. You thought I inquired into a different matter, didn’t you? Sarmento told you something. That is why you were angry. You thought I inquired into you—your money, your intimacy with Deloney.”

She sat down slowly upon a divan and slowly lifted a hand to her mouth. “How could Philip have been involved with something so hideous?”

“That is what I must find out. He may have been in league with Rochester to deceive you, and I don’t know how many others. Perhaps he was deceived himself and never meant any harm.”

“But how could he have been deceived? He himself falsified stocks.” She gestured at the shares of the absurd projects she held. “I knew they were false when I bought them. It was only five pounds now and again, and I could not bear to embarrass him by refusing.”

“You can see these South Sea holdings are of a superior quality. Perhaps the biter was bit. But we cannot take the time to concern ourselves with Deloney. Not now. Our first concern must be to take these shares to South Sea House.”

Miriam put a hand to her mouth. “Surely that is dangerous. If they know we have false stock, will they not act against us?”

“They know we have not falsified this stock ourselves. I believe they have suspicions about Rochester and his forgeries, but until now I have had no proof that these falsifications exist. And I believe they will pay you handsomely for them, for they wish to suppress all evidence of their existence.”

“Would it not be better to try to sell the stock than to risk bringing it to South Sea House?”

I shook my head. “We dare not hold on to these issues. The sooner you remove them from your hands and turn them into ready money, the safer you will be. I believe I may have endangered you, Miriam, and this household, for the entire world now knows that I seek the truth behind Samuel Lienzo’s death, and the world now knows that Samuel Lienzo was my father. Whoever forged the stock may know some of it is in the name of Miriam Lienzo. We must be rid of it at once.”

I allowed Miriam to hold two of the issues, and put the rest upon my person. We then went to the street and procured a hackney to take us to the Exchange.

“You are uncomfortable,” I said, as we approached Threadneedle Street.

Her hands trembled slightly. “I fear something terrible will happen in there,” she said. “That I am to lose everything. You have told me so little.”

“You have done nothing wrong, Miriam. You were cheated, and it happens that in this matter I believe some very wealthy men may be willing to pay for you to keep this cheat to yourself. I have my own interests to pursue in South Sea House, but I am committed to assisting you.”

She nodded, I think more resigned than comforted. And so we made our way into the building. I gently guided Miriam to the office I had previously visited and there I asked to speak to Mr. Cowper, but one of the clerks in the office told me that Cowper had not been in the office in some days. “It’s almost a week since I’ve seen him,” he muttered. “Strange. He used to come to work so regular.”

“Then I should like to speak to someone else on a matter of the most urgent business.”

“What business is that?” His haughtiness told me he liked not my voice. So much the better.

“That of forged South Sea Stock.” I handed the clerk one of Miriam’s issues.

I might have stabbed this clerk through the heart for the reaction my pronouncement generated. Clerks let go their pens in mid-sentence. A pile of ledgers fell to the floor. The man to whom I spoke pushed back his chair, producing a tortured squeal of leg against floor.

He rose and studied the paper. “Oh, this,” he said with a nervous laugh. “Of course. That error is one that, you know . . .” He cleared his throat. “I shall return in a moment,” he added abruptly and ran into the hall.

We stood there for some minutes, the South Sea men staring upon us, until this first clerk returned and told us to follow him.

The clerk began to walk at such an absurd pace that Miriam had a difficult time keeping up with him. The loose folds of her gown flapped about her like wings. He stopped several times, some fifteen paces ahead of us, to wave us on, as he led us down the hall and up two flights of stairs, where he ushered us into a private office—a room with a large table in the center and several windows overlooking the street. Advising us to cool our heels, he slammed the door as he departed.

Miriam stared at me. “What will happen?” she began in a tremulous voice.

“Do not be frightened,” I told her, though I was perhaps a bit frightened myself. “This matter, I believe, proceeds beautifully. We have their attention. We have the advantage. They may try to frighten us, Miriam, but you will need to be equal to their harsh words. And rest assured that I shall allow no harm to come to you.”

I fear my words did more to frighten than to comfort. Miriam turned pale, lowered herself slowly into a chair and quickly began to flutter her fan. I affected a calm pose, but faced the door, preparing myself for anything. It was hardly conceivable that the South Sea Company would attempt violence upon me in their own building, but I could no longer rule out any possibility.

“You must remember,” I began, hoping to offer her comfort, “that it is you who have this company at a disadvantage. They may wish to convince you otherwise, but never forget that they will do anything to obtain your silence.” Indeed, I feared that to be true.

We waited for well over an hour, and with each moment I could see Miriam grow more concerned. She spoke occasionally to suggest that they had certainly forgotten about us or that we might simply leave, but I would not hear of it. “I cannot believe that they could be so rude as to lock us in this room and then ignore us. Perhaps we should not bear this indignity. Let us go at once.”

I shook my head. “It is too late for that. We cannot put things as they were. It is better to have this confrontation now, while the advantage of surprise remains with us.”

My words were poorly chosen, for Miriam began to fidget with nervousness, picking at a loose thread upon the sleeve of her gown until I feared the entire garment should unravel.

At last the door swung open hard, and a fat, ruddy-faced man of late years burst through, waving Miriam’s issue above his head. He wore a dark and thick periwig that set off a grublike complexion. “Who has brought this here?” he demanded. He slammed the door behind him and then slapped the paper down hard upon the table.

Miriam winced as though struck. It was no doubt precisely what this villain intended.

“The issue belongs to this lady,” I said. “And who are you, sir?”

“Who I am is none of your concern, Weaver. What I am concerned with is this brazen attempt to compromise the South Sea Company and the integrity of the nation’s wealth. Did you believe,” he asked, looking directly into Miriam’s eyes, “that you could pass off this rubbish in South Sea House—that we would not know this for a forgery? We know you have more of these, you scurvy slut. Where are they?”

Miriam rose to her feet, and I thought she should slap him—and I cannot quite recollect why I prevented this worthy woman from administering a well-deserved punishment. But interfere I did.

“You rascal,” I exclaimed, abruptly stepping between the two. “How dare you speak to a lady in that manner? Were you more than a bloated pudding I would kick you in your arse right here. You cannot believe that this lady is the author of that forgery. Were your problems no more than a single canny widow, you would be fortunate indeed. I cannot think what you hope to accomplish by insulting a lady, to whom I think you owe far more courtesy, and I know you do not expect me to allow a lady under my protection to endure this treatment.”

“Don’t attempt to deceive me with your street-ruffian’s lies,” the man bellowed, almost directly in my face. “This woman is guilty of a forgery, and it is my intention to prosecute in a court of law.” This was a chilling threat. There could be no doubt that the Company could arrange for a conviction if it desired to see her hang.

Miriam turned to me. She was a strong woman, but I could see this threat had frightened her. Her eyes had grown moist and her fingers tremulous. “You said we were in no danger,” she began.

“Do not concern yourself,” I told her quietly. “He would not dare prosecute you.”

“I see that you are this trollop’s accomplice, Weaver. She had better concern herself, and so had you. Can you believe that a company, so nearly watched by the King, and among whose directors is the Prince of Wales himself, would let itself fall victim to an insult of this magnitude?”

“There is no question that the Company has fallen victim to the insult,” I replied, “regardless of who its patrons are. What is at issue is who has insulted whom. You know very well, sir, that Mrs. Lienzo has nothing to do with the forgery.”

“As for you, Weaver,” he snapped, “I dismiss the idea that you have had anything but the most villainous motives in this crime, and I shall not rest until I see you hanged!”

“I know not your name,” I said in response, “and I know not what title you pretend to, but I know what you are in truth, and it is I who shall see you pay the price for murder.”

“I pay a price for murder? Surely you are mad! It is you who have committed murder, as I have been at great pains to learn. Did you think that you, who have been so publicly our enemy, should escape our notice? I know that you have been introduced to His Majesty’s case against Kate Cole, and I know of your involvement in the death of that blackguard. This company is committed to seeing you stand trial.”

I was stunned. I could not believe that this man could make so bold a pronouncement. I felt that it was a confession of connections, but I could not guess of what connections precisely. Did this mean that the Company was in league with Wild? That the Company had as good as confessed to being behind my father’s death? I could not sort it out. I was a trapped animal, and I had to restrain myself from jumping upon this man and beating him bloody.

Miriam looked on mutely. Her face was as that of a child whose parents bicker before her. I wished she had not been made to feel so threatened, but there was nothing to be done for it now.

“You have taken a misstep,” I said to the South Sea man, “in making me your enemy.”

He laughed aloud, and my rage increased, for I knew that I had nothing to threaten him with but the violence of the moment. But then a thought came to my mind. “If you want to silence me, I suggest you do it here and now. All your talk is but a bubble, for I assure you the moment I leave this building I shall inform the world of these forged issues.”

“Perhaps we are being hasty.” I had not seen Nathan Adelman enter the room, but he stood in the doorway, looking mildly amused. “Perhaps Mrs. Lienzo is but a victim and not a villain.”

I knew instantly their game; Adelman was to play the part of the compassionate man. Miriam breathed a sigh of relief, but I knew she was too clever to be fooled for more than an instant.

“Keep out of this, Adelman,” the other man said, “you know not of what you speak.”

“I think I do. Miriam, you merely want these stocks turned to cash, do you not?”

She nodded slowly.

“I see clearly that you have been swindled, and I shall tell you what we shall do. The Company is prepared to offer you three hundred pounds for these shares. Shall that satisfy the matter?”

I saw that Miriam, in her ignorance, was prepared to accept this meager offer. I would have none of it. “Adelman,” I spat, “why are you playing us for the fools that we are not? You know well that if this were valid stock it would sell for more than twice that on the open market.”

“You have learned a thing or two about the funds, Weaver. I am pleased to see that you are your father’s son after all. Yes, South Sea stock is now selling at over two hundred, but these are not valid stock—they are merely worth the value of printed paper, which is to say, nearly nothing. Three hundred pounds in exchange for nearly nothing is a good bargain, I think.”

“What both Miriam and I have is worth far more than that,” I said, “for now we have proof that counterfeit South Sea stock is in circulation. What will that do to its worth on the market when the word is spread, Adelman? Your efforts to eclipse the Bank shall come to a sudden halt. Do not think to try any of your Company tricks with us, for we have prepared ourselves by placing samples of this forged stock in a half-dozen different locations,” I lied hurriedly. “Should we fail to retrieve them before a time we have determined, our factors shall make them public. You cannot threaten to harm us or to destroy these issues without seeing your Company utterly undone.”

Miriam and I glanced at each other and nodded, as though this lie had been practiced all along. I delighted in seeing her hold herself in an attitude of authority—arms crossed, bosom thrust forward, chin held high. She knew that the balance of power had shifted.

Adelman’s companion nearly spat at the image of our complaisance. “Do you dare to threaten the South Sea Company?” he barked.

“No more so than this Company has threatened us. Let me make you a counteroffer. This woman will sign a paper swearing never to reveal her knowledge of forged stock, and submit to you all forged issues she possesses. She will do this in exchange for five thousand pounds.”

Miriam had not so much composure that she did not let out a gasp at the mention of that sum—an amount surely beyond what she dreamed of ever having at her disposal; she did not understand that an opulent fortune for her was but a pittance for a company that in months to come would offer a gift of millions of pounds to the government in exchange for the right to do business.

“Five thousand pounds? Are you mad, sir?” the gruff fellow barked.

Adelman, however, played the more diplomatic role, and I saw immediately that he was relieved to have escaped so cheap. “Very well, Weaver. Miriam, will you agree to sign a document? If you forfeit, then you will be considered to be in default of your agreement and you will owe the Company five thousand pounds, for which I can assure you we shall prosecute.”

The lady had regained her composure. “I accept your terms,” she said calmly, though I believed ready to sing with relief and excitement.

“Now,” Adelman said to Miriam, “would you wait outside for a moment while we conclude our business with Mr. Weaver?”

No sooner was she out of the room than the unpleasant man began to shout at me in an animated fashion. “You must believe you are beyond our grasp to have challenged us thus, Weaver, but let me assure you that this Company can destroy you.”

“As you destroyed my father, Michael Balfour, and Christopher Hodge, the bookseller?”

“Nonsense,” Adelman said, waving a hand about the air. “You cannot believe that the Company orchestrated these crimes. The very notion is absurd.”

I believed him right, but I would not avert my gaze. “Then who did?”

“Why, I should think you would know that by now,” he said casually. “Martin Rochester.”

I suspected they were testing me, attempting to learn what I knew. “And who is Rochester?”

“That,” Adelman said, “we are as anxious to learn as you. We only know that it is a pseudonym used by a clumsy purveyor of false stock. He is but an insignificant forger who has fooled a small number of people—women such as Mrs. Lienzo, who know nothing of the Exchange.”

“That is a lie,” I said. “Rochester is more than an insignificant forger, and I shall wager that he has fooled more than a small number of white-gloved ladies.” Miriam had received dividends, which could only mean that someone had helped Rochester to falsify records as well as stock. When my father saw her issues, he understood at once what they signified. This forgery can only have been perpetrated with the cooperation of certain elements within South Sea House itself, he had written. The Company is as a piece of meat, rotted and crawling with maggots. “Tell me,” I said with a grin. “What has become of Mr. Virgil Cowper?”

“We hardly keep track of our clerks,” the South Sea man barked with unexpected venom. “I care nothing for your foolish questions.”

“So what is it you want of me? What further threats do you offer? Need I fear more violence and theft that you can keep your secret?”

Adelman and his companion exchanged glances, but it was Adelman who spoke. “You have correctly surmised that we wish to keep the matter of the stock quiet, but we shall not threaten you. And I know nothing of matters of violence and theft.”

“You would impose on me to believe that you did not attempt, in any way, to suppress a pamphlet written by my father that would have exposed the existence of the forged stock?”

They exchanged looks once again. “Until this moment,” Adelman said, “I did not know your father intended to write such a pamphlet. I cannot believe he would have been so reckless. If you have come across such a thing, I suspect it is yet another forgery.”

I did not know if I should even credit the possibility. The manuscript had looked to me to be written in my father’s hand, and I should think that my uncle would have recognized a forgery, but my enemies were certainly expert forgers. Still, it was no forged fire that had killed Christopher Hodge, my father’s printer; and it was no forged thief who had taken the only copy of the manuscript from my room. Someone was desperate to hide all traces of this document.

“There is ample evidence that tells me the pamphlet was real,” I announced.

“That evidence has been planted,” Adelman said wearily, “to deceive you.”

I shook my head. I would not believe it. “And you have nothing more to tell me that will help me find who killed my father?”

“We are not here to help you, Weaver,” the unpleasant man spat.

Adelman held up his hand to silence his companion. “I fear not, Mr. Weaver. Except to assure you that our enemies have been using you. I suspect the hand of the Bank of England.”

“That is rot,” I hissed. I had been engaged in this business far too long in order to believe that I had been led astray from the first. Nevertheless, I could not quite banish Adelman’s words, and they filled me with anger at myself and him and almost anyone whose name came to mind.

“I warned you of this, you may recall,” Adelman continued. “We sat in Jonathan’s and I told you that you could not see yourself in the maze, but the game-masters would see you and lead you astray. And so it has happened. Everything you have worked so hard to discover is a lie.”

“Nonsense!” I proclaimed, hoping to silence their lies with the force of my conviction. “I have discovered that the South Sea Company has been violated by forgeries, and that is not a lie. I have discovered that this Rochester, who certainly killed my father, is behind these forgeries.”

“It is more than likely that this Rochester shadow, while a blackguard, has nothing to do with your father,” Adelman said softly. “Our enemies only wished you to think otherwise that you might expose this forgery to the public.”

“I shall not have it,” I said adamantly, as though by summoning a force of will I could dispel these ideas. I wanted to grab Adelman by the throat and squeeze until he admitted the truth. I suppose I wanted to believe that the truth was precisely that accessible.

“You may choose to believe what you wish, but if you seek the answer to your father’s death, you cannot but know that you have been led astray. Do not grow angry with yourself; our enemies are clever and wealthy—and they surely are our enemies, for they have sought to do us both wrong. And after all, did you ever really believe that the South Sea Company, so in need of the approval of the public and of Parliament in order to transact our business, would engage in activities of so despicable and villainous a nature, to associate ourselves with murder—murder, Mr. Weaver—at the risk of losing business that would serve the nation and enrich our directors?”

I had no answer. I could not make myself credit his words, but I could think of nothing to refute them.

Adelman saw the expression upon my face, and believed me defeated. “And so, Mr. Weaver, this is where we find ourselves. You are not to be the Company’s ally, but that does not mean you are to be its enemy. Should you have further questions, you may call upon me. I do not wish you to make any more scenes or perpetuate these dangerous lies. You have been an effective agent for Mr. Bloathwait and the Bank of England. If by being more open with you we can make you less dangerous to our reputation, then we shall do so.”

He opened the door. “I bid you a good day, sir.”