Augusta dropped down onto the ground, leaving the window open behind her for a quick return. She gathered her dark cloak around her, pulled up the hood, and stood listening for a moment.

When she heard no sound she went cautiously toward the garden gate. One had to be careful about this sort of thing, she warned herself. She must keep her wits about her. She would question whoever was waiting in the lane very thoroughly. And she would make certain he kept his distance. She could always yell for help if necessary. The servants or the neighbors would hear.

She paused before opening the gate, straining to detect any sounds out in the lane. There was not even a whisper or footstep to be heard.

Augusta unlatched the gate and opened it carefully. The hinges squeaked in protest.

"Hello? Is anyone out there?"

There was no response. Down at the end of the lane the lights were shining in all of Lady Arbuthnott's windows, but the other nearby residences were in darkness. Carriage wheels clattered out in the street and moved off into the night.

"Hello?" Augusta peered anxiously into the deep shadows for a few minutes. "Please, are you there? I got your note, whoever you are. I want to talk to you."

She took a step out of the safety of the garden and her toe collided with a hard object on the ground.

"What in the world?" Automatically Augusta glanced down and saw a square shape lying on the paving stones. She started to step over the object and then realized it was a book of some sort. She bent down and picked it up.

As her hand closed around the leather-bound volume she heard the sudden ring of hooves on stone at the far end of the lane. She whirled about in time to see a horse and rider disappear around the corner.

Someone had been watching her from the shadows, she realized with a chill. Someone had hovered there in the darkness, waiting until she had retrieved the book, and then he had vanished.

For some reason, Augusta was suddenly very afraid, far more afraid than when she had set out on this adventure. She jumped back into the garden and hastily closed and latched the gate. Clutching the thin volume in one hand, she flew toward the safety of the house. The dark cloak swirled around her and as she ran her hair came loose from its pins.

By the time she reached the library window, she was breathing quickly. She tossed the volume over the sill onto the carpet, planted both hands on the stone wall, and hauled herself into a sitting position. Then she threw one leg over the sill and started to drop down onto the floor.

She froze as the lamp on the desk flared into life. "Oh, no."

Harry sat back in his chair and regarded her with hooded eyes and an unreadable expression. "Good evening, Augusta. I see you are paying another of your unconventional calls."

"Harry. Good God, I did not realize you were home. I thought you would be out late again tonight."

"Obviously. Why do you not come all the way into the library, madam? It cannot be terribly comfortable sitting in the window in that manner."

"I know what you must be thinking, my lord, but I can explain everything."

"And you most certainly will do precisely that. From inside the library."

Augusta eyed him warily as she slowly swung her other leg over the sill, arranged her skirts, and jumped down onto the carpet. She looked at the volume lying at her feet as she slowly removed her cloak. "I fear 'tis a rather unusual story, my lord."

"With you, it always is."

"Oh, Harry, are you very angry?"

"Very."

Her heart sank. "I was afraid of that." She stooped down and picked up the book.

"Sit down, Augusta."

"Yes, my lord." Dragging the cloak behind her in one hand, she went across the room to sit down on the other side of the desk. Her chin lifted as she prepared to defend herself. "I know this looks very bad, Graystone."

"It does, indeed. It would be amazingly easy, for example, for me to jump to the obvious conclusion that you are returning from some illicit midnight rendezvous with another man."

Augusta 's eyes widened in horror. "Good heavens, Harry, 'tis nothing of that sort at all."

"I am, of course, relieved to hear it."

"Honestly, Harry, that would be a perfectly ridiculous assumption."

"It would?"

Augusta straightened her shoulders. "The thing is, my lord, I was conducting my own investigations."

"Into what?"

She frowned at his obtuseness. "My brother's death, of course."

"The hell you were, madam." Harry sat forward swiftly, looking vastly more dangerous than he had a minute ago.

Augusta pressed herself back into the depths of her chair, alarmed by the sudden show of anger. "Well, yes. I was, as it happens."

"Damnation. I should have known. You are surely going to be the death of me, madam wife. Innocent fool that I am, I assumed you were merely taking a shortcut back through the gardens after a late visit to Pompeia's."

"Oh, no, it had nothing at all to do with Pompeia's. I went to meet a man, you see. Only he was not there. Rather, he was, but he did not show himself until—"

"You just told me this did not involve a man," Harry reminded her grimly.

"Not in the way I assumed you meant," she explained, trying to be patient. "There was no romantic rendezvous, you see. Let me tell you the whole story and then you will understand."

"I sincerely doubt that I will ever understand you, Augusta, but by all means, tell me this story. Please tell it quickly and succinctly, as my patience is hanging by a thread. That fact makes your situation extremely precarious, my dear."

"I see." She bit her lip, collecting her thoughts hurriedly. "Well, today at the balloon ascent a small boy thrust a note into my hand. The note said that if I would come out into the lane behind the house at midnight tonight I should have the truth about my brother. That is all there was to it."

" 'All there was to it. Dear God in heaven." Harry closed his eyes and briefly lowered his head into his hands. "I am going to end up in Bedlam. I know I am going to end up there."

"Harry? Are you all right?"

"No, I am not all right. I just explained to you that I am in imminent danger of going mad." Harry shot to his feet and came around to the front of the desk. He stood there towering over Augusta, folded his arms across his chest, and fixed her with a cold stare. "We will take this one step at a time. Who had the note sent to you?"

"I do not know. As I said, whoever it was did not show himself out in the lane. But he was watching and waiting for me to pick up this book. As soon as I noticed it, he rode out of the lane and went down the street. I never got a close look at him."

"Let me see that book." Harry plucked it out of her lap and began leafing through it.

Augusta jumped up and craned her neck to get a glimpse of what had been written inside. She saw at once that it was filled with handwriting. " 'Tis a private journal of some sort."

"Yes, it is."

"Slow down, you are turning the pages too fast. I cannot read it."

"I doubt if you would understand the meaning, even if you could read it. 'Tis in code. An old one that was broken a long time ago."

"Really? Can you read it? What does it have to do with my brother? What do you think it means, Harry?"

"Please be quiet, Augusta. Sit down and give me a few minutes to examine it. I have not dealt with this particular code for quite some time."

Augusta obeyed, sitting very still, her hands laced tightly together in her lap as she eagerly awaited the results of her investigations.

Harry went back around behind his desk and sat down. He opened the volume to the first page and studied it with an intent expression. He turned the page and then he turned another. Finally he glanced at a few pages toward the end of the book.

After an excruciatingly long time, he closed the journal and raised his eyes to meet Augusta's. There was a new coldness in his gaze, an icy chill that went beyond anything she had ever seen in those crystal gray eyes.

"Well, my lord?" she whispered.

"It appears to be a record of coded dispatches sent with various couriers during the war. I recognize some of the dispatches mentioned because my agents intercepted them and I decoded them."

Augusta frowned. "But how does that relate to my brother?"

"This is a very personal journal, Augusta." Harry fingered the volume gently. "A private record meant for no one's eyes except the one who wrote in it."

"But who would that have been? Can you tell?"

"Only one man could have known about all of these dispatches and only one man could have known the names of all these couriers and French agents listed at the beginning. This journal must have once belonged to the Spider himself."

Augusta began to panic. "But, Harry what does that haw to do with my brother?"

"It would appear, Augusta, based on this and some other evidence, that someone is trying to tell us that your brother was the Spider."

"No, that is impossible." Augusta shot to her feet. "What you say is a lie."

"Please sit down, Augusta," Harry said quietly.

"I will not sit down." She took one step forward, planted her hands on the desk, and leaned toward him, willing him to believe her. "I do not care how much proof you produce. Do you hear me? My brother was no traitor. My lord, you must believe me. No Northumberland Ballinger would ever betray his country. Richard was not the Spider."