The bamboo screens fitted between the verandah’s front pillars were presently lowered against the late afternoon sun and the dust stirred up by a troop of sepoys engaged in parade drills, leaving the bar wreathed in cooler shadows. A distant hum of conversation rose from two groups of officers seated further down the long verandah; the clink of billiard balls wafted from an alcove off the verandah’s far end.

“True.” Gareth claimed a glass. “But I doubt the good marquess envisioned us going around him.”

“I can’t see that we have any choice.” Along with the other three, Logan looked at Del.

Staring into his beer, Del felt their gazes, looked up and met them. “If, as we believe, the Black Cobra is Roderick Ferrar, then Hastings won’t thank us for bringing him the news.”

“But he’ll still act on it, surely?” James reached for the last glass left on the tray.

Del glanced at him. “Did you notice the portrait behind Hastings’s desk?”

“The one of Prinny?”

Del nodded. “That’s not company property, but Hastings’s own. He owes his appointment to Prinny-pardon me, His Majesty-and knows he can never forget it. If, presuming we can find it, we take him incontrovertible proof that Ferrar is our villain, we’ll place him in the invidious position of having to decide which master to appease-his conscience, or his king.”

Frowning, James turned his glass between his hands. “Is Ferrar really that untouchable?”

“Yes.” Del’s voice was reinforced by Gareth’s, Logan’s and Rafe’s.

“Hastings is beholden to the king,” Del explained, “and the king is beholden to Ferrar senior, the Earl of Shrewton. Furthermore, although he’s Shrewton’s second son, Ferrar is widely known to be his father’s favorite.”

“Rumor,” Rafe said, leaning on the table, “has it that the king is in Shrewton’s pocket-not a situation all that hard to believe-so unless there’s some animosity between Hastings and Shrewton that no one knows of, odds are that Hastings will feel obliged to ‘lose’ any evidence we find.”

Logan snorted. “Hell-I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the gold the Cobra is skimming off John Company’s profits isn’t, in a roundabout way, ending in His Majesty’s pocket.”

“Hastings,” Gareth reminded them, “was very insistent that we ‘bring the Black Cobra to justice.’ He didn’t instruct us to capture him and deliver him to Bombay.” He looked at Del, arched a brow. “Do you think Hastings might suspect, and this-using us-is his way of gaining justice without offending his royal master?”

Del’s lips twisted cynically. “The possibility has crossed my mind. Consider-it took us a bare two weeks to realize the Black Cobra either had someone in the governor’s office here, or else was himself a member of the governor’s staff. After that it took what?-six weeks?-of watching and noting which convoys were attacked to narrow it down to Ferrar. As the Governor of Bombay’s second adjutant, he and only he had knowledge of all the convoys attacked-others had the details for some, but only he had routes and times for all. Hastings has similar information stretching back for months. He has to have at least some suspicion of who’s behind the Black Cobra cult.”

“Hastings,” Rafe said, “also knows when Roderick Ferrar took up his appointment here-in early ’19, five or so months before the first known appearance of the Black Cobra and his minions.”

“Five months is long enough for a sharp lad like Ferrar to see the possibilities, make plans, and gather said minions,” Logan said. “More, as the governor’s adjutant, he’s had easy and officially sanctioned contact with the disaffected Maratha princelings-the same hotheads we now know have secretly ceded the Black Cobra their private robber gangs.”

“Ferrar,” Del said, “reported to Hastings in Calcutta before joining the govenor’s staff here-a position our contacts back in Calcutta confirm he specifically requested. Ferrar could have had a position with Hastings at headquarters-it was his for the taking, and what eager-to-advance-in-the-company youngster wouldn’t rather work for the great man himself? But no, Ferrar requested a posting to Bombay, and was apparently quite satisfied with the second adjutant’s desk.”

“Which makes one wonder,” Gareth said, “if the principal attraction of said desk was that it was the entire subcontinent away from Hastings’s potentially watchful eye.”

“So, James, m’lad”-Rafe clapped the younger captain on the back-“all that suggests that instructing us to ‘bring the Black Cobra to justice,’ and to use whatever means we deem necessary to do it, is very likely a shrewd politician’s way of taking care of the matter.” Rafe met the others’ eyes. “And Hastings knows us well enough to be sure we’ll do his dirty work for him.”

James glanced at the others’ faces, saw they all thought the same, and reluctantly nodded. “All right. So we bypass Hastings. But how do we do that?” He looked at Del. “Have you heard anything from England?”

Del glanced along the verandah, verifying that no one else could possibly overhear. “A frigate came in this morning, with a very thick packet for me.”

“From Devil?” Gareth asked.

Del nodded. “A letter from him, and rather more from one of his peers-the Duke of Wolverstone.”

“Wolverstone?” Rafe frowned. “I thought the old man was next thing to a recluse.”

“He was,” Del replied. “The son-the current duke-is another matter. We know him-or rather know of him-under another name. Dalziel.”

The other four’s eyes opened wide. “Dalziel was really Wolverstone?” James asked.

“The then-Wolverstone’s heir, apparently,” Del replied. “The old man died late in ’16, after we got here.”

Gareth was counting years. “Dalziel must have been retired by then.”

“Presumably. Regardless, as Duke of St. Ives, Devil knows the new duke well. After reading my letter explaining our predicament, Devil showed it to Wolverstone, reasoning there could be no one better placed to advise us. If you recall, Dalziel was in charge of all British agents on foreign soil for a decade and more, and knows every trick when it comes to couriering sensitive information across the continent and into England. More, as Devil went to literary lengths to point out, Wolverstone is the peer best-placed to oppose Shrewton. Wolverstone owes the king nothing-if anything, the shoe is on the other foot, and His Majesty is well aware of it. If Wolverstone presents evidence that Ferrar junior is the Black Cobra, there’ll be nothing the king or Shrewton will dare do to derail the wheels of justice.”

Rafe grinned. “I always knew there was a reason we agreed to form a troop with the Cynsters at Waterloo.”

Gareth smiled reminiscently. “They were damned fine soliders, even if they weren’t regulars.”

“In the blood.” Logan nodded sagely.

“And their horses were worth killing for,” Rafe added.

“We covered their backs often enough, so now they’re returning the favor.” Del held up his glass, waited until the others touched the rims of theirs to his. “To old comrades-in-arms.”

They all drank, then Logan looked at Del. “So has Wolverstone given us the required advice?”

Del nodded. “In detail. First, he confirmed that he’s willing to take any proof we turn up and present it through the proper channels-he has all the contacts and the standing to do that. However, he makes it plain that to take down Ferrar junior, said proof will have to be incontrovertible. It has to be clear, instantly obvious, unequivocal, not circumstantial, not something that requires interpretation, let alone knowledge of the situation, to make sense.”

Gareth mumured, “So it has to be something that incontestably implicates Ferrar directly.”

“Exactly.” Del set down his empty glass. “Once we have that proof-and Wolverstone was very clear there is no point in proceeding without the right proof-but once we have it, then he’s already put in place a…for want of a better word, campaign, a detailed plan of action for us to follow to bring the proof safely to England, and into his hands.” Del glanced at the others, lips curving wryly. “Looking over his plan, it’s not hard to see why he was such a success in his erstwhile occupation.”

“So what are the details?” Logan leaned his arms on the table, his interest plain. The others, too, were waiting.

“We’re to make copies of the proof, and then separate and independently make our way home-four carrying copies and one carrying the original. He’s sent five sealed letters-five sets of instructions-one for the original, the other four for the decoys. Each letter contains the routes each of us should take back to England and which ports we should use-once we land, there’ll be men of his waiting to escort us further. They-our escorts-will know where each of us is to go once in England.”

Logan’s lips had curved. “I take it Wolverstone’s a firm believer in sharing information only with those who need to know?”

Del smiled. “The way we’re to handle this, while each of us will know what we’re carrying-decoy or original-and what route we’ll be taking home, we won’t know what any of the rest of us have, or the others’ routes. Specifically, the only one who’ll know who is carrying the original, and what route they’ll be taking home, what port they’ll be heading for, is the one of us who draws the original.” Del eased back from the table. “Dalziel wants us to draw lots, then immediately part.”

Rafe nodded. “That’s safer all around.” He glanced around the table. “His way, if any of us are caught, we can’t give the others away.” Face and voice both uncharacteristically sober, he placed his empty glass carefully on the tray. “After the last months of chasing the Black Cobra’s gangs, seeing the results of their methods firsthand…it’s only wise to ensure that if they do take any of us, the others will be safe. We can’t tell what we don’t know.”