“You are alone with me,” Eliza observed. “A scenario oft sung of by the poets of the Kit-Cat Clubb.”

Daniel smiled. “If they sing of this, I shall be likened to Tithonus, who was granted ?ternal life, and turned into a cricket.”

“As a ploy,” Eliza said, “your modesty serves. I see how it must work on those who are young, vain, and do not know you well. To me who know you better, it is grating. Please speak plainly, without flattering me or deprecating yourself; we do not have time.”

Daniel inhaled deeply, like a man who has just been doused with icy water. Then he said: “I bring you news concerning Jack Shaftoe.”

It was Eliza’s turn to gasp. She turned her back on him so quickly that the hem of her skirt sawed at his ankles. She retreated several steps, then arranged herself on a bench between two of the shuttered windows. Daniel stood sideways to her, so as not to dwell on the pinkness of her face.

“I was led to believe you were pursuing him. How can-”

“I am doing so, and I will catch him,” Daniel said, “but this has not prevented him, clever chap that he is, from contriving a way to place in my ear certain words that were plainly intended for you.”

“And what are those words, sir?”

“That everything he has been doing lately, he has been doing out of love for you.”

“That is a very strange way of showing love,” she returned. “Making counterfeit money for the King of France, and blowing people up.”

“He has not actually blown anyone up,” Daniel reminded her, “and as for the King of France, some would point out that he is also the liege-lord of Arcachon.”

“Thank you for pointing it out,” she said. “Is that the entire message?”

“That he loves you? Yes, I believe that is it.”

“Well, when you catch him, you may give him my answer,” she said, rising to her feet, “which is that the decision he made at the wharf in Amsterdam was the sort that cannot be unmade; and as proof, one need only behold what Jack has become in the thirty years since-all of which might have been predicted from the choice he made on that day.”

“I have an inkling that Jack is now striving to become something rather different,” Daniel said, “which you may not have predicted.”

“That is what young Jack-who, I must admit, was a dreamy lad-would have done,” Eliza said. “The wretch that he is now is not capable of it.”

“Never was a mailed and spiked gauntlet more harshly thrown down. I am off to the Black Dogg now,” Daniel said, excusing himself with a careful bow, “and I shall deliver that fell challenge to Jack, if fortune leads me to him.”

WHATEVER THE PLAN WAS that Johann von Hacklheber had laid for the extraction of Princess Caroline from the snares of London, it evidently did not rely on stealth. Such was the crowd and the commotion that Daniel half feared that the much-discussed Mobb had already conquered the stables of Leicester House. But not to worry, they were loyal servants and retainers all. Daniel found his phaethon and commanded the driver to take it round Leicester Fields and collect Sir Isaac Newton. This was achieved shortly and in absurdly conspicuous style. The diverse spies planted in and around Leicester Fields by political factions, foreign governments, nervous speculators, and Grub Street newspapers, would all report to their masters that a cricket-like geezer had scurried out of the London home of the Duchess of Arcachon-Qwghlm, hopped into an inappropriately seductive and libidinous Mode of Transport, swung round to snatch the World’s Greatest Natural Philosopher, and thundered off in the direction of-Newgate Prison. What the recipients would make of this information was anyone’s guess. Daniel was past caring.

THEY ENCOUNTERED PARTRY in the Gigger, which was a pit just off Newgate Street, under the actual Gate, where free men could swop words with prisoners through a grate. Partry was using it in lieu of an anteroom to the Black Dogg. “What news from Ravenscar?” came his voice through the grille.

“First, shall we have the privilege of meeting the other party to the negotiation?” Daniel asked. “It is difficult to parley with a phantom.”

“As you are but a phantom to him, he would likely agree.”

“Then let us get together in the same room at least!”

“It is arranged,” Partry said. “I have rented the Black Dogg for the evening. We shall meet him there-the privacy of an empty tavern should loosen his tongue. But you must be prepared to loosen your purse-strings.”

“That has been arranged as well,” Daniel assured him. “If need be, we may offer the prisoner liberty, and a farm in Carolina. But only if need be.”

“Now that is excessive!” Isaac said. “The promise of a quicker than usual hanging should be more than sufficient.”

“As perhaps it shall be,” Daniel said, “but if it does not suffice, why, we shall have room to bargain.”

“Very well,” said Partry, “to the Black Dogg! Mind your step as you descend the stairs, for they are quite slippery with crushed lice.”

“More so than usual?” Daniel asked.

“Indeed,” said Partry, “for as I just told you, I have cleared out the Dogg, and many have passed this way, only a few minutes ago, who had not stirred from their bar-stools and corners in a long while; there is no guessing what may have scattered from out of their rags.”

“Aye, all of London is astir to-night!” Daniel remarked.

“All, save what is on the treads of these stairs,” Partry insisted. “Pray, let me go ahead of you, and light your way with my lantern.”

Following Partry, and preceding Isaac, down toward the Black Dogg, Daniel said: “How curious that to me it seemeth like any other stone stair-way in the world.”

“Why is that so curious?” Isaac wanted to know.

“We speak of Newgate as a dread place,” Daniel said, “but emptied of its prisoners, ’tis but another building-a bit stinkier than most, perhaps.”

“The same might be remarked of its Pub,” said Partry, heaving wide an iron-bound dungeon-door to release a surprising flood of candle-light, and an even worse than expected front of midden-stench.

“So it is really the people of Newgate who inspire us with dread, you are saying,” said Isaac.

“Has the Black Dogg ever been so lit up in its whole sorry history?” asked Daniel as he passed through the door. For the place was as littered with candles as the steps had been with lice. And they were proper wax tapers, not rush-lights. Even the dining-room of Viscount Bolingbroke was not so finely illumined to-night. The Black Dogg was not the sort of tavern that contained a great deal of furniture-patrons either stood, or lay on the floor. There was a bar, of course, in the literal sense of a bulwark erected between the prisoners and the gin. This was now a palisade of burning tapers. Sean Partry led them over to it. Daniel followed half-way, but stopped in the center of the room to have a look round. His eyes were yet adjusting to the brightness, but he could see plainly enough that no one else was here.

“Where is the-” he began.

“How much in God’s name has been spent on candles!?” Isaac demanded. “A fortune! Have you gone mad?”

“My going mad days are done,” said Partry, turning his back on the bar, so that he became a shade halving the beam of fire. “Do not concern yourselves about it. I have paid for the candles with my own money. When we are finished I’ll give ’em away to prisoners who cannot afford to buy even the mean grease-lights that are peddled by the gaolers, and whose eyes have forgotten light.”

“You presume much,” Isaac said. He and Daniel were shoulder-to-shoulder now, facing Partry, the heat of the candles on their faces like summer sun. “Nothing shall be paid you until we have achieved our goal. Where is the prisoner?”