Once safely upstairs in his office with the door locked, Sir Horace unfolded the blueprints across the top of his desk.

"My plans!" he said with great relief. "How ever did you come by them?"

"I found the people who had taken them and took them back," Willie replied.

"You personally? They dragged my own son into this? Damn them to Hell!" The Admiral swore, paused to rub his brow, and then sat down in the desk chair to carefully make sure every page was accounted for.

"The people who summoned me felt that a personal interest would ensure that I was properly motivated to succeed. Which I was." Willie stood in front of his father's desk and looked down at the plans, arms crossed. "I must say that for all the irritations involved, and there were quite a few, it was far more interesting than what had been my day job."

"Are you—wait, I should put these away first." Sir Horace rose and carefully slid aside the painting on the wall behind him to reveal the newly installed Chatwood safe. He then fumbled and checked his pockets, finally pulling a small scrap of paper from his breast pocket. Mumbling under his breath he entered the combination.

"It's not really that secure, father, if you say the combination as you enter it."

Sir Horace gave his son a stern glare before turning to open the safe and put the plans inside. He locked the safe with a clear sigh of relief before turning back to his son.

"I don't know how you got into this, but I want you out." Willie raised an eyebrow.

"I rather like this work, and I have been asked to continue working with this department. It is, nominally, merely another area of the Exchequer. I shall shortly be offered membership in the Diogenes Club, and I intend to accept."

"We've never had anything of that sort in the Family and I'm damned if I'll countenance it now! I should give that fat man a piece of my mind." Sir Horace brought his fist down hard enough to rattle his desk.

"The fat man seems more than satisfied with my work. As for your other objection—is this not government service? We've served the crown for generations. You went to Diogenes Club and asked for their help, so you can't say the work isn't vital. It lacks some of the more public rewards, but surely our family can understand that. Didn't one of our ancestors turn down being made an Earl?"

"In 1660, yes, according to family legend," Sir Horace replied factually. "And no, public rewards are irrelevant. But have you thought this through? Your mother might have an apoplectic fit when she learns you've joined a club for the unclubable. She has high hopes for you." Sir Horace stared at his son like he were an erring midshipman. Willie was unfazed by his father's wrath, but troubled by his words.

"My mother's respect means a great deal to me, as you are aware. But if she cannot trust my judgment, after she raised me, she is not the woman I believe her to be. I do not want to betray her hopes, but I can't betray my honor."

"Honor!" Sir Horace swiveled in his chair, facing the small fireplace along the side wall. He stared into the fire for a time. "I feel I should say something pithy about honor to you," he said at last. "But I can't think of a damned thing." He looked up at his son. "You're dismissed, boy. If you won't listen to me, then carry on." Sir Horace waved a hand.