The game was Monte and these five men, chiefly including himself, compromised one of England’s most successful spying circuits in the last forty years. The fact that he had been administer of this notable spying venture, brought him satisfaction. The fact that it no longer existed with Napoleon’s demise, brought him a feeling of restlessness that he had seldom before encountered. Their illustrious code name had been Hellagon. Regardless, they had been called surreptitiously as the Queen’s Archangels by the clandestine people in the offices at 13 Whipple Street. The pretentious naming had adhered and until the last throes of Napoleon’s demise one need only mention the Archangels on French soil to obtain a pale and fearful reaction. Yes, Drummond considered pragmatically, he had done his job skillfully and even exceedingly artful at times, managing over the years to deliver them through alive. Barely. His gaze flicked casually to Harrison, the reclusive Earl of Ravenscar and the only man present who was near to his own middle age.
