"No more than any novelist." Bahorel shakes his head, but he's grinning again. How can he not? It's a perfect absurdity, the whole thing. "I plan to tell the others, of course-- all our friends, at least." The police spy has chosen to be on his own; he may stay so. "And perhaps a bit more studying of the history in it; there are some discrepancies I've noticed."

1822, indeed.

"But then they may not have been discrepancies there."

And then again, why not commit to a theory?