'Better get the job done properly.'

She watched without speaking while he put down the briefcase he was carrying, took from a pocket a pen and his wallet, found a card, and wrote on the back of it in an upright, rather schoolboyish hand.

Taking the card, Cordelia noted the single name, Morgan, and the telephone number, then turned it over. She read:

Sir George Ralston, Bt., DSO, MC.

So she was right. He had been a soldier. She asked:

'Will he be expensive, this Mr Morgan?'

'Less expensive than making a nonsense. Tell him I gave you his number. He'll charge what the job's worth, no more.'

Cordelia's heart lifted. The lopsided name plaque, gravely surveyed by the critical eye of this unexpected and eccentric knight errant, suddenly seemed to her irresistibly funny, no longer a calamity but a joke. Even Kingly Street was transformed with her mood and became a glittering, sunlit bazaar, pulsating with optimism and life. She almost laughed aloud. Controlling her trembling mouth she said gravely:

'It's very kind of you. Are you a connoisseur of name-plates or just a public benefactor?'

'Some people think I'm a public menace. Actually, I'm a client, that is, if you're Cordelia Gray. Don't people ever tell you…'

Cordelia, unreasonably, was disappointed. Why should she have supposed that he was different from other male clients? She finished the sentence for him:

'That it's an unsuitable job for a woman? They do, and it isn't.'

He said mildly:

'I was going to say, don't they ever tell you that your office is difficult to find? This street's a mess. Half the buildings aren't properly numbered. Too much change of use, I suppose. But the new plate should help when it's properly fixed. Better get it done. Gives a poor impression.'

At that moment Bevis panted up beside them, his curls damp with exertion, the tell-tale screwdriver protruding from his shirt pocket. Holding a richly purring Tomkins against one flushed cheek, he presented his charming delinquency to the newcomer. He was rewarded by a curt, 'A botched job that' and a look which instantly rejected him as officer material. Sir George turned to Cordelia: