Unfortunately, he hadn’t any money, and though it didn’t matter a whit to her, her parents, who controlled her own marriage portion, had forbidden the match. Thus she was in Paris, out of London, her home city, and with her tedious, countrified aunt, who lived primarily in Kent and spent only a month of the year in town. “It will be nice for her and nice for you,” her parents had said. They weren’t cruel people-but oh, how cruelly they were behaving!

“I remember now,” said her aunt. “George Barnard was the Master of the Mint, and he was trying to steal from it. But surely it was Scotland Yard who solved that mystery, wasn’t it? Yes, I remember very definitely that it was Scotland Yard.”

“But everyone in London knows that it was really Charlie Lenox,” said Clara. “He never takes the credit. And he goes to the best places, I promise you.”

“What the world’s coming to!” said Bess, rolling her eyes heavenward. “Of course it’s only because he’s taking advantage of poor Lady Jane-charmed her, I’m sure, with his slick ways, and now she’s burdened with him for good. Oh, dear, the thought of it!” Bess fanned herself fretfully.

“They’re lifelong friends, I believe. They lived in houses side by side for years before he proposed. I think it’s wonderfully romantic.”

“Clara Woodward, you’re determined to vex me, aren’t you? Why won’t girls listen to sense these days. A detective, no matter what society he sees or how many Parliaments he’s in, is the least savory, vilest, most evil-minded-”

But here she broke off, because the unsavory, vile, evil-minded man himself was walking toward them from across the hall.

It was a wide room, dotted with tables and sofas, with gold leaf everywhere and vast trees dimming the noise-or at any rate Bess prayed they dimmed the noise. The man’s face was friendly enough. Perhaps he hadn’t heard her.

“How do you do? I’m afraid that I must presume on very slight acquaintance to reintroduce myself to your niece. I’m Charles Lenox.”