“That,” said the lady, offering it to Mr. Whipplestone, “is the situation.”

Mr. Whipplestone, conscious of a lightness in his head, said: “And the price?” He used the voice in which he had been wont to say: “This should have been dealt with at a lower level.”

“Was it thirty-nine?” the lady asked her colleague.

“Thirty-eight”

“Thirty-eight thousand,” she relayed to Mr. Whipplestone, who caught back his breath in a civilized little hiss.

“Indeed?” he said. “You amaze me.”

“It’s a Desirable District,” she replied indifferently. “Properties are at a premium in the Capricorns.” She picked up a document and glanced at it. Mr. Whipplestone was nettled.

“And the rooms?” he asked sharply. “How many? Excluding, for the moment, the basement.”

The lady and the Pre-Raphaelite young gentleman became more attentive. They began to speak in unison and begged each other’s pardon.

“Six,” gabbled the lady, “in all. Excluding kitchen and Usual Offices. Wall-to-wall carpets and drapes included in purchase price. And the Usual Fitments: fridge, range et cetera. Large recep’ with adjacent dining-room, ground floor. Master bedroom and bathroom with toilet, first floor. Two rooms with shower and toilet, second floor. Late tenant used these as flat for married couple.”

“Oh?” said Mr. Whipplestone, concealing the emotional disturbance that seemed to be lodged under his diaphragm. “A married couple? You mean?”

“Did for him,” said the lady.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Serviced him. Cook and houseman. There was an Arrangement by which they also cleaned the basement flat.”