“And the money?”

“It’s safe. We’ll return it, less some expenses, when it can be done without fear of … well, without fear.”

“It all seemed so simple,” said Mrs. Fisher, still in shock. “I’ll tell Lady Matheson immediately.”

“Yes, please tell her everything. I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Goodbye.” She hung up.

“That was handled nicely,” said Gwen from the floor, where she was mopping up the blood. “You didn’t quite lie to her. You simply didn’t tell her the aftermath. What now?”

“We have the letters,” said Iris. She yawned abruptly. “Long day,” she said. “Look at me, completely played out on a Saturday night, and it’s barely eight thirty.”

“Understandable,” said Gwen. “Being held at gunpoint is momentarily stimulating, but it never lasts, does it?”

“Speaking of which, may I see that six-shooter of yours?”

Gwen fished it out of her handbag and tossed it to her. Iris caught it and looked at it closely, then pointed it at Gwen.

“Stick ’em up!” she snarled.

“I think playtime is over,” said Gwen wearily.

“I want to talk to you about that,” said Iris. “The closest we came to getting killed tonight was when you pulled this on him. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that he was going to take the money and keep the letters for himself,” said Gwen. “I saw an opportunity to stop him. I seized it.”

“You gambled on him not noticing that this was a replica,” said Iris. “And you gambled even more that his reaction would be something other than shooting you.”

“I didn’t think he wanted to kill us,” said Gwen. “It wasn’t in his eyes.”

“Your intuition is excellent,” said Iris. “But is it one hundred percent foolproof?”

“No,” said Gwen. “But I figured my little charade would provide enough time for you to come up with something brilliant and heroic. Which you did.”

“And if I hadn’t, then he would have shot you dead right in front of me,” said Iris. “And I would be forever wondering what I could have done differently. You can’t put me through that, Gwen. I have enough—There’s blood enough already on my hands. I don’t want any more.”

“I’m sorry,” said Gwen. “I wasn’t thinking it through properly. I wasn’t thinking at all. It just seemed right, somehow.”

“Well, it worked,” said Iris, twirling the gun on her index finger. “This is rather a good replica, I must say. Hamleys?”

“Yes.”

“What did you get for the birthday boy?”

“A cowboys and Indians set. With a stagecoach.”

“Sounds delightful. I hope that he appreciated it.”

“By all reports, which is to say reports from Ronnie, it was a huge success. He’s invited to play with Tommy again tomorrow.”

“A great honour, I’m sure,” said Iris, grabbing a sponge to scrub her desk. “Did the invitation extend to his mother?”

“Not yet,” said Gwen.

“Then maybe you could devote your quiet time to reading through these letters,” said Iris.

“I shall sham headache from my night out cavorting with you,” said Gwen. “Our staff knows all about Sunday-morning headaches, thanks to my mother-in-law. I shall rest abed, pampered and isolated. The perfect setting to read someone else’s love letters.”