“So we may be treated to the spectacle of the future Queen of England sobbing in her royal four-poster because the boy she loves is not good enough for the country she’s going to rule,” said Iris.

“Hopefully, love will find a way,” said Lady Matheson. “But there is also this.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a manila folder.

“We screen her mail, of course,” she said, placing it on Iris’s desk. “Oh, gloves on, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s summer,” said Iris. “We don’t wear them at the office.”

“I have some,” said Gwen, opening her bag and retrieving a pair. She slid them on, picked up the folder, and opened it carefully. There was a single piece of stationery inside, its top edge torn off. There were traces of black powder on it.

“You had it dusted for fingerprints,” observed Iris.

“Of course.”

The letter was handwritten in a crude, barely legible scrawl. Gwen held it up to the window for a moment.

“The stationery is from Smythson’s,” she said. “I recognise the watermark. Bespoke, no doubt, which is why the top was torn off.”

“Naturally,” said Lady Matheson.

“What does it say?” asked Iris.

“‘Princess,’” Gwen read aloud. “‘I have what Talbot found in Corfu. I know what he knew. Ask Alice if she wants them back. There will be a price.’”

“What was in Corfu?” asked Iris.

“Philip’s family, once upon a time,” said Lady Matheson. “They still have a villa there. Mon Repos, they call it.”

“Continuing the theme of ‘not Greek at all,’” commented Iris. “Lady Matheson, this sounds like a police matter already.”

“Not yet,” said Lady Matheson. “If the information is real and troubling, and if the terms are not unreasonable, we may prefer to handle it privately.”

“You’ve done that before, haven’t you?” asked Iris.

“If I had, would I be talking about it?”

“Not at all. What about Talbot? Who was he, where does he come into the story, what could he have had in his possession?”

“The problem with my asking these questions internally is that they lead to other people asking why I’m asking questions,” said Lady Matheson. “I have given you what I have given you, and that is all I can give you.”

“You want this done, but you don’t want to help us do it?” asked Gwen.

“Correct.”

“Because you want deniability at your end,” said Iris.

“Exactly.”

“You are going to compensate us for our efforts, aren’t you?” said Iris.

“What do you charge for this sort of thing?” asked Lady Matheson.

“It depends on expenses. What if we have to travel to Corfu?”

“Oh dear,” said Gwen. “I don’t know if I have the right wardrobe for Corfu in July.”

“The envelope was postmarked at the London Central Post Office,” said Lady Matheson. “I doubt that plane tickets will be needed.”

“We get forty pounds when a marriage results from our efforts,” said Iris. “But that’s the price for common people, isn’t it?”