“Yes, but I would like to learn how to do it,” said Gwen.

“Gwen, I would be happy to teach you sometime when the clock isn’t ticking,” said Iris. “But we have a deadline, and not to put too fine a point on it, I can get it done in half the time if I’m on my own.”

“That’s not a fine point,” said Gwen hotly. “It’s a sledgehammer.”

“We have a business to run,” said Iris. “Two businesses, at the moment.”

“This is why we need a secretary,” fumed Gwen.

“Yes, it is,” agreed Iris. “But until that happy day, it makes sense to do it this way.”

“You like me being the Watson to your Holmes, don’t you?” said Gwen.

“What? Where did you get that silly idea?”

“Our first adventure. You flouting your education and your secret training while I trailed along, taking all my cues from you and blundering about.”

“I had the education and I had the training,” said Iris. “You roped me into that mess because I had them and you needed them. So who was following whom?”

“You enjoyed every moment of it, playing your characters, getting into rows, putting your life on the line…”

“Saving yours,” Iris reminded her.

“Yes, and don’t think I’m not forever in your debt for that,” said Gwen. “But we were equal partners in that investigation, and we should be equal partners in this one.”

“Fine, you’re not Watson,” said Iris. “If I’m Holmes, who are you?”

“I’ll be Bulldog Drummond,” declared Gwen, smacking her fist into her palm, then wincing slightly.

“I fight better than you do,” Iris pointed out.

“You had to say that,” said Gwen. “Fine. You can teach me how to fight after you teach me how to do research.”

“I will, I promise,” said Iris. “But right now, give me this afternoon. I’ll meet you at Sally’s, and we’ll ask him a few questions after the reading. Please, darling? May we do it this way today?”

“Very well, go,” grumbled Gwen. “I hope the dust makes you sneeze uncontrollably.”

“No doubt it will, pouty girl,” said Iris, rising and putting on her hat. “I’ll see you at Sally’s.”

She left, fluttering her fingers in farewell. Gwen watched her in chagrin.

“When did it become Let’s All Be Condescending to Gwen Day?” she said to herself.

She stared moodily at the keys to Cooper and Lyons, Chartered Public Accountants, and fought back the urge to go back into their former office and play with the desk drawers some more. She looked at her watch. Their normal lunch hour had passed, and she was feeling peckish. She picked up the keys, hung their “Out to Lunch” sign on the outer doorknob and adjusted the little hands on the clock indicating her return time, then went downstairs.

Mr. MacPherson was in front of the building, eating a sandwich and drinking from a thermos, the contents of which she did not wish to know.

“Here are the keys, thank you,” she said, returning them to him.