“Me? Why me?”

“You still have purpose,” said Miss Hardiman. “You’re in charge here.”

“I am only in charge of myself,” said Sparks. “Mrs. Bainbridge and I are equal partners and have no other employees. I’m hardly a mover and a shaker.”

“But you run your own show, with no ridiculous men to boss you about,” said Miss Hardiman. “That seems like paradise, in a way.”

“It is different,” said Sparks. “We’re making a go of it, I’m glad to report.”

“After all the publicity about solving the La Salle murder, I should think so.”

“That’s not our normal line of work,” said Sparks. “It fell into our laps, much the same way a grand piano does in those American cartoons. Now, let’s get back to finding you a good candidate. Would you say, given your … enthusiastic personality, that you would be happier with a man who stands up to it, or one who would give in to it?”

“Ohh, that’s the nub, isn’t it? I’d think the first, except the arguing could get exhausting over the long run. But if the lad folds the moment I challenge him, there’s no fun. Could I ask for a bit of both?”

“You could,” said Sparks, jotting down the answer. “Finding him is the trick.”

“Which do you prefer?” asked Miss Hardiman.

“I’ve had fun. I’ve been exhausted. I’m back to fun at the moment.”

“You’re not married yourself, I notice.”

“Correct.”

“How do I know you’re any good at setting people up?”

“Because we had enough faith in our abilities to do so to start a business doing it, and we’ve had enough success for others to share that faith. Yes, I haven’t followed a flower girl down the daisy-strewn aisle myself, but I bring a particular perspective to the search, and Mrs. Bainbridge brings a different but equally useful one. We are now on the hunt, Miss Hardiman. We shall put our minds to it, and contact you with a suitable candidate shortly.”

Maybe one who’s hard of hearing, she thought as she rose to shake Miss Hardiman’s hand.

She quashed the thought immediately.

Iris was in the middle of typing up her notes when Gwen returned, waving a pair of keys dangling from a metal tag.

“Got them,” said Gwen. “Sorry I took so long. Mr. MacPherson was particularly difficult to find today.”

“Where did he turn up?”

“Napping in a vacant office on the second storey, broom in hand. How did things go with the ten thirty?”

“Letitia Hardiman is now our latest client, I am happy to report. Tall, almost your height, in fact. Assertive, extremely loud. She led an antiaircraft battery during the war, which is impressive.”

“When you say ‘extremely loud’…”

“She brought down two bombers by yelling at them.”

“Hmm,” mused Gwen. “We have Mr. Temple amongst our eligibles. Didn’t he lose most of his hearing to an explosion?”

“I thought of him, but it shouldn’t be that superficial. And with all the shouting that would come from that match, I would fear for the equanimity of their neighbors. Maybe we should match her with someone who lives in a detached house. At the end of a street. In a cul-de-sac.”