‘I did.’ There was an edge to his voice.

A quick look at my phone showed that he had. ‘Why didn’t I see it?’

‘Spotty coverage out here.’ He softened. ‘But, yeah, sorry.’

I needed to know about his kids. ‘Have you just the one child?’

‘Two. A boy of eleven, a girl of thirteen. They’re great. I’m forty-two, been divorced for five years. My ex-wife and I get on.’ Seeming slightly entertained, he said, ‘Anything else you’d like to know before we start?’

I shook my head.

‘Over this way.’ All business, he walked us into one of the giant warehouses. ‘I know it doesn’t look promising,’ he said, ‘but trust me, these guys are great at this.’

Giving me a once-over, he said, ‘You look good.’ At first I thought it was a compliment; then he said, ‘Sensible clothes.’

His gear was the stuff from my memory—dark, sleek athleisure wear.

Setting off down a long, empty corridor, we passed an endless sequence of shuttered rooms, until Quin stopped at a door. ‘Here.’

In a small but fancy reception area, a neatly combed man, wearing black tie and tails, was holding a little round tray that served no obvious purpose. He looked like a butler. Flanking him was a woman wearing the black dress and white apron of a Downton Abbey-style domestic.

‘Mr Quinlivan? Ms Walsh?’ Butler-man asked. ‘Thank goodness you’re here! I am Smythe, purser of the Queen Anne ocean liner. A pair of diamond earrings has disappeared from the stateroom of Lady Glenrother. Suspicion has fallen on young Mabel here, Lady Glenrother’s personal maid.’

At this point Mabel curtsied.

Unsure of the etiquette, I half curtsied back.

‘I know Mabel to be an honest soul,’ Smythe said. ‘She is entirely innocent. But if you do not locate the missing jewels, Mabel will be sent for trial and found guilty.’

‘You’re my only hope,’ Mabel said. ‘Do you accept your mission?’

‘I accept,’ Quin said.

Then they were all looking at me.

Oh God. I didn’t do well with that sort of pressure. ‘Okay, I accept too.’ Jesus, could we not just have gone for ice-cream? Ice-cream dates had become an actual thing and I was so there.

Smythe relieved us of our coats and phones, then declared, ‘You have one hour to find the jewels and save Mabel. The clock starts ticking…now!’ Next thing, we’d been ushered through a doorway and the lock had clicked behind us.

We were in a small, dim room, perhaps an old-timey office. A jacket and official-looking cap hung from a dusty coat-rack. A still-smoking tortoiseshell pipe lay abandoned on a heavy wooden desk, over which a bare yellow bulb was suspended.