“People are always interesting,” Hester said truthfully. “Even people with whom one would not necessarily wish to spend great periods of time. Please tell me about the last big society party you went to. Who was there? What did they say? What did they do?”

“Who was there?” Enid repeated thoughtfully, staring past Hester at the curtains. “Well . . . I remember John Pickering, because he told that awful story about the bishop, and . . .” She reminisced with a short smile and a dry, not unkind observation, and gradually Hester knew from her what she needed, committing every relevant fact to memory.

The next day she found Monk at home, looking weary, irritable and frightened. She might have tried to comfort him, had she had time and not been so afraid he would somehow realize what she meant to do, and stop her.

“Do you still have the wretched letter that woman wrote to you?” she asked hastily.

He was standing by the fire, effectively shielding her from the warmth, although that had probably not occurred to him.

“Why?” he asked. “I've read it several times. It doesn't give any clues at all as to why it is she hates me, or who she really is, beyond the obvious.”

“Do you have it or not?” Hester said sharply. “Please don't argue with everything I say. There really isn't time.”

“You haven't said anything else,” he pointed out.

“And I won't have time to, if you keep on being so persnickety. Do you have the letter?”

“Yes!”

“Then may I see it please?”

“What for?” He did not move.

“Get it!” she ordered.

He hesitated, as if to argue further, then decided it was not worth the emotional effort. He went to the bureau drawer and took out the letter, passing it to her with a look of distaste.

“Thank you.” She put it into her pocket, then unfolded the piece of paper on which she had written the addresses of eighteen gentlemen who would serve her purpose. “I need the London addresses of as many of these as you can find, unless they are in the country at present,” she instructed, holding it out to him. “Then it will be no use. I want at least twelve, and by tomorrow midday, if you please. It is of the utmost importance. You may leave them at my lodgings, in a sealed envelope. Don't fail.” She turned to leave. “I am sorry I cannot remain, but I have a great deal to do. Good night.”

“Hester!” he shouted. “What for? What on earth do you want them for? What are you doing?” He strode to the door after her, but she had her hand on the knob already.

“I have told you, I have no time to discuss it now,” she replied briskly.

“I shall explain it all later. Please do as I have asked you, and as rapidly as possible. Good night.”