And Hester had no idea who composed the current fashionable society, because it had not interested her much for some years.

Now it was of the utmost urgency.

However, she thought on reflection that Callandra would probably not be much more knowledgeable than she. If she knew, it would be by chance, not design. If ever there was a woman who did not give a whit about fashionable company, or who dined or danced with whom, it was Callandra Daviot.

Genevieve was not of that social standing. Her husband was in business, albeit a very respectable one. But gentlemen only dabbled, they did not actually work.

She looked across at Enid. There was the answer.

Of course she could not possibly tell her why she wished to know, not because she needed to protect Monk-Enid would not have believed it of him without better proof than there was so far. Anyway, Hester could always moderate the story somewhat at this point. But Enid would certainly have the gravest doubts about what Hester intended to do about it. In fact, it might very well be sufficient to keep her from providing the information altogether.

It must be obtained without the reason for it given. And perhaps that might not be so very difficult? Hester could ask her about the last party she attended, who was there, what they wore, who danced, who flirted, what was served to eat. In fact, she could ask her to describe several parties. Enid did not know her well enough to be aware that normally she had no interest whatever in such things.

She could do it. She could begin as soon as Enid awoke. Monk himself could find the necessary addresses, if there were no better way of obtaining them. She could begin with ten or a dozen. There was no time to be lost.

“You must have been to some wonderful parties,” she began with enthusiasm when Enid awoke and she puffed up

her pillows and brought her a little light food. “Please tell me about them.

I should love to hear.”

“Would you?” Enid said doubtfully. “I would not have thought such things would interest you in the slightest.” She looked at Hester narrowly, amusement in her eyes.

“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.