Grey’s headache seemed suddenly diminished. He stared at her for a moment, then reached slowly into his pocketbook. He drew out three pound notes and tossed them into her lap.

“Tell me what you know.”

Agnes clasped her thighs together, hands between them, tight on the money, eyes sparkling with pleasure.

“What I ken is that he comes here, aye, maybe twa, three times in a month, but he doesna go wi’ any of the lasses—so as I couldna find out about the state of his prick, ye ken.” She looked apologetic.

Grey left off fastening his garter buckles, surprised.

“What does he do, then?”

“Weel, he goes into Mrs. Magda’s room, same as the rich ones always do—and a wee while later, out comes a woman in one of Maggie’s gowns and a big lace cap . . . but it’s no our Maggie. She’s near the same height, aye, but nay bosom to her and nay bum at all—and narrow in the shoulder, where Mags has the meat of a well-fed bullock.”

She raised one perfect eyebrow, obviously entertained by the look on his face.

“And then this . . . lady . . . goes out the back way, intae the alley, where there’s a chair waitin’. I’ve seen her do it,” she added, with a sardonic emphasis on the pronoun. “Though I didna ken who it was at the time.”

“And does . . . she . . . come back?” Grey asked, with the same emphasis.

“Aye, she does. She leaves past dark, and comes back just before dawn. I heard the chairmen in the alley, a week past, and bein’ as I happened for once to be alone”—she made a brief moue—“I got up and had a keek down from my window to see who it was. I couldna see any more than the top of her cap and a flash of green skirt—but whoever it was, her step was quick and long, like a man’s.”

She stopped then, looking expectant. Grey rubbed a hand through his tousled hair. The ribbon had come off as he slept, and was nowhere in sight.

“But you think that you can discover where this . . . person . . . goes to?”

She nodded, certain of herself.

“Oh, aye. I may not have seen the lady’s face, but I saw one of the chairmen, plain. Happen he’s a big auld lad called Rab, from up near Fife. He hasna often got the price of a whore, but when he does, he asks for me. Homesick, see?”

“Yes, I do see.” Grey wiped the hair out of his face, then reached into his pocketbook once more. She spread her legs just in time, catching the handful of silver neatly in the basket of her skirt.

“See that Rab has the price of you soon,” Grey suggested. “Aye?”