“Lady Georgiana to see Sir William,” the young policeman said.

One of the young women got up from her desk.

“This way, please. Follow me.” She looked and sounded the epitome of efficiency. I bet she’d never tripped over a rug in her life.

She led me down another hallway and tapped at a door.

“Come in!” a voice boomed.

“Lady Georgiana, Sir William,” the woman said in her efficient voice.

I stepped inside. The door closed behind me. The pipe smell was revealed as coming from a big, florid man who sat behind the desk. He spilled over the sides of a large leather chair, the meerschaum clenched between his teeth. As I entered, he removed it from his mouth and held it poised in one hand. If I had summed up the typist as efficient, I could sum him up in one word too: powerful. He had fierce eyebrows, for one thing, and the sort of expression that indicated he didn’t like to be crossed, and rarely was.

“Lady Georgiana. Good of you to come so quickly.” He held out a meaty hand.

“Did I have a choice?” I asked, and he laughed heartily, as if I had made a good joke.

“I’m not arresting you, you know. Please. Take a seat.” I sat.

“Then would you like to tell me what I’m doing here?” I asked.

“You don’t have an inkling?”

“No. Why should I?”

He leaned back, eyeing me across his large mahogany desk. “Some disturbing news has just come to light,” he said. “Our vice squad keeps an eye on the newspapers for potentially illegal and antisocial activities. When an advertisement showed up in no less than the Times yesterday, they checked on the telephone number given in the advert. They couldn’t have been more surprised to find out that the number was that of your London residence—a telephone owned in the name of the Duke of Glen Garry and Rannoch. So we immediately came to the conclusion that there had been a misprint in the newspaper and we contacted the Times to tell them so. We were then informed that there was no misprint.”

He paused. Those alarming eyebrows twitched with a life of their own, like two prawns. “So I thought you and I had better have a little chat and settle this matter before it goes any further. Would you like to clarify things for me?”

I was currently staring in fascination at the eyebrows, while wishing that the floor would open up and swallow me.

“It was all a hideous mistake,” I said. “I merely intended to start a small escort service.”

“Escort service?” The eyebrows shot up.

“Not what you’re thinking. Well-bred girls who would be available as dinner or theater partners for men who didn’t like to dine alone. Nothing more. Perhaps my wording was inept?”