He shook his head, chuckling now. “Oh dear, oh dear me. Your wording couldn’t have been more obvious if you’d written ‘Call Fifi for a good time.’ But I must say I’m relieved that you haven’t actually joined the oldest profession yet.”

I could feel my face positively glowing with the heat of embarrassment.

“Absolutely not. And I assure you I will be withdrawing the advertisement this morning.”

“Already done, my dear,” he said. “But in future I must warn you to be a little more prudent if you desire to go into business. Check with someone older and more worldly wise so that you don’t make any more embarrassing blunders, eh?”

“I will,” I said. “I’m sorry. It really was innocently intended. I’m a young woman trying to earn a living like everybody else in this city, you know. I thought I had found a niche and leaped in to fill it.”

“I’d stick to the more acceptable professions in future. All I can say is you’re lucky our man happened to pick up on that advert so quickly. Can you imagine what a field day the gutter press would have had if they’d come upon it first? The tart with the tiara? The Buck House brothel?”

He watched me wince at each of these epithets. I could tell he was rather enjoying himself.

“I’ve told you it won’t happen again,” I said. “And fortunately the press has not found me out.”

“All the same,” he went on slowly, “I think it might be wise if you left the city immediately. Take the next train to your home in Scotland, eh? Then if by any chance any nosy parker did stumble upon yesterday’s paper and called the number, they would realize that Rannoch House was empty and closed up for the summer and that there had been a mistake. We’ll brief the Times to verify that the telephone number was their error.”

He looked at me inquiringly. I couldn’t do anything but nod in agreement. He obviously had no idea that going home to Scotland meant facing a dragon of a sister-in-law who would want to know what I was doing landing on their doorstep with no warning. But I did see his point. I went to stand up, presuming the interview was at an end. Sir William put his pipe to his lip and took a long draw on it.

“One other small thing,” he said. “Do you happen to know a woman by the name of Mavis Pugh?”

“Never heard of her.”