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years. Their steady incomes sometimes lured suitors, as well. In the past two years, three Kern secretaries, including Matty, had received offers of marriage. One woman had accepted. Matty and her colleague had turned down the proposals, preferring the freedom that came with their new profession.
    The Kern agency advertised that their elite secretaries operated the very latest and most technologically advanced typing machines. Ursula and her employees had all agreed that device was the Fenton Modern Typewriter.
    Ursula opened the door and went into the office. Matty looked up in surprise.
    â€œYou’re back early,” she said. Concern tightened her brows. “Are you feeling unwell?”
    â€œWhy does everyone insist upon inquiring after my health this afternoon?” Ursula yanked the hatpins out of her hat. “Do I appear sickly?”
    Matty’s concern immediately transitioned to fascinated horror. “Something dreadful happened at the Roxton mansion, didn’t it? Are you all right?”
    Ursula dropped the hat and veil onto a side table. “I’m fine, Matty.”
    â€œNo, you’re not fine. Mr. Roxton said or did something to outrage your delicate sensibilities, didn’t he?”
    Ursula sank into her desk chair and gave Matty a repressive look.
    â€œTo be clear,” she said evenly, “Mr. Roxton committed no outrages upon my person and he did not offend my delicate sensibilities. Professional secretaries cannot afford to possess delicate sensibilities. That way lies disaster.”
    â€œWe are respectable females. Of course we have delicate sensibilities.”
    â€œNo, Matty, what professional secretaries must possess in abundance are the qualities of intelligence, common sense and a willingness to do whatever is required to extricate one’s person from potentially outrageous situations before they become outrageous. There are no knights in shining armor hanging about waiting to rescue us. We must deal with the world on our own. Which is, of course, why I make certain that all of my secretaries wear hats with large, sturdy hatpins.”
    â€œYes, I know.” Matty brushed the hatpin requirement aside. “Well, if you were not offended, why are you in such a fierce mood? You look as if you could cheerfully throttle someone.”
    â€œDo not tempt me.”
    â€œSomething did happen at the Roxton mansion. I knew it. I warned you about that man, did I not?”
    â€œOn any number of occasions.”
    â€œYou can’t expect him to behave like a well-bred, well-mannered gentleman. They say he was entombed alive for weeks on that island.”
    â€œHis mother informed me that it was more in the neighborhood of a few days.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter, the point is he was buried alive. After he escaped the temple tombs he was stranded on that island for a full year. That would be enough to shatter anyone’s nerves or drive him mad.”
    â€œMr. Roxton is not mad, Matty.” Ursula reflected briefly. “A trifle eccentric, perhaps, but I’m quite sure he isn’t mad. I think it’s safe to say there’s nothing wrong with his nerves, either.”
    â€œThe latest issue of
The Flying Intelligencer
reports that Roxton practices exotic sexual rites on unsuspecting females,” Matty announced.
    Ursula stared at her, genuinely shocked for the first time. “Good heavens. I must admit I hadn’t heard that particular tidbit.”
    â€œEvidently Roxton is in the habit of kidnapping innocent, respectable ladies right off the street. He takes them to a secret chamber where he performs the rituals.”
    â€œIs that so? Have there been a number of complaints from the victims of these exotic sexual rituals?”
    â€œWell, no.” Matty looked disappointed. “The victims never remember exactly what happens during the ceremonies because he hypnotizes them to make them forget.”
    â€œI suspect