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threshold for a moment, watching his assistant at her desk as he dried his hands. She was lost in a stack of papers, a look of concentration furrowing her brow, And if she was aware of his presence she was choosing not to let It distract her from her task.
    Miss Veronica Hobbes had been working with him for over three months now, and had already saved his life on more than one occasion, both physical y and, he considered, emotional y too. She was a most excellent woman; full of the energy and spirit of the modern age, an embodiment of progress, of equality, and of the future. She was pretty, too; brunette, in her early twenties, and full of life. Her features were well proportioned and feminine, and her eyes were a deep, arresting blue.
    She had a sharp mind, and an even sharper tongue.
    Newbury cleared his throat. “Good morning, Miss Hobbes. I see you’re still hard at work on that mystery of yours.”
    Veronica looked up, offered him a warm smile, and then returned to her reading. She spoke whilst her eyes fol owed the lines on the page before her. “Indeed. I believe that I’m making good progress, too. I have a potential suspect.”
    “Excellent. I look forward to hearing all about it. Just as soon as we have tea, and I’ve dashed off a short missive to Her Majesty.”
    At this Veronica looked up again, leaning back in her chair to regard him. She seemed to see him properly for the first time. “You’re damp, Sir Maurice. I take it this morning’s outing did not progress as planned?”
    Newbury shook his head. “Quite so. In fact, I’d go as far as saying it was an unmitigated disaster.
    The gentleman I was tasked with escorting to the palace did not arrive for our rendezvous. The circumstances were most peculiar. But I won’t go into it now. I’m much more interested in hearing your news.” He dropped the towel on the edge of his desk and moved around to find his chair.
    “Now, where did I put those note cards. .?” He fumbled with the many piles of paper that cluttered his desk.
    Veronica laughed. She opened her draw and withdrew a sheaf of small white note cards. “Here.
    Take one of these.” Newbury smiled and accepted the proffered stationery. “My thanks.” He lowered himself into his chair, took up a pen and inkwell, and began to write: Majesty,
    Agent by codename “Caspian” did not attend rendezvous as expected. Please advise if further action is required.
    Yours,
    Newbury

    He gave the note a cursory glance, considering whether he shouId elaborate on the strange circumstances and the disturbing smell he had found lingering in the appointed compartment. He decided against the idea. After all, it was clear that Her Majesty knew more about the situation than he did, and he knew that she would just as soon summon him to the palace if she had any cause for concern. He resolved not to make any plans for the following morning. He’d likely have to cancel them, anyway, when the summons from the palace arrived. He folded the card into an envelope, which he retrieved from a tray on his desk. Then, still holding it in his hand, he leaned back in his chair and stared thoughtfully at the wall.
    “I take it you’ve seen this morning’s edition of The Times, Sir Maurice?”
    Newbury grinned, blinking away his reverie. “Yes, indeed I have. I’ve just washed half of it down the sink.” Veronica frowned, not catching his meaning. He chose not to elaborate. “I met the reporter at Winthrop’s place, actually. Decent sort of chap. The piece was a little sensational for my liking, though.”
    “It certainly sounds as if it was an interesting evening, whatever the case. Are you planning to involve yourself in the mystery? Of the screaming mummy, I mean.” Veronica delivered this with her usual, casual aplomb, but it was clear to Newbury that she was fishing for something. He smiled.
    “I doubt it’s really a case for the Crown. I did think I might call in on old Peterson this afternoon; just to run