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Victoria.
    â€œWhy, it’s all been most unfortunate,” exclaimed Mrs. Clipp breathlessly. “Here we were, with a full itinerary, and enjoying London and all our plans made and my passage booked. I’m going out to pay a visit to my married daughter in Iraq, Miss Jones. I’ve not seen her for nearly two years. And then what do I do but take a crash—as a matter of fact, it was actually in Westminster Abbey—down some stone steps—and there I was. They rushed me to hospital and they’ve set it, and all things considered it’s not too uncomfortable—but there it is, I’m kind of helpless, and however I’d manage travelling, I don’t know. And George here, is just tied up with business, and simply can’t get away for at least another three weeks. He suggested that I should take a nurse along with me—but after all, once I’m out there I don’t need a nurse hanging around, Sadie can do all that’s necessary—and it means paying her fare back as well, and so I thought I’d ring up the agencies and seeif I couldn’t find someone who’d be willing to come along just for the fare out.”
    â€œI’m not exactly a nurse,” said Victoria, managing to imply that that was practically what she was. “But I’ve had a good deal of experience of nursing.” She produced the first testimonial. “I was with Lady Cynthia Bradbury for over a year. And if you should want any correspondence or secretarial work done, I acted as my uncle’s secretary for some months. My uncle,” said Victoria modestly, “is the Bishop of Llangow.”
    â€œSo your uncle’s a Bishop. Dear me, how interesting.”
    Both the Hamilton Clipps were, Victoria thought, decidedly impressed. (And so they should be after the trouble she had taken!)
    Mrs. Hamilton Clipp handed the two testimonials to her husband.
    â€œIt really seems quite wonderful,” she said reverently. “Quite providential. It’s an answer to prayer.”
    Which, indeed, was exactly what it was, thought Victoria.
    â€œYou’re taking up a position of some kind out there? Or joining a relative?” asked Mrs. Hamilton Clipp.
    In the flurry of manufacturing testimonials, Victoria had quite forgotten that she might have to account for her reasons for travelling to Baghdad. Caught unprepared, she had to improvise rapidly. The paragraph she had read yesterday came to her mind.
    â€œI’m joining my uncle out there. Dr. Pauncefoot Jones,” she explained.
    â€œIndeed? The archaeologist?”
    â€œYes.” For one moment Victoria wondered whether she were perhaps endowing herself with too many distinguished uncles. “I’m terribly interested in his work, but of course I’ve no special qualifications so it was out of the question for the Expedition to pay my fare out. They’re not too well off for funds. But if I can get out on my own, I can join them and make myself useful.”
    â€œIt must be very interesting work,” said Mr. Hamilton Clipp, “and Mesopotamia is certainly a great field for archaeology.”
    â€œI’m afraid,” said Victoria, turning to Mrs. Clipp, “that my uncle the Bishop is up in Scotland at this moment. But I can give you his secretary’s telephone number. She is staying in London at the moment. Pimlico 87693—one of the Fulham Palace extensions. She’ll be there anytime from (Victoria’s eyes slid to the clock on the mantelpiece) 11:30 onwards if you would like to ring her up and ask about me.”
    â€œWhy, I’m sure—” Mrs. Clipp began, but her husband interrupted.
    â€œTime’s very short you know. This plane leaves day after tomorrow. Now have you got a passport, Miss Jones?”
    â€œYes.” Victoria felt thankful that owing to a short holiday trip to France last year, her passport was up to date. “I brought it with me in