Chapter One

"Fairchild, I don't like the looks of this telegram," I said to my personal attendant. "I may be called upon to tax my genius to the utmost." The trusty valet coughed discretely. The sound mixed well with the crackling of the fire. "Okay, I take your point," I said. "Perhaps not 'genius'. But what word better describes my intellect?" "Miniscule, sir?"

Some people should not be trusted with a vocabulary. "Anyway," I sighed, "as regards this telegram, what do you make of it?" "It appears to be the heartfelt cry of a lovesick soul, sir." "You pick that up, do you?"

"I sense that Mr. Mudyard is more than ordinarily agitated. "I don't think he has the foggiest idea about the opposite sex. Not that I blame him. What do women want, Fairchild?" "I could not say, sir.".

"Fairchild," I said stiffly, "you are. a woman. Surely you have some idea what you want." "I am not conscious of any desires that you might call gender-specific." "Thank you, Fairchild, this has been most illuminating. Well, I suppose there's nothing for it but to fling the old toothbrush into the car and snivel on down to Wormly-in-the-Copse."

"I shall pack forthwith, sir."

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