Jaxon, fortunately, was in, and Ellery was soon able to explain his business. He wanted a woman, none too young, and getting fat, whose name was Kitty something-or-other. She was, he believed, often to be found round about Leicester Square. “You’re the very last man I ever expected to come to me on a quest like that,” said Jaxon with a laugh. “Now, if it had been Lorimer or Wentworth—but you of all men. Oh, I know it’s all right, and your intentions are strictly honourable. But do you know that there are at least a dozen Kittys, all of them celebrated in their way, who conform fully to the description you have given me? How am I to know which one you want?” Ellery repeated his description, giving every detail that had been told him—the golden, dyed hair, the smile that switched on and off like an electric light—“That’s not much help. It’s part of the professional equipment,” said Jaxon—the dark eyes, the slovenly walk. “The golden hair and the dark eyes help to narrow the field; but there are still half a dozen it might be—all of the fat and forty brigade, and all of them no better than they should be according to the world’s reckoning. Five of the six are just the ordinary thing; but the other is something quite out of the common run. She’s not what you would call an honest woman; but she’s a very remarkable person for all that. I wonder if it is she you are after.” “Tell me about her first.” “Well her name—or at least the name she’s known by—is Kitty Frensham. Kitty Lessing it used to be when I first knew her. In those days she was more or less the property of a Russian Archduke, or something of the sort. Or rather, he used to be altogether her property. Then, a year or so ago, he died, and since then she has been rather at a loose end. She’s fat and forty; but she’s a most fascinating woman. Awfully clever, too.” “Can you get hold of her for me?” “Yes, I think I know where to find her; but you’d better understand that she’s not at all the ordinary sort of street-crawler. If she’s your woman, the description you gave was a bit misleading. She is most often about with Horace Mandleham, the painter chap, nowadays. Come round to Duke’s with me, and I dare say we shall find her.” Ellery knew about Duke’s, of course; but he had never been there. Just at the moment, it was the latest thing in night clubs in London, and everybody who fancied himself or herself as a bit in advance of other folk was keen to go there. Ellery was not advanced, and it took some persuasion to carry him along. He seemed to think that Jaxon ought to cut out his prize for him from under the guns of Duke’s and bring her home in tow. But Jaxon said he could find her, but he couldn’t possibly bring her. Finally, Ellery agreed to go. After all, he reflected, it was all in the day’s work. He had known what sort of man Walter Brooklyn was; and he must not complain if the task of clearing up his character meant going into some queer places.