“Ashley’s Agency? Oh, yes. It is now called the Central Nurses’ Bureau--in fact, we are Ashley’s Agency, though we never use that title!” Leslie explained who she was and what she required. “If you’ll come round, we will show you the old books; we still have them,” was the encouraging reply. Leslie Maughan put on her hat and coat and went out at once. Halfway down she remembered Mr. Coldwell’s gift and went back to buckle on a most uncomfortable garter. The premises of the agency were off Regent Street, no great distance to walk, and she was there in five minutes. The secretary, who had replied to her telephone message, was already selecting the books for her inspection, and by great good fortune the first of these she had discovered contained the very information that the girl had asked for. “Yes, we have her on our books--Martha Druze. She applied to us before she left Plymouth Hospital apparently, for that is her original address, and we placed her in a situation in the early part of 1891.” The secretary had opened the book and her finger pointed to a line. Leslie read; she found herself gripping tight to the edge of the table. Looking at her, the secretary saw that her eyes were blazing and wondered what there was in this simple record to engender such excitement. “It was the only job we ever got for her----” she began. Leslie shook her head. “She would not want another,” she said. CHAPTER XVII. THE TELLTALE PERFUME When Lady Raytham had begun a letter to her husband the district messenger arrived with Leslie’s note. His lordship, in his aimless way, had gone on to Bombay, and was suffering from an old trouble of his; had written a very long letter describing minutely his many symptoms, and had expressed--this was unexpected--the desire that she should go out to him. She read Leslie’s note: Dear Jane: Won’t you come round and see me? I’ve got the whole day off, and there is a tremendous lot that I want to talk to you about, not as a poor apology for a policewoman, but as a very human girl who would love to smooth over some of the rough road you are treading. Lucretia has orders to say that I’m out and to admit nobody. I can give you a home-made lunch, and can promise that you will suffer no ill effects therefrom. Or we can lunch regally at or near the Carlton. Please come. Jane scribbled a note which was delivered to the waiting messenger, locked away her half-finished letter in the bureau, and went up into her room to change. Lucretia had no sooner ushered Jane in to Leslie when she burst out talking. “Did you see Peter? What happened? I’m so worried about it. I nearly called you up this morning.” “I shouldn’t have known,” said Leslie. “At least, I should have known he’d been arrested----” “Arrested?” This was obviously news to Jane Raytham, for her face went white. Leslie explained what had happened.