send for Donald. He did a prison block once.”
“It is your help rather than your husband’s for which I should be obliged at the moment, Mrs Staunch.”
She bent forward attentively. “Of course.”
“There are two women—both of them live here in Flaxborough, or have done up to recently—whom we are rather anxious to trace. One is a widow. The other is an unmarried woman. We think that they may have approached your agency, probably within the last six months or so.”
“You mean these women have disappeared?”
“In effect, yes. Certainly some of the relatives are worried and no one has been able to suggest any likely reason why either should have left home.”
Mrs Staunch reached for a note pad that was lying on the coffee table. “You’d better give me their names.”
“Mrs Lilian Bannister—she’s the widow, of course—and the other one’s called Martha Reckitt.” He leaned forward and put two photographs on the table. Mrs Staunch finished writing and picked them up.
She looked at Purbright. “You think about six months ago?”
“In Mrs Bannister’s case, four exactly.”
She frowned. “Why ‘exactly’?”
“That was the date on a cheque for twenty guineas which she made out to you.”
“Is it because of that cheque that you came to see me?”
“Because of the counterfoil, actually. At the moment we don’t know that the cheque reached you.”
“Oh, it did.” Some of Mrs Staunch’s affability seemed to have evaporated. She spoke quietly and with care. “Mrs Bannister paid her registration fee and used the services of my agency for several weeks. I’m fairly sure that the other lady was a client as well—I’ll have a look in my records in a moment. The trouble is...” She paused.
Purbright watched her stroke the edge of one of the pictures reflectively with a long, puce-varnished fingernail.
“Tell me if I’m jumping too far ahead, inspector, but I can see that you believe something has happened to these women. Which leads you—naturally—to suppose some kind of criminal is responsible. Which in turn gives you the idea that they might have met him, or them, through the agency. Am I right?”
“I wouldn’t quite...”
“You might as well be frank, inspector. I certainly intend to be.”
“All right. That’s roughly the argument so far.”
She nodded. “Now let me tell you something of how this sort of agency operates. I want you to see certain difficulties that probably haven’t occurred to you.
“In the first place, it is terribly important for people who come here to feel that the whole thing is strictly confidential. It is this that forces us to adopt certain forms of procedure that you might think—well—childish, melodramatic. My husband thinks it’s awful; he calls it M.I.5 for the lovelorn. What he doesn’t understand is that you have to sort of cage lonely people up before you can do anything for them—it’s safety they really want. And that means secrecy.
“Right. Someone comes along. Mrs Bannister, say. I list as much as she’ll tell me about herself—age, hobbies, tastes, what she admires in a man...”
“Financial means?” Purbright put in.
Mrs Staunch shrugged. “If it seems relevant, yes. Anyway, all these things go down on the office record and she’s allocated a number. That number is her guarantee of remaining anonymous right up to the time when she herself decides to reveal her identity to the person she believes she can be happy with.
“The next step is for me to prepare a selection from the gentlemen’s file of clients who seem likely—in temperament, background, and so on—to match up with Mrs Bannister. This is where you have to be a bit of a psychologist, of course. And one has to bear in mind that it’s opposites that often prove to agree best.
“Once, I have let her have this selection—with numbers, not names, remember—it is up to her to write to any of them and suggest correspondence. All letters come to my office for redirection, or to be collected, just as the clients prefer. So even I don’t know who writes to whom. Sometimes people actually marry without my being any the wiser, though most are only too anxious to share their good news with me. I’ve had some very touching letters.”
Mrs Staunch paused briefly for reflection. Then she accepted the cigarette Purbright offered her and went on.
“Of course, Mrs Bannister would have what you might call a double chance. In addition to being given that list of ‘Possibles’, she would have her number and details circulated to those of my gentlemen clients I considered might be interested in her. And if any proved to be so, their letters would reach her through the office here without her being put under any obligation.”
Purbright considered a while. “There seems to be quite a lot of work entailed. For you, I mean.” He forebore from adding: And no small loot, at twenty guineas a shot.
Mrs Stauch lowered her eyes and examined the hem of her skirt. “It’s tremendously worth while. It really is.”
“I think I’m beginning to see the difficulties you mentioned,” Purbright said.
“In relation to this inquiry of yours?”
“Yes. The field’s a good deal wider than I would like. In my uninstructed optimism, I’d thought in terms of single, specific introductions. I hoped for a name and address for my pains.”
