The Great Christmas Ball by Joan Smith

fattish.”
    “You have done excellent work, Lyman,” Costain said. But common sense told him that if Mrs. Leonard had a lover, it probably had nothing to do with the business at the Horse Guards. She was a youngish, attractive lady married to an older man. Adultery, in such cases, was not uncommon. No doubt they would eventually discover her marriage had been arranged by her family against her wishes.
    “I shall keep on her trail and see if I can get a closer look at the man next time,” Gordon said. “Pity he drove a hired hack, or I might have recognized his prads. I recognize most of the teams around town.”
    “Best change your disguise, in case she saw you behind the shop when they were leaving,” Costain mentioned.
    “That’ll be a relief,” Gordon said with great feeling. “I shan’t be an old man next time. I might be a footman. One sees them everywhere. They are as common as belly buttons.”
    Cathy said, “What you should be is a woman, then you could loiter about such places as milliner’s shops without exciting curiosity.”
    “If you think I am going to be seen in public in a dress, let me tell you, you have another think coming! How would you like it?”
    “I would like it fine.” Cathy laughed. “What you probably mean is how would I like to be seen in public in trousers. I shouldn’t mind that, either. If you did pose as a lady, you could wear that round bonnet you bought. I don’t want it. Where is it, by the bye?”
    “Why it’s--” He looked all around. “Demme, I must have left it in the hansom cab. Pity.” He turned to Costain. “Have you discovered anything of interest, Costain?”
    Costain mentioned Burack’s search of his desk.
    “I shouldn’t be in the least surprised if it was Burack that Mrs. Leonard was meeting, with his coat stuffed to look fat.”
    “I would be very much surprised,” Costain said. “He did not leave the office. Cosgrave was out at a meeting or some such thing, and Burack was in his office, working on his correspondence from two to four, when I left.”
    “And besides, Burack is not French,” Cathy pointed out.
    “He don’t admit to being French,” Gordon said. When this received a jaundiced look, he thought it best to drop the matter. “What are we doing tonight, Costain?” he inquired.
    Society was thin in winter. Costain could not think of anyplace they might all go. Bearing in mind Lady Lyman’s pressing questions, it seemed wise not to dance attendance on Cathy too assiduously.
    “We have all earned a respite,” he said, looking at Cathy.
    She made the effort to accept it in good spirits. “That will give me an opportunity to catch up on my correspondence,” she said.
    “I daresay Mrs. Leonard is not brass-faced enough to be meeting her lover when her husband is at home,” Gordon said. “I shall go to my club this evening, and keep a sharp eye out for those flat thumbs and squinty eyes while I am about it. Will you call at the same time tomorrow to receive my report, Costain?”
    Costain knew the ineligibility of popping up each day for tea. “I shall be in touch, perhaps by letter,” he said.
    “But what if something urgent arises?” Gordon asked. “I mean to say, you don’t want me running to you, and since that weasel of a Burack is reading your correspondence, I daresay you don’t want me to write, either.”
    “Why don’t I stop in for a moment after tea tomorrow on my way home?” he suggested. “I shall come here, to the office, to avoid disturbing the family.”
    His expression was politely bland, but Cathy easily read his thinking. “He is afraid of falling into parson’s mousetrap,” she said to herself. “You can meet Lord Costain here, Gordon,” she said, to show him she had no intention of hounding him.
    No one objected, and Costain soon took his leave. Gordon was peeved at Leo’s lack of enthusiasm for his hard day’s work and magnificent discovery.
    “I don’t think Leo appreciates what I have