Certainly it had been no overstatement.  As a writer of detective stories for the British office boy, he had imagined in his time many undertakings that might be so described, but few to which the description was more admirably suited.

“It is,” said Mr. Peters; “and that is why I’m offering good pay.  Whoever carries this job through gets one thousand pounds.”

Ashe started.

“One thousand pounds—­five thousand dollars!”

“Five thousand.”

“When do I begin?”

“You’ll do it?”

“For five thousand dollars I certainly will.”

“With your eyes open?”

“Wide open!”

A look of positive geniality illuminated Mr. Peters’ pinched features.  He even went so far as to pat Ashe on the shoulder.

“Good boy!” he said.  “Meet me at Paddington Station at four o’clock on Friday.  And if there’s anything more you want to know come round to this address.”

There remained the telling of Joan Valentine; for it was obviously impossible not to tell her.  When you have revolutionized your life at the bidding of another you cannot well conceal the fact, as though nothing had happened.  Ashe had not the slightest desire to conceal the fact.  On the contrary, he was glad to have such a capital excuse for renewing the acquaintance.

He could not tell her, of course, the secret details of the thing.  Naturally those must remain hidden.  No, he would just go airily in and say: 

“You know what you told me about doing something new?  Well, I’ve just got a job as a valet.”

So he went airily in and said it.

“To whom?” said Joan.

“To a man named Peters—­an American.”

Women are trained from infancy up to conceal their feelings.  Joan did not start or otherwise express emotion.

“Not Mr. J. Preston Peters?”

“Yes.  Do you know him?  What a remarkable thing.”

“His daughter,” said Joan, “has just engaged me as a lady’s maid.”

“What!”

“It will not be quite the same thing as three years ago,” Joan explained.  “It is just a cheap way of getting a holiday.  I used to know Miss Peters very well, you see.  It will be more like traveling as her guest.”

“But—­but—­” Ashe had not yet overcome his amazement.

“Yes?”

“But what an extraordinary coincidence!”

“Yes.  By the way, how did you get the situation?  And what put it into your head to be a valet at all?  It seems such a curious thing for you to think of doing.”

Ashe was embarrassed.

“I—­I—­well, you see, the experience will be useful to me, of course, in my writing.”

“Oh!  Are you thinking of taking up my line of work?  Dukes?”

“No, no—­not exactly that.”

“It seems so odd.  How did you happen to get in touch with Mr. Peters?”

“Oh, I answered an advertisement.”