The Secret Adversary
by Agatha Christie · English · Gutenberg #1155 · 446,017 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Secret Adversary
Author: Agatha Christie
Release date: January 1, 1998 [eBook #1155]
Most recently updated: October 29, 2024
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1155
Credits: Charles Keller and David Widger
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET ADVERSARY ***
THE SECRET ADVERSARY
By Agatha Christie
TO ALL THOSE WHO LEAD
MONOTONOUS LIVES
IN THE HOPE THAT THEY MAY EXPERIENCE
AT SECOND HAND
THE DELIGHTS AND DANGERS OF
ADVENTURE
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER I. THE YOUNG ADVENTURERS, LTD.
CHAPTER II. MR. WHITTINGTON’S OFFER
CHAPTER III. A SET BACK
CHAPTER IV. WHO IS JANE FINN?
CHAPTER V. MR. JULIUS P. HERSHEIMMER
CHAPTER VI. A PLAN OF CAMPAIGN
CHAPTER VII. THE HOUSE IN SOHO
CHAPTER VIII. THE ADVENTURES OF TOMMY
CHAPTER IX. TUPPENCE ENTERS DOMESTIC SERVICE
CHAPTER X. ENTER SIR JAMES PEEL EDGERTON
CHAPTER XI. JULIUS TELLS A STORY
CHAPTER XII. A FRIEND IN NEED
CHAPTER XIII. THE VIGIL
CHAPTER XIV. A CONSULTATION
CHAPTER XV. TUPPENCE RECEIVES A PROPOSAL
CHAPTER XVI. FURTHER ADVENTURES OF TOMMY
CHAPTER XVII. ANNETTE
CHAPTER XVIII. THE TELEGRAM
CHAPTER XIX. JANE FINN
CHAPTER XX. TOO LATE
CHAPTER XXI. TOMMY MAKES A DISCOVERY
CHAPTER XXII. IN DOWNING STREET
CHAPTER XXIII. A RACE AGAINST TIME
CHAPTER XXIV. JULIUS TAKES A HAND
CHAPTER XXV. JANE’S STORY
CHAPTER XXVI. MR. BROWN
CHAPTER XXVII. A SUPPER PARTY AT THE _SAVOY_
CHAPTER XXVIII. AND AFTER
PROLOGUE
IT was 2 p.m. on the afternoon of May 7, 1915. The _Lusitania_ had been
struck by two torpedoes in succession and was sinking rapidly, while
the boats were being launched with all possible speed. The women and
children were being lined up awaiting their turn. Some still clung
desperately to husbands and fathers; others clutched their children
closely to their breasts. One girl stood alone, slightly apart from
the rest. She was quite young, not more than eighteen. She did not seem
afraid, and her grave, steadfast eyes looked straight ahead.
“I beg your pardon.”
A man’s voice beside her made her start and turn. She had noticed the
speaker more than once amongst the first-class passengers. There had
been a hint of mystery about him which had appealed to her imagination.
He spoke to no one. If anyone spoke to him he was quick to rebuff the
overture. Also he had a nervous way of looking over his shoulder with a
swift, suspicious glance.
She noticed now that he was greatly agitated. There were beads of
perspiration on his brow. He was evidently in a state of overmastering
fear. And yet he did not strike her as the kind of man who would be
afraid to meet death!
“Yes?” Her grave eyes met his inquiringly.
He stood looking at her with a kind of desperate irresolution.
“It must be!” he muttered to himself. “Yes--it is the only way.” Then
aloud he said abruptly: “You are an American?”
“Yes.”
“A patriotic one?”
The girl flushed.
“I guess you’ve no right to ask such a thing! Of course I am!”
“Don’t be offended. You wouldn’t be if you knew how much there was at
stake. But I’ve got to trust some one--and it must be a woman.”
“Why?”
“Because of ‘women and children first.’” He looked round and lowered his
voice. “I’m carrying papers--vitally important papers. They may make all
the difference to the Allies in the war. You understand? These papers
have _got_ to be saved! They’ve more chance with you than with me. Will
you take them?”
The girl held out her hand.
“Wait--I must warn you. There may be a risk--if I’ve been followed. I
don’t think I have, but one never knows. If so, there will be danger.
Have you the nerve to go through with it?”
The girl smiled.
“I’ll go through with it all right. And I’m real proud to be chosen!
What am I to do with them afterwards?”
“Watch the newspapers! I’ll advertise in the personal column of the
_Times_, beginning ‘Shipmate.’ At the end of three days if there’s
nothing--well, you’ll know I’m down and out. Then take the packet to
the American Embassy, and deliver it into the Ambassador’s own hands. Is
that clear?”
“Quite clear.”
“Then be ready--I’m going to say good-bye.” He took her hand in his.
“Good-bye. Good luck to you,” he said in a louder tone.
Her hand closed on the oilskin packet that had lain in his palm.
The _Lusitania_ settled with a more decided list to starboard. In answer
to a quick command, the girl went forward to take her place in the boat.
CHAPTER I. THE YOUNG ADVENTURERS, LTD.
“TOMMY, old thing!”
“Tuppence, old bean!”
The two young people greeted each other affectionately, and momentarily
blocked the Dover Street Tube exit in doing so. The adjective “old”
was misleading. Their united ages would certainly not have totalled
forty-five.
“Not seen you for simply centuries,” continued the young man. “Where are
you off to? Come and chew a bun with me. We’re getting a bit unpopular
here--blocking the gangway as it were. Let’s get out of it.”
The girl assenting, they started walking down Dover Street towards
Piccadilly.
“Now then,” said Tommy, “where shall we go?”
The very faint anxiety which underlay his tone did not escape the astute
ears of Miss Prudence Cowley, known to her intimate friends for some
mysterious reason as “Tuppence.” She pounced at once.
“Tommy, you’re stony!”
“Not a bit of it,” declared Tommy unconvincingly. “Rolling in cash.”
“You always were a shocking liar,” said Tuppence severely, “though you
did once persuade Sister Greenbank that the doctor had ordered you beer
as a tonic, but forgotten to write it on the chart. Do you remember?”
Tommy chuckled.
“I should think I did! Wasn’t the old cat in a rage when she found
out? Not that she was a bad sort really, old Mother Greenbank! Good old
hospital--demobbed like everything else, I suppose?”
Tuppence sighed.
“Yes. You too?”
Tommy nodded.
“Two months ago.”
“Gratuity?” hinted Tuppence.
“Spent.”
“Oh, Tommy!”
“No, old thing, not in riotous dissipation. No such luck! The cost of
living--ordinary plain, or garden living nowadays is, I assure you, if
you do not know----”
“My dear child,” interrupted Tuppence, “there is nothing I do _not_ know
about the cost of living. Here we are at Lyons’, and we will each of us
pay for our own. That’s it!” And Tuppence led the way upstairs.
The place was full, and they wandered about looking for a table,
catching odds and ends of conversation as they did so.
“And--do you know, she sat down and _cried_ when I told her she couldn’t
have the flat after all.” “It was simply a _bargain_, my dear! Just like
the one Mabel Lewis brought from Paris----”
“Funny scraps one does overhear,” murmured Tommy. “I passed two Johnnies
in the street to-day talking about some one called Jane Finn. Did you
ever hear such a name?”
But at that moment two elderly ladies rose and collected parcels, and
Tuppence deftly ensconced herself in one of the vacant seats.
Tommy ordered tea and buns. Tuppence ordered tea and buttered toast.
“And mind the tea comes in separate teapots,” she added severely.
Tommy sat down opposite her. His bared head revealed a shock
of exquisitely slicked-back red hair. His face was pleasantly
ugly--nondescript, yet unmistakably the face of a gentleman and a
sportsman. His brown suit was well cut, but perilously near the end of
its tether.
They were an essentially modern-looking couple as they sat there.
Tuppence had no claim to beauty, but there was character and charm in
the elfin lines of her little face, with its determined chin and large,
wide-apart grey eyes that looked mistily out from under straight, black
brows. She wore a small bright green toque over her black bobbed hair,
and her extremely short and rather shabby skirt revealed a pair of
uncommonly dainty ankles. Her appearance presented a valiant attempt at
smartness.
The tea came at last, and Tuppence, rousing herself from a fit of
meditation, poured it out.
“Now then,” said Tommy, taking a large bite of bun, “let’s get
up-to-date. Remember, I haven’t seen you since that time in hospital in
1916.”
“Very well.” Tuppence helped herself liberally to buttered toast.
“Abridged biography of Miss Prudence Cowley, fifth daughter of
Archdeacon Cowley of Little Missendell, Suffolk. Miss Cowley left the
delights (and drudgeries) of her home life early in the war and came up
to London, where she entered an officers’ hospital. First month: Washed
up six hundred and forty-eight plates every day. Second month: Promoted
to drying aforesaid plates. Third month: Promoted to peeling potatoes.
Fourth month: Promoted to cutting bread and butter. Fifth month:
Promoted one floor up to duties of wardmaid with mop and pail. Sixth
month: Promoted to waiting at table. Seventh month: Pleasing appearance
and nice manners so striking that am promoted to waiting on the Sisters!
Eighth month: Slight check in career. Sister Bond ate Sister Westhaven’s
egg! Grand row! Wardmaid clearly to blame! Inattention in such important
matters cannot be too highly censured. Mop and pail again! How are the
mighty fallen! Ninth month: Promoted to sweeping out wards, where I
found a friend of my childhood in Lieutenant Thomas Beresford (bow,
Tommy!), whom I had not seen for five long years. The meeting was
affecting! Tenth month: Reproved by matron for visiting the pictures in
company with one of the patients, namely: the aforementioned Lieutenant
Thomas Beresford. Eleventh and twelfth months: Parlourmaid duties
resumed with entire success. At the end of the year left hospital in a
blaze of glory. After that, the talented Miss Cowley drove successively
a trade delivery van, a motor-lorry and a general! The last was the
pleasantest. He was quite a young general!”
“What blighter was that?” inquired Tommy. “Perfectly sickening the way
those brass hats drove from the War Office to the _Savoy_, and from the
_Savoy_ to the War Office!”
“I’ve forgotten his name now,” confessed Tuppence. “To resume, that was
in a way the apex of my career. I next entered a Government office. We
had several very enjoyable tea parties. I had intended to become a
land girl, a postwoman, and a bus conductress by way of rounding off
my career--but the Armistice intervened! I clung to the office with the
true limpet touch for many long months, but, alas, I was combed out at
last. Since then I’ve been looking for a job. Now then--your turn.”
“There’s not so much promotion in mine,” said Tommy regretfully, “and a
great deal less variety. I went out to France again, as you know. Then
they sent me to Mesopotamia, and I got wounded for the second time,
and went into hospital out there. Then I got stuck in Egypt till the
Armistice happened, kicked my heels there some time longer, and, as I
told you, finally got demobbed. And, for ten long, weary months I’ve
been job hunting! There aren’t any jobs! And, if there were, they
wouldn’t give ‘em to me. What good am I? What do I know about business?
Nothing.”
Tuppence nodded gloomily.
“What about the colonies?” she suggested.
Tommy shook his head.
“I shouldn’t like the colonies--and I’m perfectly certain they wouldn’t
like me!”
“Rich relations?”
Again Tommy shook his head.
“Oh, Tommy, not even a great-aunt?”
“I’ve got an old uncle who’s more or less rolling, but he’s no good.”
“Why not?”
“Wanted to adopt me once. I refused.”
“I think I remember hearing about it,” said Tuppence slowly. “You
refused because of your mother----”
Tommy flushed.
“Yes, it would have been a bit rough on the mater. As you know, I was
all she had. Old boy hated her--wanted to get me away from her. Just a
bit of spite.”
“Your mother’s dead, isn’t she?” said Tuppence gently.
Tommy nodded.
Tuppence’s large grey eyes looked misty.
“You’re a good sort, Tommy. I always knew it.”
“Rot!” said Tommy hastily. “Well, that’s my position. I’m just about
desperate.”
“So am I! I’ve hung out as long as I could. I’ve touted round. I’ve
answered advertisements. I’ve tried every mortal blessed thing. I’ve
screwed and saved and pinched! But it’s no good. I shall have to go
home!”
“Don’t you want to?”
“Of course I don’t want to! What’s the good of being sentimental?
Father’s a dear--I’m awfully fond of him--but you’ve no idea how I worry
him! He has that delightful early Victorian view that short skirts and
smoking are immoral. You can imagine what a thorn in the flesh I am to
him! He just heaved a sigh of relief when the war took me off. You see,
there are seven of us at home. It’s awful! All housework and mothers’
meetings! I have always been the changeling. I don’t want to go back,
but--oh, Tommy, what else is there to do?”
Tommy shook his head sadly. There was a silence, and then Tuppence burst
out:
“Money, money, money! I think about money morning, noon and night! I
dare say it’s mercenary of me, but there it is!”
“Same here,” agreed Tommy with feeling.
“I’ve thought over every imaginable way of getting it too,” continued
Tuppence. “There are only three! To be left it, to marry it, or to make
it. First is ruled out. I haven’t got any rich elderly relatives. Any
relatives I have are in homes for decayed gentlewomen! I always help old
ladies over crossings, and pick up parcels for old gentlemen, in case
they should turn out to be eccentric millionaires. But not one of them
has ever asked me my name--and quite a lot never said ‘Thank you.’”
There was a pause.
“Of course,” resumed Tuppence, “marriage is my best chance. I made up my
mind to marry money when I was quite young. Any thinking girl would!
I’m not sentimental, you know.” She paused. “Come now, you can’t say I’m
sentimental,” she added sharply.
“Certainly not,” agreed Tommy hastily. “No one would ever think of
sentiment in connection with you.”
“That’s not very polite,” replied Tuppence. “But I dare say you mean it
all right. Well, there it is! I’m ready and willing--but I never meet
any rich men! All the boys I know are about as hard up as I am.”
“What about the general?” inquired Tommy.
“I fancy he keeps a bicycle shop in time of peace,” explained Tuppence.
“No, there it is! Now _you_ could marry a rich girl.”
“I’m like you. I don’t know any.”
“That doesn’t matter. You can always get to know one. Now, if I see a
man in a fur coat come out of the _Ritz_ I can’t rush up to him and say:
‘Look here, you’re rich. I’d like to know you.’”
“Do you suggest that I should do that to a similarly garbed female?”
“Don’t be silly. You tread on her foot, or pick up her handkerchief, or
something like that. If she thinks you want to know her she’s flattered,
and will manage it for you somehow.”
“You overrate my manly charms,” murmured Tommy.
“On the other hand,” proceeded Tuppence, “my millionaire would probably
run for his life! No--marriage is fraught with difficulties. Remains--to
_make_ money!”
“We’ve tried that, and failed,” Tommy reminded her.
“We’ve tried all the orthodox ways, yes. But suppose we try the
unorthodox. Tommy, let’s be adventurers!”
“Certainly,” replied Tommy cheerfully. “How do we begin?”
“That’s the difficulty. If we could make ourselves known, people might
hire us to commit crimes for them.”
“Delightful,” commented Tommy. “Especially coming from a clergyman’s
daughter!”
“The moral guilt,” Tuppence pointed out, “would be theirs--not mine. You
must admit that there’s a difference between stealing a diamond necklace
for yourself and being hired to steal it.”
“There wouldn’t be the least difference if you were caught!”
“Perhaps not. But I shouldn’t be caught. I’m so clever.”
“Modesty always was your besetting sin,” remarked Tommy.
“Don’t rag. Look here, Tommy, shall we really? Shall we form a business
partnership?”
“Form a company for the stealing of diamond necklaces?”
“That was only an illustration. Let’s have a--what do you call it in
book-keeping?”
“Don’t know. Never did any.”
“I have--but I always got mixed up, and used to put credit entries on
the debit side, and vice versa--so they fired me out. Oh, I know--a
joint venture! It struck me as such a romantic phrase to come across in
the middle of musty old figures. It’s got an Elizabethan flavour about
it--makes one think of galleons and doubloons. A joint venture!”
“Trading under the name of the Young Adventurers, Ltd.? Is that your
idea, Tuppence?”
“It’s all very well to laugh, but I feel there might be something in
it.”
“How do you propose to get in touch with your would-be employers?”
“Advertisement,” replied Tuppence promptly. “Have you got a bit of paper
and a pencil? Men usually seem to have. Just like we have hairpins and
powder-puffs.”
Tommy handed over a rather shabby green notebook, and Tuppence began
writing busily.
“Shall we begin: ‘Young officer, twice wounded in the war----’”
“Certainly not.”
“Oh, very well, my dear boy. But I can assure you that that sort of
thing might touch the heart of an elderly spinster, and she might adopt
you, and then there would be no need for you to be a young adventurer at
all.”
“I don’t want to be adopted.”
“I forgot you had a prejudice against it. I was only ragging you!
The papers are full up to the brim with that type of thing. Now
listen--how’s this? ‘Two young adventurers for hire. Willing to do
anything, go anywhere. Pay must be good.’ (We might as well make
that clear from the start.) Then we might add: ‘No reasonable offer
refused’--like flats and furniture.”
“I should think any offer we get in answer to that would be a pretty
_un_reasonable one!”
“Tommy! You’re a genius! That’s ever so much more chic. ‘No unreasonable
offer refused--if pay is good.’ How’s that?”
“I shouldn’t mention pay again. It looks rather eager.”
“It couldn’t look as eager as I feel! But perhaps you are right. Now
I’ll read it straight through. ‘Two young adventurers for hire. Willing
to do anything, go anywhere. Pay must be good. No unreasonable offer
refused.’ How would that strike you if you read it?”
“It would strike me as either being a hoax, or else written by a
lunatic.”
“It’s not half so insane as a thing I read this morning beginning
‘Petunia’ and signed ‘Best Boy.’” She tore out the leaf and handed it
to Tommy. “There you are. _Times_, I think. Reply to Box so-and-so.
I expect it will be about five shillings. Here’s half a crown for my
share.”
Tommy was holding the paper thoughtfully. His faced burned a deeper red.
“Shall we really try it?” he said at last. “Shall we, Tuppence? Just for
the fun of the thing?”
“Tommy, you’re a sport! I knew you would be! Let’s drink to success.”
She poured some cold dregs of tea into the two cups.
“Here’s to our joint venture, and may it prosper!”
“The Young Adventurers, Ltd.!” responded Tommy.
They put down the cups and laughed rather uncertainly. Tuppence rose.
“I must return to my palatial suite at the hostel.”
“Perhaps it is time I strolled round to the _Ritz_,” agreed Tommy with a
grin. “Where shall we meet? And when?”
“Twelve o’clock to-morrow. Piccadilly Tube station. Will that suit you?”
“My time is my own,” replied Mr. Beresford magnificently.
“So long, then.”
“Good-bye, old thing.”
The two young people went off in opposite directions. Tuppence’s hostel
was situated in what was charitably called Southern Belgravia. For
reasons of economy she did not take a bus.
She was half-way across St. James’s Park, when a man’s voice behind her
made her start.
“Excuse me,” it said. “But may I speak to you for a moment?”
CHAPTER II. MR. WHITTINGTON’S OFFER
TUPPENCE turned sharply, but the words hovering on the tip of her tongue
remained unspoken, for the man’s appearance and manner did not bear out
her first and most natural assumption. She hesitated. As if he read her
thoughts, the man said quickly:
“I can assure you I mean no disrespect.”
Tuppence believed him. Although she disliked and distrusted him
instinctively, she was inclined to acquit him of the particular motive
which she had at first attributed to him. She looked him up and down. He
was a big man, clean shaven, with a heavy jowl. His eyes were small and
cunning, and shifted their glance under her direct gaze.
“Well, what is it?” she asked.
The man smiled.
“I happened to overhear part of your conversation with the young
gentleman in Lyons’.”
“Well--what of it?”
“Nothing--except that I think I may be of some use to you.”
Another inference forced itself into Tuppence’s mind:
“You followed me here?”
“I took that liberty.”
“And in what way do you think you could be of use to me?”
The man took a card from his pocket and handed it to her with a bow.
Tuppence took it and scrutinized it carefully. It bore the inscription,
“Mr. Edward Whittington.” Below the name were the words “Esthonia
Glassware Co.,” and the address of a city office. Mr. Whittington spoke
again:
“If you will call upon me to-morrow morning at eleven o’clock, I will
lay the details of my proposition before you.”
“At eleven o’clock?” said Tuppence doubtfully.
“At eleven o’clock.”
Tuppence made up her mind.
“Very well. I’ll be there.”
“Thank you. Good evening.”
He raised his hat with a flourish, and walked away. Tuppence remained
for some minutes gazing after him. Then she gave a curious movement of
her shoulders, rather as a terrier shakes himself.
“The adventures have begun,” she murmured to herself. “What does he want
me to do, I wonder? There’s something about you, Mr. Whittington, that I
don’t like at all. But, on the other hand, I’m not the least bit afraid
of you. And as I’ve said before, and shall doubtless say again, little
Tuppence can look after herself, thank you!”
And with a short, sharp nod of her head she walked briskly onward. As a
result of further meditations, however, she turned aside from the direct
route and entered a post office. There she pondered for some moments,
a telegraph form in her hand. The thought of a possible five shillings
spent unnecessarily spurred her to action, and she decided to risk the
waste of ninepence.
Disdaining the spiky pen and thick, black treacle which a beneficent
Government had provided, Tuppence drew out Tommy’s pencil which she had
retained and wrote rapidly: “Don’t put in advertisement. Will explain
to-morrow.” She addressed it to Tommy at his club, from which in one
short month he would have to resign, unless a kindly fortune permitted
him to renew his subscription.
“It may catch him,” she murmured. “Anyway, it’s worth trying.”
After handing it over the counter she set out briskly for home, stopping
at a baker’s to buy three penny-worth of new buns.
Later, in her tiny cubicle at the top of the house she munched buns and
reflected on the future. What was the Esthonia Glassware Co., and what
earthly need could it have for her services? A pleasurable thrill of
excitement made Tuppence tingle. At any rate, the country vicarage had
retreated into the background again. The morrow held possibilities.
It was a long time before Tuppence went to sleep that night, and, when
at length she did, she dreamed that Mr. Whittington had set her to
washing up a pile of Esthonia Glassware, which bore an unaccountable
resemblance to hospital plates!
It wanted some five minutes to eleven when Tuppence reached the block
of buildings in which the offices of the Esthonia Glassware Co. were
situated. To arrive before the time would look over-eager. So Tuppence
decided to walk to the end of the street and back again. She did so. On
the stroke of eleven she plunged into the recesses of the building.
The Esthonia Glassware Co. was on the top floor. There was a lift, but
Tuppence chose to walk up.
Slightly out of breath, she came to a halt outside the ground glass door
with the legend painted across it “Esthonia Glassware Co.”
Tuppence knocked. In response to a voice from within, she turned the
handle and walked into a small rather dirty outer office.
A middle-aged clerk got down from a high stool at a desk near the window
and came towards her inquiringly.
“I have an appointment with Mr. Whittington,” said Tuppence.
“Will you come this way, please.” He crossed to a partition door with
“Private” on it, knocked, then opened the door and stood aside to let
her pass in.
Mr. Whittington was seated behind a large desk covered with papers.
Tuppence felt her previous judgment confirmed. There was something wrong
about Mr. Whittington. The combination of his sleek prosperity and his
shifty eye was not attractive.
He looked up and nodded.
“So you’ve turned up all right? That’s good. Sit down, will you?”
Tuppence sat down on the chair facing him. She looked particularly small
and demure this morning. She sat there meekly with downcast eyes whilst
Mr. Whittington sorted and rustled amongst his papers. Finally he pushed
them away, and leaned over the desk.
“Now, my dear young lady, let us come to business.” His large face
broadened into a smile. “You want work? Well, I have work to offer
you. What should you say now to £100 down, and all expenses paid?” Mr.
Whittington leaned back in his chair, and thrust his thumbs into the
arm-holes of his waistcoat.
Tuppence eyed him warily.
“And the nature of the work?” she demanded.
“Nominal--purely nominal. A pleasant trip, that is all.”
“Where to?”
Mr. Whittington smiled again.
“Paris.”
“Oh!” said Tuppence thoughtfully. To herself she said: “Of course,
if father heard that he would have a fit! But somehow I don’t see Mr.
Whittington in the role of the gay deceiver.”
“Yes,” continued Whittington. “What could be more delightful? To put the
clock back a few years--a very few, I am sure--and re-enter one of those
charming _pensionnats de jeunes filles_ with which Paris abounds----”
Tuppence interrupted him.
“A _pensionnat?_”
“Exactly. Madame Colombier’s in the Avenue de Neuilly.”
Tuppence knew the name well. Nothing could have been more select. She
had had several American friends there. She was more than ever puzzled.
“You want me to go to Madame Colombier’s? For how long?”
“That depends. Possibly three months.”
“And that is all? There are no other conditions?”
“None whatever. You would, of course, go in the character of my ward,
and you would hold no communication with your friends. I should have
to request absolute secrecy for the time being. By the way, you are
English, are you not?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you speak with a slight American accent?”
“My great pal in hospital was a little American girl. I dare say I
picked it up from her. I can soon get out of it again.”
“On the contrary, it might be simpler for you to pass as an American.
Details about your past life in England might be more difficult to
sustain. Yes, I think that would be decidedly better. Then----”
“One moment, Mr. Whittington! You seem to be taking my consent for
granted.”
Whittington looked surprised.
“Surely you are not thinking of refusing? I can assure you that Madame
Colombier’s is a most high-class and orthodox establishment. And the
terms are most liberal.”
“Exactly,” said Tuppence. “That’s just it. The terms are almost too
liberal, Mr. Whittington. I cannot see any way in which I can be worth
that amount of money to you.”
“No?” said Whittington softly. “Well, I will tell you. I could doubtless
obtain some one else for very much less. What I am willing to pay for
is a young lady with sufficient intelligence and presence of mind to
sustain her part well, and also one who will have sufficient discretion
not to ask too many questions.”
Tuppence smiled a little. She felt that Whittington had scored.
“There’s another thing. So far there has been no mention of Mr.
Beresford. Where does he come in?”
“Mr. Beresford?”
“My partner,” said Tuppence with dignity. “You saw us together
yesterday.”
“Ah, yes. But I’m afraid we shan’t require his services.”
“Then it’s off!” Tuppence rose. “It’s both or neither. Sorry--but that’s
how it is. Good morning, Mr. Whittington.”
“Wait a minute. Let us see if something can’t be managed. Sit down
again, Miss----” He paused interrogatively.
Tuppence’s conscience gave her a passing twinge as she remembered the
archdeacon. She seized hurriedly on the first name that came into her
head.
“Jane Finn,” she said hastily; and then paused open-mouthed at the
effect of those two simple words.
All the geniality had faded out of Whittington’s face. It was purple
with rage, and the veins stood out on the forehead. And behind it all
there lurked a sort of incredulous dismay. He leaned forward and hissed
savagely:
“So that’s your little game, is it?”
Tuppence, though utterly taken aback, nevertheless kept her head. She
had not the faintest comprehension of his meaning, but she was naturally
quick-witted, and felt it imperative to “keep her end up” as she phrased
it.
Whittington went on:
“Been playing with me, have you, all the time, like a cat and mouse?
Knew all the time what I wanted you for, but kept up the comedy. Is that
it, eh?” He was cooling down. The red colour was ebbing out of his face.
He eyed her keenly. “Who’s been blabbing? Rita?”
Tuppence shook her head. She was doubtful as to how long she could
sustain this illusion, but she realized the importance of not dragging
an unknown Rita into it.
“No,” she replied with perfect truth. “Rita knows nothing about me.”
His eyes still bored into her like gimlets.
“How much do you know?” he shot out.
“Very little indeed,” answered Tuppence, and was pleased to note that
Whittington’s uneasiness was augmented instead of allayed. To have
boasted that she knew a lot might have raised doubts in his mind.
“Anyway,” snarled Whittington, “you knew enough to come in here and
plump out that name.”
“It might be my own name,” Tuppence pointed out.
“It’s likely, isn’t it, then there would be two girls with a name like
that?”
“Or I might just have hit upon it by chance,” continued Tuppence,
intoxicated with the success of truthfulness.
Mr. Whittington brought his fist down upon the desk with a bang.
“Quit fooling! How much do you know? And how much do you want?”
The last five words took Tuppence’s fancy mightily, especially after a
meagre breakfast and a supper of buns the night before. Her present part
was of the adventuress rather than the adventurous order, but she did
not deny its possibilities. She sat up and smiled with the air of one
who has the situation thoroughly well in hand.
“My dear Mr. Whittington,” she said, “let us by all means lay our cards
upon the table. And pray do not be so angry. You heard me say yesterday
that I proposed to live by my wits. It seems to me that I have now
proved I have some wits to live by! I admit I have knowledge of a
certain name, but perhaps my knowledge ends there.”
“Yes--and perhaps it doesn’t,” snarled Whittington.
“You insist on misjudging me,” said Tuppence, and sighed gently.
“As I said once before,” said Whittington angrily, “quit fooling, and
come to the point. You can’t play the innocent with me. You know a great
deal more than you’re willing to admit.”
Tuppence paused a moment to admire her own ingenuity, and then said
softly:
“I shouldn’t like to contradict you, Mr. Whittington.”
“So we come to the usual question--how much?”
Tuppence was in a dilemma. So far she had fooled Whittington with
complete success, but to mention a palpably impossible sum might awaken
his suspicions. An idea flashed across her brain.
“Suppose we say a little something down, and a fuller discussion of the
matter later?”
Whittington gave her an ugly glance.
“Blackmail, eh?”
Tuppence smiled sweetly.
“Oh no! Shall we say payment of services in advance?”
Whittington grunted.
“You see,” explained Tuppence still sweetly, “I’m so very fond of
money!”
“You’re about the limit, that’s what you are,” growled Whittington, with
a sort of unwilling admiration. “You took me in all right. Thought you
were quite a meek little kid with just enough brains for my purpose.”
“Life,” moralized Tuppence, “is full of surprises.”
“All the same,” continued Whittington, “some one’s been talking. You say
it isn’t Rita. Was it----? Oh, come in.”
The clerk followed his discreet knock into the room, and laid a paper at
his master’s elbow.
“Telephone message just come for you, sir.”
Whittington snatched it up and read it. A frown gathered on his brow.
“That’ll do, Brown. You can go.”
The clerk withdrew, closing the door behind him. Whittington turned to
Tuppence.
“Come to-morrow at the same time. I’m busy now. Here’s fifty to go on
with.”
He rapidly sorted out some notes, and pushed them across the table to
Tuppence, then stood up, obviously impatient for her to go.
The girl counted the notes in a businesslike manner, secured them in her
handbag, and rose.
“Good morning, Mr. Whittington,” she said politely. “At least, au
revoir, I should say.”
“Exactly. Au revoir!” Whittington looked almost genial again, a
reversion that aroused in Tuppence a faint misgiving. “Au revoir, my
clever and charming young lady.”
Tuppence sped lightly down the stairs. A wild elation possessed her. A
neighbouring clock showed the time to be five minutes to twelve.
“Let’s give Tommy a surprise!” murmured Tuppence, and hailed a taxi.
The cab drew up outside the tube station. Tommy was just within the
entrance. His eyes opened to their fullest extent as he hurried forward
to assist Tuppence to alight. She smiled at him affectionately, and
remarked in a slightly affected voice:
“Pay the thing, will you, old bean? I’ve got nothing smaller than a
five-pound note!”
CHAPTER III. A SET BACK
THE moment was not quite so triumphant as it ought to have been. To
begin with, the resources of Tommy’s pockets were somewhat limited. In
the end the fare was managed, the lady recollecting a plebeian twopence,
and the driver, still holding the varied assortment of coins in his
hand, was prevailed upon to move on, which he did after one last hoarse
demand as to what the gentleman thought he was giving him?
“I think you’ve given him too much, Tommy,” said Tuppence innocently. “I
fancy he wants to give some of it back.”
It was possibly this remark which induced the driver to move away.
“Well,” said Mr. Beresford, at length able to relieve his feelings,
“what the--dickens, did you want to take a taxi for?”
“I was afraid I might be late and keep you waiting,” said Tuppence
gently.
“Afraid--you--might--be--late! Oh, Lord, I give it up!” said Mr.
Beresford.
“And really and truly,” continued Tuppence, opening her eyes very wide,
“I haven’t got anything smaller than a five-pound note.”
“You did that part of it very well, old bean, but all the same the
fellow wasn’t taken in--not for a moment!”
“No,” said Tuppence thoughtfully, “he didn’t believe it. That’s the
curious part about speaking the truth. No one does believe it. I found
that out this morning. Now let’s go to lunch. How about the _Savoy?_”
Tommy grinned.
“How about the _Ritz?_”
“On second thoughts, I prefer the _Piccadilly_. It’s nearer. We shan’t
have to take another taxi. Come along.”
“Is this a new brand of humour? Or is your brain really unhinged?”
inquired Tommy.
“Your last supposition is the correct one. I have come into money, and
the shock has been too much for me! For that particular form of mental
trouble an eminent physician recommends unlimited _Hors d’œuvre_,
Lobster _à l’américane_, Chicken Newberg, and Pêche Melba! Let’s go
and get them!”
“Tuppence, old girl, what has really come over you?”
“Oh, unbelieving one!” Tuppence wrenched open her bag. “Look here, and
here, and here!”
“Great Jehosaphat! My dear girl, don’t wave Fishers aloft like that!”
“They’re not Fishers. They’re five times better than Fishers, and this
one’s ten times better!”
Tommy groaned.
“I must have been drinking unawares! Am I dreaming, Tuppence, or do I
really behold a large quantity of five-pound notes being waved about in
a dangerous fashion?”
“Even so, O King! _Now_, will you come and have lunch?”
“I’ll come anywhere. But what have you been doing? Holding up a bank?”
“All in good time. What an awful place Piccadilly Circus is. There’s a
huge bus bearing down on us. It would be too terrible if they killed the
five-pound notes!”
“Grill room?” inquired Tommy, as they reached the opposite pavement in
safety.
“The other’s more expensive,” demurred Tuppence.
“That’s mere wicked wanton extravagance. Come on below.”
“Are you sure I can get all the things I want there?”
“That extremely unwholesome menu you were outlining just now? Of course
you can--or as much as is good for you, anyway.”
“And now tell me,” said Tommy, unable to restrain his pent-up curiosity
any longer, as they sat in state surrounded by the many _hors d’œuvre_
of Tuppence’s dreams.
Miss Cowley told him.
“And the curious part of it is,” she ended, “that I really did invent
the name of Jane Finn! I didn’t want to give my own because of poor
father--in case I should get mixed up in anything shady.”
“Perhaps that’s so,” said Tommy slowly. “But you didn’t invent it.”
“What?”
“No. _I_ told it to you. Don’t you remember, I said yesterday I’d
overheard two people talking about a female called Jane Finn? That’s
what brought the name into your mind so pat.”
“So you did. I remember now. How extraordinary----” Tuppence tailed off
into silence. Suddenly she aroused herself. “Tommy!”
“Yes?”
“What were they like, the two men you passed?”
Tommy frowned in an effort at remembrance.
“One was a big fat sort of chap. Clean shaven, I think--and dark.”
“That’s him,” cried Tuppence, in an ungrammatical squeal. “That’s
Whittington! What was the other man like?”
“I can’t remember. I didn’t notice him particularly. It was really the
outlandish name that caught my attention.”
“And people say that coincidences don’t happen!” Tuppence tackled her
Pêche Melba happily.
But Tommy had become serious.
“Look here, Tuppence, old girl, what is this going to lead to?”
“More money,” replied his companion.
“I know that. You’ve only got one idea in your head. What I mean is,
what about the next step? How are you going to keep the game up?”
“Oh!” Tuppence laid down her spoon. “You’re right, Tommy, it is a bit of
a poser.”
“After all, you know, you can’t bluff him forever. You’re sure to slip
up sooner or later. And, anyway, I’m not at all sure that it isn’t
actionable--blackmail, you know.”
“Nonsense. Blackmail is saying you’ll tell unless you are given
money. Now, there’s nothing I could tell, because I don’t really know
anything.”
“Hm,” said Tommy doubtfully. “Well, anyway, what _are_ we going to do?
Whittington was in a hurry to get rid of you this morning, but next time
he’ll want to know something more before he parts with his money. He’ll
want to know how much _you_ know, and where you got your information
from, and a lot of other things that you can’t cope with. What are you
going to do about it?”
Tuppence frowned severely.
“We must think. Order some Turkish coffee, Tommy. Stimulating to the
brain. Oh, dear, what a lot I have eaten!”
“You have made rather a hog of yourself! So have I for that matter, but
I flatter myself that my choice of dishes was more judicious than yours.
Two coffees.” (This was to the waiter.) “One Turkish, one French.”
Tuppence sipped her coffee with a deeply reflective air, and snubbed
Tommy when he spoke to her.
“Be quiet. I’m thinking.”
“Shades of Pelmanism!” said Tommy, and relapsed into silence.
“There!” said Tuppence at last. “I’ve got a plan. Obviously what we’ve
got to do is to find out more about it all.”
Tommy applauded.
“Don’t jeer. We can only find out through Whittington. We must discover
where he lives, what he does--sleuth him, in fact! Now I can’t do it,
because he knows me, but he only saw you for a minute or two in Lyons’.
He’s not likely to recognize you. After all, one young man is much like
another.”
“I repudiate that remark utterly. I’m sure my pleasing features and
distinguished appearance would single me out from any crowd.”
“My plan is this,” Tuppence went on calmly, “I’ll go alone to-morrow.
I’ll put him off again like I did to-day. It doesn’t matter if I don’t
get any more money at once. Fifty pounds ought to last us a few days.”
“Or even longer!”
“You’ll hang about outside. When I come out I shan’t speak to you in
case he’s watching. But I’ll take up my stand somewhere near, and when
he comes out of the building I’ll drop a handkerchief or something, and
off you go!”
“Off I go where?”
“Follow him, of course, silly! What do you think of the idea?”
“Sort of thing one reads about in books. I somehow feel that in real
life one will feel a bit of an ass standing in the street for hours with
nothing to do. People will wonder what I’m up to.”
“Not in the city. Every one’s in such a hurry. Probably no one will even
notice you at all.”
“That’s the second time you’ve made that sort of remark. Never mind, I
forgive you. Anyway, it will be rather a lark. What are you doing this
afternoon?”
“Well,” said Tuppence meditatively. “I _had_ thought of hats! Or perhaps
silk stockings! Or perhaps----”
“Hold hard,” admonished Tommy. “There’s a limit to fifty pounds! But
let’s do dinner and a show to-night at all events.”
“Rather.”
The day passed pleasantly. The evening even more so. Two of the
five-pound notes were now irretrievably dead.
They met by arrangement the following morning and proceeded citywards.
Tommy remained on the opposite side of the road while Tuppence plunged
into the building.
Tommy strolled slowly down to the end of the street, then back again.
Just as he came abreast of the building, Tuppence darted across the
road.
“Tommy!”
“Yes. What’s up?”
“The place is shut. I can’t make anyone hear.”
“That’s odd.”
“Isn’t it? Come up with me, and let’s try again.”
Tommy followed her. As they passed the third floor landing a young clerk
came out of an office. He hesitated a moment, then addressed himself to
Tuppence.
“Were you wanting the Esthonia Glassware?”
“Yes, please.”
“It’s closed down. Since yesterday afternoon. Company being wound up,
they say. Not that I’ve ever heard of it myself. But anyway the office
is to let.”
“Th--thank you,” faltered Tuppence. “I suppose you don’t know Mr.
Whittington’s address?”
“Afraid I don’t. They left rather suddenly.”
“Thank you very much,” said Tommy. “Come on, Tuppence.”
They descended to the street again where they gazed at one another
blankly.
“That’s torn it,” said Tommy at length.
“And I never suspected it,” wailed Tuppence.
“Cheer up, old thing, it can’t be helped.”
“Can’t it, though!” Tuppence’s little chin shot out defiantly. “Do you
think this is the end? If so, you’re wrong. It’s just the beginning!”
“The beginning of what?”
“Of our adventure! Tommy, don’t you see, if they are scared enough to
run away like this, it shows that there must be a lot in this Jane Finn
business! Well, we’ll get to the bottom of it. We’ll run them down!
We’ll be sleuths in earnest!”
“Yes, but there’s no one left to sleuth.”
“No, that’s why we’ll have to start all over again. Lend me that bit of
pencil. Thanks. Wait a minute--don’t interrupt. There!” Tuppence handed
back the pencil, and surveyed the piece of paper on which she had
written with a satisfied eye:
“What’s that?”
“Advertisement.”
“You’re not going to put that thing in after all?”
“No, it’s a different one.” She handed him the slip of paper.
Tommy read the words on it aloud:
“WANTED, any information respecting Jane Finn. Apply Y. A.”
CHAPTER IV. WHO IS JANE FINN?
THE next day passed slowly. It was necessary to curtail expenditure.
Carefully husbanded, forty pounds will last a long time. Luckily the
weather was fine, and “walking is cheap,” dictated Tuppence. An outlying
picture house provided them with recreation for the evening.
The day of disillusionment had been a Wednesday. On Thursday the
advertisement had duly appeared. On Friday letters might be expected to
arrive at Tommy’s rooms.
He had been bound by an honourable promise not to open any such letters
if they did arrive, but to repair to the National Gallery, where his
colleague would meet him at ten o’clock.
Tuppence was first at the rendezvous. She ensconced herself on a red
velvet seat, and gazed at the Turners with unseeing eyes until she saw
the familiar figure enter the room.
“Well?”
“Well,” returned Mr. Beresford provokingly. “Which is your favourite
picture?”
“Don’t be a wretch. Aren’t there _any_ answers?”
Tommy shook his head with a deep and somewhat overacted melancholy.
“I didn’t want to disappoint you, old thing, by telling you right off.
It’s too bad. Good money wasted.” He sighed. “Still, there it is. The
advertisement has appeared, and--there are only two answers!”
“Tommy, you devil!” almost screamed Tuppence. “Give them to me. How
could you be so mean!”
“Your language, Tuppence, your language! They’re very particular at the
National Gallery. Government show, you know. And do remember, as I have
pointed out to you before, that as a clergyman’s daughter----”
“I ought to be on the stage!” finished Tuppence with a snap.
“That is not what I intended to say. But if you are sure that you have
enjoyed to the full the reaction of joy after despair with which I have
kindly provided you free of charge, let us get down to our mail, as the
saying goes.”
Tuppence snatched the two precious envelopes from him unceremoniously,
and scrutinized them carefully.
“Thick paper, this one. It looks rich. We’ll keep it to the last and
open the other first.”
“Right you are. One, two, three, go!”
Tuppence’s little thumb ripped open the envelope, and she extracted the
contents.
“DEAR SIR,
“Referring to your advertisement in this morning’s paper, I may be able
to be of some use to you. Perhaps you could call and see me at the above
address at eleven o’clock to-morrow morning.
“Yours truly,
“A. CARTER.”
“27 Carshalton Gardens,” said Tuppence, referring to the address.
“That’s Gloucester Road way. Plenty of time to get there if we tube.”
“The following,” said Tommy, “is the plan of campaign. It is my turn to
assume the offensive. Ushered into the presence of Mr. Carter, he and I
wish each other good morning as is customary. He then says: ‘Please take
a seat, Mr.--er?’ To which I reply promptly and significantly: ‘Edward
Whittington!’ whereupon Mr. Carter turns purple in the face and gasps
out: ‘How much?’ Pocketing the usual fee of fifty pounds, I rejoin you
in the road outside, and we proceed to the next address and repeat the
performance.”
“Don’t be absurd, Tommy. Now for the other letter. Oh, this is from the
_Ritz!_”
“A hundred pounds instead of fifty!”
“I’ll read it:
“DEAR SIR,
“Re your advertisement, I should be glad if you would call round
somewhere about lunch-time.
“Yours truly,
“JULIUS P. HERSHEIMMER.”
“Ha!” said Tommy. “Do I smell a Boche? Or only an American millionaire
of unfortunate ancestry? At all events we’ll call at lunch-time. It’s a
good time--frequently leads to free food for two.”
Tuppence nodded assent.
“Now for Carter. We’ll have to hurry.”
Carshalton Terrace proved to be an unimpeachable row of what Tuppence
called “ladylike looking houses.” They rang the bell at No. 27, and a
neat maid answered the door. She looked so respectable that Tuppence’s
heart sank. Upon Tommy’s request for Mr. Carter, she showed them into
a small study on the ground floor where she left them. Hardly a minute
elapsed, however, before the door opened, and a tall man with a lean
hawklike face and a tired manner entered the room.
“Mr. Y. A.?” he said, and smiled. His smile was distinctly attractive.
“Do sit down, both of you.”
They obeyed. He himself took a chair opposite to Tuppence and smiled at
her encouragingly. There was something in the quality of his smile that
made the girl’s usual readiness desert her.
As he did not seem inclined to open the conversation, Tuppence was
forced to begin.
“We wanted to know--that is, would you be so kind as to tell us anything
you know about Jane Finn?”
“Jane Finn? Ah!” Mr. Carter appeared to reflect. “Well, the question is,
what do _you_ know about her?”
Tuppence drew herself up.
“I don’t see that that’s got anything to do with it.”
“No? But it has, you know, really it has.” He smiled again in his tired
way, and continued reflectively. “So that brings us down to it again.
What do _you_ know about Jane Finn?
“Come now,” he continued, as Tuppence remained silent. “You must know
_something_ to have advertised as you did?” He leaned forward a little,
his weary voice held a hint of persuasiveness. “Suppose you tell me....”
There was something very magnetic about Mr. Carter’s personality.
Tuppence seemed to shake herself free of it with an effort, as she said:
“We couldn’t do that, could we, Tommy?”
But to her surprise, her companion did not back her up. His eyes were
fixed on Mr. Carter, and his tone when he spoke held an unusual note of
deference.
“I dare say the little we know won’t be any good to you, sir. But such
as it is, you’re welcome to it.”
“Tommy!” cried out Tuppence in surprise.
Mr. Carter slewed round in his chair. His eyes asked a question.
Tommy nodded.
“Yes, sir, I recognized you at once. Saw you in France when I was with
the Intelligence. As soon as you came into the room, I knew----”
Mr. Carter held up his hand.
“No names, please. I’m known as Mr. Carter here. It’s my cousin’s house,
by the way. She’s willing to lend it to me sometimes when it’s a case of
working on strictly unofficial lines. Well, now”--he looked from one to
the other--“who’s going to tell me the story?”
“Fire ahead, Tuppence,” directed Tommy. “It’s your yarn.”
“Yes, little lady, out with it.”
And obediently Tuppence did out with it, telling the whole story from
the forming of the Young Adventurers, Ltd., downwards.
Mr. Carter listened in silence with a resumption of his tired manner.
Now and then he passed his hand across his lips as though to hide a
smile. When she had finished he nodded gravely.
“Not much. But suggestive. Quite suggestive. If you’ll excuse my saying
so, you’re a curious young couple. I don’t know--you might succeed where
others have failed ... I believe in luck, you know--always have....”
He paused a moment, and then went on.
“Well, how about it? You’re out for adventure. How would you like
to work for me? All quite unofficial, you know. Expenses paid, and a
moderate screw?”
Tuppence gazed at him, her lips parted, her eyes growing wider and
wider.
“What should we have to do?” she breathed.
Mr. Carter smiled.
“Just go on with what you’re doing now. _Find Jane Finn_.”
“Yes, but--who _is_ Jane Finn?”
Mr. Carter nodded gravely.
“Yes, you’re entitled to know that, I think.”
He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, brought the tips of his
fingers together, and began in a low monotone:
“Secret diplomacy (which, by the way, is nearly always bad policy!) does
not concern you. It will be sufficient to say that in the early days of
1915 a certain document came into being. It was the draft of a secret
agreement--treaty--call it what you like. It was drawn up ready for
signature by the various representatives, and drawn up in America--at
that time a neutral country. It was dispatched to England by a special
messenger selected for that purpose, a young fellow called Danvers. It
was hoped that the whole affair had been kept so secret that nothing
would have leaked out. That kind of hope is usually disappointed.
Somebody always talks!
“Danvers sailed for England on the _Lusitania_. He carried the precious
papers in an oilskin packet which he wore next his skin. It was on that
particular voyage that the _Lusitania_ was torpedoed and sunk. Danvers
was among the list of those missing. Eventually his body was washed
ashore, and identified beyond any possible doubt. But the oilskin packet
was missing!
“The question was, had it been taken from him, or had he himself
passed it on into another’s keeping? There were a few incidents that
strengthened the possibility of the latter theory. After the torpedo
struck the ship, in the few moments during the launching of the boats,
Danvers was seen speaking to a young American girl. No one actually
saw him pass anything to her, but he might have done so. It seems to me
quite likely that he entrusted the papers to this girl, believing that
she, as a woman, had a greater chance of bringing them safely to shore.
“But if so, where was the girl, and what had she done with the papers?
By later advice from America it seemed likely that Danvers had been
closely shadowed on the way over. Was this girl in league with his
enemies? Or had she, in her turn, been shadowed and either tricked or
forced into handing over the precious packet?
“We set to work to trace her out. It proved unexpectedly difficult.
Her name was Jane Finn, and it duly appeared among the list of the
survivors, but the girl herself seemed to have vanished completely.
Inquiries into her antecedents did little to help us. She was an orphan,
and had been what we should call over here a pupil teacher in a small
school out West. Her passport had been made out for Paris, where she
was going to join the staff of a hospital. She had offered her services
voluntarily, and after some correspondence they had been accepted.
Having seen her name in the list of the saved from the _Lusitania_, the
staff of the hospital were naturally very surprised at her not arriving
to take up her billet, and at not hearing from her in any way.
“Well, every effort was made to trace the young lady--but all in vain.
We tracked her across Ireland, but nothing could be heard of her after
she set foot in England. No use was made of the draft treaty--as might
very easily have been done--and we therefore came to the conclusion that
Danvers had, after all, destroyed it. The war entered on another phase,
the diplomatic aspect changed accordingly, and the treaty was never
redrafted. Rumours as to its existence were emphatically denied. The
disappearance of Jane Finn was forgotten and the whole affair was lost
in oblivion.”
Mr. Carter paused, and Tuppence broke in impatiently:
“But why has it all cropped up again? The war’s over.”
A hint of alertness came into Mr. Carter’s manner.
“Because it seems that the papers were not destroyed after all, and that
they might be resurrected to-day with a new and deadly significance.”
Tuppence stared. Mr. Carter nodded.
“Yes, five years ago, that draft treaty was a weapon in our hands;
to-day it is a weapon against us. It was a gigantic blunder. If its
terms were made public, it would mean disaster.... It might possibly
bring about another war--not with Germany this time! That is an extreme
possibility, and I do not believe in its likelihood myself, but that
document undoubtedly implicates a number of our statesmen whom we cannot
afford to have discredited in any way at the present moment. As a party
cry for Labour it would be irresistible, and a Labour Government at this
juncture would, in my opinion, be a grave disability for British trade,
but that is a mere nothing to the _real_ danger.”
He paused, and then said quietly:
“You may perhaps have heard or read that there is Bolshevist influence
at work behind the present Labour unrest?”
Tuppence nodded.
“That is the truth. Bolshevist gold is pouring into this country for the
specific purpose of procuring a Revolution. And there is a certain man,
a man whose real name is unknown to us, who is working in the dark for
his own ends. The Bolshevists are behind the Labour unrest--but this
man is _behind the Bolshevists_. Who is he? We do not know. He is always
spoken of by the unassuming title of ‘Mr. Brown.’ But one thing is
certain, he is the master criminal of this age. He controls a marvellous
organization. Most of the Peace propaganda during the war was originated
and financed by him. His spies are everywhere.”
“A naturalized German?” asked Tommy.
“On the contrary, I have every reason to believe he is an Englishman. He
was pro-German, as he would have been pro-Boer. What he seeks to attain
we do not know--probably supreme power for himself, of a kind unique in
history. We have no clue as to his real personality. It is reported that
even his own followers are ignorant of it. Where we have come across his
tracks, he has always played a secondary part. Somebody else assumes
the chief rôle. But afterwards we always find that there has been some
nonentity, a servant or a clerk, who has remained in the background
unnoticed, and that the elusive Mr. Brown has escaped us once more.”
“Oh!” Tuppence jumped. “I wonder----”
“Yes?”
“I remember in Mr. Whittington’s office. The clerk--he called him Brown.
You don’t think----”
Carter nodded thoughtfully.
“Very likely. A curious point is that the name is usually mentioned. An
idiosyncrasy of genius. Can you describe him at all?”
“I really didn’t notice. He was quite ordinary--just like anyone else.”
Mr. Carter sighed in his tired manner.
“That is the invariable description of Mr. Brown! Brought a telephone
message to the man Whittington, did he? Notice a telephone in the outer
office?”
Tuppence thought.
“No, I don’t think I did.”
“Exactly. That ‘message’ was Mr. Brown’s way of giving an order to his
subordinate. He overheard the whole conversation of course. Was it after
that that Whittington handed you over the money, and told you to come
the following day?”
Tuppence nodded.
“Yes, undoubtedly the hand of Mr. Brown!” Mr. Carter paused. “Well,
there it is, you see what you are pitting yourselves against? Possibly
the finest criminal brain of the age. I don’t quite like it, you know.
You’re such young things, both of you. I shouldn’t like anything to
happen to you.”
“It won’t,” Tuppence assured him positively.
“I’ll look after her, sir,” said Tommy.
“And _I_‘ll look after _you_,” retorted Tuppence, resenting the manly
assertion.
“Well, then, look after each other,” said Mr. Carter, smiling. “Now
let’s get back to business. There’s something mysterious about this
draft treaty that we haven’t fathomed yet. We’ve been threatened with
it--in plain and unmistakable terms. The Revolutionary element as good
as declare that it’s in their hands, and that they intend to produce it
at a given moment. On the other hand, they are clearly at fault about
many of its provisions. The Government consider it as mere bluff
on their part, and, rightly or wrongly, have stuck to the policy of
absolute denial. I’m not so sure. There have been hints, indiscreet
allusions, that seem to indicate that the menace is a real one. The
position is much as though they had got hold of an incriminating
document, but couldn’t read it because it was in cipher--but we know
that the draft treaty wasn’t in cipher--couldn’t be in the nature of
things--so that won’t wash. But there’s _something_. Of course, Jane
Finn may be dead for all we know--but I don’t think so. The curious
thing is that _they’re trying to get information about the girl from
us_.”
“What?”
“Yes. One or two little things have cropped up. And your story, little
lady, confirms my idea. They know we’re looking for Jane Finn. Well,
they’ll produce a Jane Finn of their own--say at a _pensionnat_ in
Paris.” Tuppence gasped, and Mr. Carter smiled. “No one knows in the
least what she looks like, so that’s all right. She’s primed with a
trumped-up tale, and her real business is to get as much information as
possible out of us. See the idea?”
“Then you think”--Tuppence paused to grasp the supposition fully--“that
it _was_ as Jane Finn that they wanted me to go to Paris?”
Mr. Carter smiled more wearily than ever.
“I believe in coincidences, you know,” he said.
CHAPTER V. MR. JULIUS P. HERSHEIMMER
“WELL,” said Tuppence, recovering herself, “it really seems as though it
were meant to be.”
Carter nodded.
“I know what you mean. I’m superstitious myself. Luck, and all that sort
of thing. Fate seems to have chosen you out to be mixed up in this.”
Tommy indulged in a chuckle.
“My word! I don’t wonder Whittington got the wind up when Tuppence
plumped out that name! I should have myself. But look here, sir, we’re
taking up an awful lot of your time. Have you any tips to give us before
we clear out?”
“I think not. My experts, working in stereotyped ways, have failed.
You will bring imagination and an open mind to the task. Don’t be
discouraged if that too does not succeed. For one thing there is a
likelihood of the pace being forced.”
Tuppence frowned uncomprehendingly.
“When you had that interview with Whittington, they had time before
them. I have information that the big _coup_ was planned for early in
the new year. But the Government is contemplating legislative action
which will deal effectually with the strike menace. They’ll get wind of
it soon, if they haven’t already, and it’s possible that that may bring
things to a head. I hope it will myself. The less time they have to
mature their plans the better. I’m just warning you that you haven’t
much time before you, and that you needn’t be cast down if you fail.
It’s not an easy proposition anyway. That’s all.”
Tuppence rose.
“I think we ought to be businesslike. What exactly can we count upon you
for, Mr. Carter?” Mr. Carter’s lips twitched slightly, but he replied
succinctly: “Funds within reason, detailed information on any point,
and _no official recognition_. I mean that if you get yourselves into
trouble with the police, I can’t officially help you out of it. You’re
on your own.”
Tuppence nodded sagely.
“I quite understand that. I’ll write out a list of the things I want to
know when I’ve had time to think. Now--about money----”
“Yes, Miss Tuppence. Do you want to say how much?”
“Not exactly. We’ve got plenty to go with for the present, but when we
want more----”
“It will be waiting for you.”
“Yes, but--I’m sure I don’t want to be rude about the Government if
you’ve got anything to do with it, but you know one really has the devil
of a time getting anything out of it! And if we have to fill up a blue
form and send it in, and then, after three months, they send us a green
one, and so on--well, that won’t be much use, will it?”
Mr. Carter laughed outright.
“Don’t worry, Miss Tuppence. You will send a personal demand to me here,
and the money, in notes, shall be sent by return of post. As to salary,
shall we say at the rate of three hundred a year? And an equal sum for
Mr. Beresford, of course.”
Tuppence beamed upon him.
“How lovely. You are kind. I do love money! I’ll keep beautiful accounts
of our expenses all debit and credit, and the balance on the right side,
and red line drawn sideways with the totals the same at the bottom. I
really know how to do it when I think.”
“I’m sure you do. Well, good-bye, and good luck to you both.”
He shook hands with them, and in another minute they were descending the
steps of 27 Carshalton Terrace with their heads in a whirl.
“Tommy! Tell me at once, who is ‘Mr. Carter’?”
Tommy murmured a name in her ear.
“Oh!” said Tuppence, impressed.
“And I can tell you, old bean, he’s IT!”
“Oh!” said Tuppence again. Then she added reflectively,
“I like him, don’t you? He looks so awfully tired and bored, and yet you
feel that underneath he’s just like steel, all keen and flashing. Oh!”
She gave a skip. “Pinch me, Tommy, do pinch me. I can’t believe it’s
real!”
Mr. Beresford obliged.
“Ow! That’s enough! Yes, we’re not dreaming. We’ve got a job!”
“And what a job! The joint venture has really begun.”
“It’s more respectable than I thought it would be,” said Tuppence
thoughtfully.
“Luckily I haven’t got your craving for crime! What time is it? Let’s
have lunch--oh!”
The same thought sprang to the minds of each. Tommy voiced it first.
“Julius P. Hersheimmer!”
“We never told Mr. Carter about hearing from him.”
“Well, there wasn’t much to tell--not till we’ve seen him. Come on, we’d
better take a taxi.”
“Now who’s being extravagant?”
“All expenses paid, remember. Hop in.”
“At any rate, we shall make a better effect arriving this way,” said
Tuppence, leaning back luxuriously. “I’m sure blackmailers never arrive
in buses!”
“We’ve ceased being blackmailers,” Tommy pointed out.
“I’m not sure I have,” said Tuppence darkly.
On inquiring for Mr. Hersheimmer, they were at once taken up to his
suite. An impatient voice cried “Come in” in answer to the page-boy’s
knock, and the lad stood aside to let them pass in.
Mr. Julius P. Hersheimmer was a great deal younger than either Tommy or
Tuppence had pictured him. The girl put him down as thirty-five. He
was of middle height, and squarely built to match his jaw. His face was
pugnacious but pleasant. No one could have mistaken him for anything but
an American, though he spoke with very little accent.
“Get my note? Sit down and tell me right away all you know about my
cousin.”
“Your cousin?”
“Sure thing. Jane Finn.”
“Is she your cousin?”
“My father and her mother were brother and sister,” explained Mr.
Hersheimmer meticulously.
“Oh!” cried Tuppence. “Then you know where she is?”
“No!” Mr. Hersheimmer brought down his fist with a bang on the table.
“I’m darned if I do! Don’t you?”
“We advertised to receive information, not to give it,” said Tuppence
severely.
“I guess I know that. I can read. But I thought maybe it was her back
history you were after, and that you’d know where she was now?”
“Well, we wouldn’t mind hearing her back history,” said Tuppence
guardedly.
But Mr. Hersheimmer seemed to grow suddenly suspicious.
“See here,” he declared. “This isn’t Sicily! No demanding ransom or
threatening to crop her ears if I refuse. These are the British Isles,
so quit the funny business, or I’ll just sing out for that beautiful big
British policeman I see out there in Piccadilly.”
Tommy hastened to explain.
“We haven’t kidnapped your cousin. On the contrary, we’re trying to find
her. We’re employed to do so.”
Mr. Hersheimmer leant back in his chair.
“Put me wise,” he said succinctly.
Tommy fell in with this demand in so far as he gave him a guarded
version of the disappearance of Jane Finn, and of the possibility of her
having been mixed up unawares in “some political show.” He alluded to
Tuppence and himself as “private inquiry agents” commissioned to find
her, and added that they would therefore be glad of any details Mr.
Hersheimmer could give them.
That gentleman nodded approval.
“I guess that’s all right. I was just a mite hasty. But London gets my
goat! I only know little old New York. Just trot out your questions and
I’ll answer.”
For the moment this paralysed the Young Adventurers, but Tuppence,
recovering herself, plunged boldly into the breach with a reminiscence
culled from detective fiction.
“When did you last see the dece--your cousin, I mean?”
“Never seen her,” responded Mr. Hersheimmer.
“What?” demanded Tommy, astonished.
Hersheimmer turned to him.
“No, sir. As I said before, my father and her mother were brother and
sister, just as you might be”--Tommy did not correct this view of their
relationship--“but they didn’t always get on together. And when my aunt
made up her mind to marry Amos Finn, who was a poor school teacher out
West, my father was just mad! Said if he made his pile, as he seemed
in a fair way to do, she’d never see a cent of it. Well, the upshot was
that Aunt Jane went out West and we never heard from her again.
“The old man _did_ pile it up. He went into oil, and he went into steel,
and he played a bit with railroads, and I can tell you he made Wall
Street sit up!” He paused. “Then he died--last fall--and I got the
dollars. Well, would you believe it, my conscience got busy! Kept
knocking me up and saying: What about your Aunt Jane, way out West? It
worried me some. You see, I figured it out that Amos Finn would never
make good. He wasn’t the sort. End of it was, I hired a man to hunt her
down. Result, she was dead, and Amos Finn was dead, but they’d left a
daughter--Jane--who’d been torpedoed in the _Lusitania_ on her way to
Paris. She was saved all right, but they didn’t seem able to hear of her
over this side. I guessed they weren’t hustling any, so I thought I’d
come along over, and speed things up. I phoned Scotland Yard and the
Admiralty first thing. The Admiralty rather choked me off, but Scotland
Yard were very civil--said they would make inquiries, even sent a man
round this morning to get her photograph. I’m off to Paris to-morrow,
just to see what the Prefecture is doing. I guess if I go to and fro
hustling them, they ought to get busy!”
The energy of Mr. Hersheimmer was tremendous. They bowed before it.
“But say now,” he ended, “you’re not after her for anything? Contempt of
court, or something British? A proud-spirited young American girl might
find your rules and regulations in war time rather irksome, and get up
against it. If that’s the case, and there’s such a thing as graft in
this country, I’ll buy her off.”
Tuppence reassured him.
“That’s good. Then we can work together. What about some lunch? Shall we
have it up here, or go down to the restaurant?”
Tuppence expressed a preference for the latter, and Julius bowed to her
decision.
Oysters had just given place to Sole Colbert when a card was brought to
Hersheimmer.
“Inspector Japp, C.I.D. Scotland Yard again. Another man this time. What
does he expect I can tell him that I didn’t tell the first chap? I hope
they haven’t lost that photograph. That Western photographer’s place was
burned down and all his negatives destroyed--this is the only copy in
existence. I got it from the principal of the college there.”
An unformulated dread swept over Tuppence.
“You--you don’t know the name of the man who came this morning?”
“Yes, I do. No, I don’t. Half a second. It was on his card. Oh, I know!
Inspector Brown. Quiet, unassuming sort of chap.”
CHAPTER VI. A PLAN OF CAMPAIGN
A veil might with profit be drawn over the events of the next half-hour.
Suffice it to say that no such person as “Inspector Brown” was known to
Scotland Yard. The photograph of Jane Finn, which would have been of
the utmost value to the police in tracing her, was lost beyond recovery.
Once again “Mr. Brown” had triumphed.
The immediate result of this set-back was to effect a _rapprochement_
between Julius Hersheimmer and the Young Adventurers. All barriers went
down with a crash, and Tommy and Tuppence felt they had known the young
American all their lives. They abandoned the discreet reticence of
“private inquiry agents,” and revealed to him the whole history of
the joint venture, whereat the young man declared himself “tickled to
death.”
He turned to Tuppence at the close of the narration.
“I’ve always had a kind of idea that English girls were just a mite
moss-grown. Old-fashioned and sweet, you know, but scared to move round
without a footman or a maiden aunt. I guess I’m a bit behind the times!”
The upshot of these confidential relations was that Tommy and Tuppence
took up their abode forthwith at the _Ritz_, in order, as Tuppence put
it, to keep in touch with Jane Finn’s only living relation. “And put
like that,” she added confidentially to Tommy, “nobody could boggle at
the expense!”
Nobody did, which was the great thing.
“And now,” said the young lady on the morning after their installation,
“to work!”
Mr. Beresford put down the _Daily Mail_, which he was reading, and
applauded with somewhat unnecessary vigour. He was politely requested by
his colleague not to be an ass.
“Dash it all, Tommy, we’ve got to _do_ something for our money.”
Tommy sighed.
“Yes, I fear even the dear old Government will not support us at the
_Ritz_ in idleness for ever.”
“Therefore, as I said before, we must _do_ something.”
“Well,” said Tommy, picking up the _Daily Mail_ again, “_do_ it. I
shan’t stop you.”
“You see,” continued Tuppence. “I’ve been thinking----”
She was interrupted by a fresh bout of applause.
“It’s all very well for you to sit there being funny, Tommy. It would do
you no harm to do a little brain work too.”
“My union, Tuppence, my union! It does not permit me to work before 11
a.m.”
“Tommy, do you want something thrown at you? It is absolutely essential
that we should without delay map out a plan of campaign.”
“Hear, hear!”
“Well, let’s do it.”
Tommy laid his paper finally aside. “There’s something of the simplicity
of the truly great mind about you, Tuppence. Fire ahead. I’m listening.”
“To begin with,” said Tuppence, “what have we to go upon?”
“Absolutely nothing,” said Tommy cheerily.
“Wrong!” Tuppence wagged an energetic finger. “We have two distinct
clues.”
“What are they?”
“First clue, we know one of the gang.”
“Whittington?”
“Yes. I’d recognize him anywhere.”
“Hum,” said Tommy doubtfully, “I don’t call that much of a clue. You
don’t know where to look for him, and it’s about a thousand to one
against your running against him by accident.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” replied Tuppence thoughtfully. “I’ve often
noticed that once coincidences start happening they go on happening in
the most extraordinary way. I dare say it’s some natural law that we
haven’t found out. Still, as you say, we can’t rely on that. But there
_are_ places in London where simply every one is bound to turn up sooner
or later. Piccadilly Circus, for instance. One of my ideas was to take
up my stand there every day with a tray of flags.”
“What about meals?” inquired the practical Tommy.
“How like a man! What does mere food matter?”
“That’s all very well. You’ve just had a thundering good breakfast. No
one’s got a better appetite than you have, Tuppence, and by tea-time
you’d be eating the flags, pins and all. But, honestly, I don’t think
much of the idea. Whittington mayn’t be in London at all.”
“That’s true. Anyway, I think clue No. 2 is more promising.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“It’s nothing much. Only a Christian name--Rita. Whittington mentioned
it that day.”
“Are you proposing a third advertisement: Wanted, female crook,
answering to the name of Rita?”
“I am not. I propose to reason in a logical manner. That man, Danvers,
was shadowed on the way over, wasn’t he? And it’s more likely to have
been a woman than a man----”
“I don’t see that at all.”
“I am absolutely certain that it would be a woman, and a good-looking
one,” replied Tuppence calmly.
“On these technical points I bow to your decision,” murmured Mr.
Beresford.
“Now, obviously this woman, whoever she was, was saved.”
“How do you make that out?”
“If she wasn’t, how would they have known Jane Finn had got the papers?”
“Correct. Proceed, O Sherlock!”
“Now there’s just a chance, I admit it’s only a chance, that this woman
may have been ‘Rita.’”
“And if so?”
“If so, we’ve got to hunt through the survivors of the _Lusitania_ till
we find her.”
“Then the first thing is to get a list of the survivors.”
“I’ve got it. I wrote a long list of things I wanted to know, and sent
it to Mr. Carter. I got his reply this morning, and among other things
it encloses the official statement of those saved from the _Lusitania_.
How’s that for clever little Tuppence?”
“Full marks for industry, zero for modesty. But the great point is, is
there a ‘Rita’ on the list?”
“That’s just what I don’t know,” confessed Tuppence.
“Don’t know?”
“Yes. Look here.” Together they bent over the list. “You see, very few
Christian names are given. They’re nearly all Mrs. or Miss.”
Tommy nodded.
“That complicates matters,” he murmured thoughtfully.
Tuppence gave her characteristic “terrier” shake.
“Well, we’ve just got to get down to it, that’s all. We’ll start with
the London area. Just note down the addresses of any of the females who
live in London or roundabout, while I put on my hat.”
Five minutes later the young couple emerged into Piccadilly, and a few
seconds later a taxi was bearing them to The Laurels, Glendower Road,
N.7, the residence of Mrs. Edgar Keith, whose name figured first in a
list of seven reposing in Tommy’s pocket-book.
The Laurels was a dilapidated house, standing back from the road with
a few grimy bushes to support the fiction of a front garden. Tommy paid
off the taxi, and accompanied Tuppence to the front door bell. As she
was about to ring it, he arrested her hand.
“What are you going to say?”
“What am I going to say? Why, I shall say--Oh dear, I don’t know. It’s
very awkward.”
“I thought as much,” said Tommy with satisfaction. “How like a woman! No
foresight! Now just stand aside, and see how easily the mere male
deals with the situation.” He pressed the bell. Tuppence withdrew to a
suitable spot.
A slatternly looking servant, with an extremely dirty face and a pair of
eyes that did not match, answered the door.
Tommy had produced a notebook and pencil.
“Good morning,” he said briskly and cheerfully. “From the Hampstead
Borough Council. The new Voting Register. Mrs. Edgar Keith lives here,
does she not?”
“Yaas,” said the servant.
“Christian name?” asked Tommy, his pencil poised.
“Missus’s? Eleanor Jane.”
“Eleanor,” spelt Tommy. “Any sons or daughters over twenty-one?”
“Naow.”
“Thank you.” Tommy closed the notebook with a brisk snap. “Good
morning.”
The servant volunteered her first remark:
“I thought perhaps as you’d come about the gas,” she observed
cryptically, and shut the door.
Tommy rejoined his accomplice.
“You see, Tuppence,” he observed. “Child’s play to the masculine mind.”
“I don’t mind admitting that for once you’ve scored handsomely. I should
never have thought of that.”
“Good wheeze, wasn’t it? And we can repeat it _ad lib_.”
Lunch-time found the young couple attacking a steak and chips in an
obscure hostelry with avidity. They had collected a Gladys Mary and a
Marjorie, been baffled by one change of address, and had been forced to
listen to a long lecture on universal suffrage from a vivacious American
lady whose Christian name had proved to be Sadie.
“Ah!” said Tommy, imbibing a long draught of beer, “I feel better.
Where’s the next draw?”
The notebook lay on the table between them. Tuppence picked it up.
“Mrs. Vandemeyer,” she read, “20 South Audley Mansions. Miss Wheeler, 43
Clapington Road, Battersea. She’s a lady’s maid, as far as I remember,
so probably won’t be there, and, anyway, she’s not likely.”
“Then the Mayfair lady is clearly indicated as the first port of call.”
“Tommy, I’m getting discouraged.”
“Buck up, old bean. We always knew it was an outside chance. And,
anyway, we’re only starting. If we draw a blank in London, there’s a
fine tour of England, Ireland and Scotland before us.”
“True,” said Tuppence, her flagging spirits reviving. “And all expenses
paid! But, oh, Tommy, I do like things to happen quickly. So far,
adventure has succeeded adventure, but this morning has been dull as
dull.”
“You must stifle this longing for vulgar sensation, Tuppence. Remember
that if Mr. Brown is all he is reported to be, it’s a wonder that he has
not ere now done us to death. That’s a good sentence, quite a literary
flavour about it.”
“You’re really more conceited than I am--with less excuse! Ahem! But it
certainly is queer that Mr. Brown has not yet wreaked vengeance upon us.
(You see, I can do it too.) We pass on our way unscathed.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t think us worth bothering about,” suggested the young
man simply.
Tuppence received the remark with great disfavour.
“How horrid you are, Tommy. Just as though we didn’t count.”
“Sorry, Tuppence. What I meant was that we work like moles in the dark,
and that he has no suspicion of our nefarious schemes. Ha ha!”
“Ha ha!” echoed Tuppence approvingly, as she rose.
South Audley Mansions was an imposing-looking block of flats just off
Park Lane. No. 20 was on the second floor.
Tommy had by this time the glibness born of practice. He rattled off
the formula to the elderly woman, looking more like a housekeeper than a
servant, who opened the door to him.
“Christian name?”
“Margaret.”
Tommy spelt it, but the other interrupted him.
“No, _g u e_.”
“Oh, Marguerite; French way, I see.” He paused, then plunged boldly. “We
had her down as Rita Vandemeyer, but I suppose that’s incorrect?”
“She’s mostly called that, sir, but Marguerite’s her name.”
“Thank you. That’s all. Good morning.”
Hardly able to contain his excitement, Tommy hurried down the stairs.
Tuppence was waiting at the angle of the turn.
“You heard?”
“Yes. Oh, _Tommy!_”
Tommy squeezed her arm sympathetically.
“I know, old thing. I feel the same.”
“It’s--it’s so lovely to think of things--and then for them really to
happen!” cried Tuppence enthusiastically.
Her hand was still in Tommy’s. They had reached the entrance hall. There
were footsteps on the stairs above them, and voices.
Suddenly, to Tommy’s complete surprise, Tuppence dragged him into the
little space by the side of the lift where the shadow was deepest.
“What the----”
“Hush!”
Two men came down the stairs and passed out through the entrance.
Tuppence’s hand closed tighter on Tommy’s arm.
“Quick--follow them. I daren’t. He might recognize me. I don’t know who
the other man is, but the bigger of the two was Whittington.”
CHAPTER VII. THE HOUSE IN SOHO
WHITTINGTON and his companion were walking at a good pace. Tommy started
in pursuit at once, and was in time to see them turn the corner of the
street. His vigorous strides soon enabled him to gain upon them, and by
the time he, in his turn, reached the corner the distance between them
was sensibly lessened. The small Mayfair streets were comparatively
deserted, and he judged it wise to content himself with keeping them in
sight.
The sport was a new one to him. Though familiar with the technicalities
from a course of novel reading, he had never before attempted to
“follow” anyone, and it appeared to him at once that, in actual
practice, the proceeding was fraught with difficulties. Supposing, for
instance, that they should suddenly hail a taxi? In books, you simply
leapt into another, promised the driver a sovereign--or its modern
equivalent--and there you were. In actual fact, Tommy foresaw that it
was extremely likely there would be no second taxi. Therefore he
would have to run. What happened in actual fact to a young man who ran
incessantly and persistently through the London streets? In a main road
he might hope to create the illusion that he was merely running for a
bus. But in these obscure aristocratic byways he could not but feel that
an officious policeman might stop him to explain matters.
At this juncture in his thoughts a taxi with flag erect turned the
corner of the street ahead. Tommy held his breath. Would they hail it?
He drew a sigh of relief as they allowed it to pass unchallenged. Their
course was a zigzag one designed to bring them as quickly as possible
to Oxford Street. When at length they turned into it, proceeding in an
easterly direction, Tommy slightly increased his pace. Little by little
he gained upon them. On the crowded pavement there was little chance of
his attracting their notice, and he was anxious if possible to catch
a word or two of their conversation. In this he was completely
foiled; they spoke low and the din of the traffic drowned their voices
effectually.
Just before the Bond Street Tube station they crossed the road, Tommy,
unperceived, faithfully at their heels, and entered the big Lyons’.
There they went up to the first floor, and sat at a small table in the
window. It was late, and the place was thinning out. Tommy took a seat
at the table next to them, sitting directly behind Whittington in case
of recognition. On the other hand, he had a full view of the second man
and studied him attentively. He was fair, with a weak, unpleasant face,
and Tommy put him down as being either a Russian or a Pole. He was
probably about fifty years of age, his shoulders cringed a little as he
talked, and his eyes, small and crafty, shifted unceasingly.
Having already lunched heartily, Tommy contented himself with ordering
a Welsh rarebit and a cup of coffee. Whittington ordered a substantial
lunch for himself and his companion; then, as the waitress withdrew, he
moved his chair a little closer to the table and began to talk earnestly
in a low voice. The other man joined in. Listen as he would, Tommy could
only catch a word here and there; but the gist of it seemed to be some
directions or orders which the big man was impressing on his companion,
and with which the latter seemed from time to time to disagree.
Whittington addressed the other as Boris.
Tommy caught the word “Ireland” several times, also “propaganda,” but
of Jane Finn there was no mention. Suddenly, in a lull in the clatter of
the room, he got one phrase entire. Whittington was speaking. “Ah, but
you don’t know Flossie. She’s a marvel. An archbishop would swear she
was his own mother. She gets the voice right every time, and that’s
really the principal thing.”
Tommy did not hear Boris’s reply, but in response to it Whittington said
something that sounded like: “Of course--only in an emergency....”
Then he lost the thread again. But presently the phrases became distinct
again whether because the other two had insensibly raised their voices,
or because Tommy’s ears were getting more attuned, he could not tell.
But two words certainly had a most stimulating effect upon the listener.
They were uttered by Boris and they were: “Mr. Brown.”
Whittington seemed to remonstrate with him, but he merely laughed.
“Why not, my friend? It is a name most respectable--most common. Did
he not choose it for that reason? Ah, I should like to meet him--Mr.
Brown.”
There was a steely ring in Whittington’s voice as he replied:
“Who knows? You may have met him already.”
“Bah!” retorted the other. “That is children’s talk--a fable for the
police. Do you know what I say to myself sometimes? That he is a fable
invented by the Inner Ring, a bogy to frighten us with. It might be so.”
“And it might not.”
“I wonder ... or is it indeed true that he is with us and amongst us,
unknown to all but a chosen few? If so, he keeps his secret well. And
the idea is a good one, yes. We never know. We look at each other--
_one of us is Mr. Brown_--which? He commands--but also he serves. Among
us--in the midst of us. And no one knows which he is....”
With an effort the Russian shook off the vagary of his fancy. He looked
at his watch.
“Yes,” said Whittington. “We might as well go.”
He called the waitress and asked for his bill. Tommy did likewise, and a
few moments later was following the two men down the stairs.
Outside, Whittington hailed a taxi, and directed the driver to go to
Waterloo.
Taxis were plentiful here, and before Whittington’s had driven off
another was drawing up to the curb in obedience to Tommy’s peremptory
hand.
“Follow that other taxi,” directed the young man. “Don’t lose it.”
The elderly chauffeur showed no interest. He merely grunted and jerked
down his flag. The drive was uneventful. Tommy’s taxi came to rest at
the departure platform just after Whittington’s. Tommy was behind him at
the booking-office. He took a first-class single ticket to Bournemouth,
Tommy did the same. As he emerged, Boris remarked, glancing up at the
clock: “You are early. You have nearly half an hour.”
Boris’s words had aroused a new train of thought in Tommy’s mind.
Clearly Whittington was making the journey alone, while the other
remained in London. Therefore he was left with a choice as to which he
would follow. Obviously, he could not follow both of them unless----
Like Boris, he glanced up at the clock, and then to the announcement
board of the trains. The Bournemouth train left at 3.30. It was now ten
past. Whittington and Boris were walking up and down by the bookstall.
He gave one doubtful look at them, then hurried into an adjacent
telephone box. He dared not waste time in trying to get hold of
Tuppence. In all probability she was still in the neighbourhood of South
Audley Mansions. But there remained another ally. He rang up the _Ritz_
and asked for Julius Hersheimmer. There was a click and a buzz. Oh, if
only the young American was in his room! There was another click, and
then “Hello” in unmistakable accents came over the wire.
“That you, Hersheimmer? Beresford speaking. I’m at Waterloo. I’ve
followed Whittington and another man here. No time to explain.
Whittington’s off to Bournemouth by the 3.30. Can you get there by
then?”
The reply was reassuring.
“Sure. I’ll hustle.”
The telephone rang off. Tommy put back the receiver with a sigh of
relief. His opinion of Julius’s power of hustling was high. He felt
instinctively that the American would arrive in time.
Whittington and Boris were still where he had left them. If Boris
remained to see his friend off, all was well. Then Tommy fingered his
pocket thoughtfully. In spite of the carte blanche assured to him, he
had not yet acquired the habit of going about with any considerable sum
of money on him. The taking of the first-class ticket to Bournemouth
had left him with only a few shillings in his pocket. It was to be hoped
that Julius would arrive better provided.
In the meantime, the minutes were creeping by: 3.15, 3.20, 3.25, 3.27.
Supposing Julius did not get there in time. 3.29.... Doors were banging.
Tommy felt cold waves of despair pass over him. Then a hand fell on his
shoulder.
“Here I am, son. Your British traffic beats description! Put me wise to
the crooks right away.”
“That’s Whittington--there, getting in now, that big dark man. The other
is the foreign chap he’s talking to.”
“I’m on to them. Which of the two is my bird?”
Tommy had thought out this question.
“Got any money with you?”
Julius shook his head, and Tommy’s face fell.
“I guess I haven’t more than three or four hundred dollars with me at
the moment,” explained the American.
Tommy gave a faint whoop of relief.
“Oh, Lord, you millionaires! You don’t talk the same language! Climb
aboard the lugger. Here’s your ticket. Whittington’s your man.”
“Me for Whittington!” said Julius darkly. The train was just starting
as he swung himself aboard. “So long, Tommy.” The train slid out of the
station.
Tommy drew a deep breath. The man Boris was coming along the platform
towards him. Tommy allowed him to pass and then took up the chase once
more.
From Waterloo Boris took the tube as far as Piccadilly Circus. Then he
walked up Shaftesbury Avenue, finally turning off into the maze of mean
streets round Soho. Tommy followed him at a judicious distance.
They reached at length a small dilapidated square. The houses there had
a sinister air in the midst of their dirt and decay. Boris looked round,
and Tommy drew back into the shelter of a friendly porch. The place was
almost deserted. It was a cul-de-sac, and consequently no traffic passed
that way. The stealthy way the other had looked round stimulated Tommy’s
imagination. From the shelter of the doorway he watched him go up the
steps of a particularly evil-looking house and rap sharply, with a
peculiar rhythm, on the door. It was opened promptly, he said a word or
two to the doorkeeper, then passed inside. The door was shut to again.
It was at this juncture that Tommy lost his head. What he ought to have
done, what any sane man would have done, was to remain patiently where
he was and wait for his man to come out again. What he did do was
entirely foreign to the sober common sense which was, as a rule, his
leading characteristic. Something, as he expressed it, seemed to snap in
his brain. Without a moment’s pause for reflection he, too, went up the
steps, and reproduced as far as he was able the peculiar knock.
The door swung open with the same promptness as before. A
villainous-faced man with close-cropped hair stood in the doorway.
“Well?” he grunted.
It was at that moment that the full realization of his folly began to
come home to Tommy. But he dared not hesitate. He seized at the first
words that came into his mind.
“Mr. Brown?” he said.
To his surprise the man stood aside.
“Upstairs,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “second door
on your left.”
CHAPTER VIII. THE ADVENTURES OF TOMMY
TAKEN aback though he was by the man’s words, Tommy did not hesitate.
If audacity had successfully carried him so far, it was to be hoped
it would carry him yet farther. He quietly passed into the house and
mounted the ramshackle staircase. Everything in the house was filthy
beyond words. The grimy paper, of a pattern now indistinguishable,
hung in loose festoons from the wall. In every angle was a grey mass of
cobweb.
Tommy proceeded leisurely. By the time he reached the bend of the
staircase, he had heard the man below disappear into a back room.
Clearly no suspicion attached to him as yet. To come to the house and
ask for “Mr. Brown” appeared indeed to be a reasonable and natural
proceeding.
At the top of the stairs Tommy halted to consider his next move. In
front of him ran a narrow passage, with doors opening on either side of
it. From the one nearest him on the left came a low murmur of voices.
It was this room which he had been directed to enter. But what held
his glance fascinated was a small recess immediately on his right,
half concealed by a torn velvet curtain. It was directly opposite the
left-handed door and, owing to its angle, it also commanded a good view
of the upper part of the staircase. As a hiding-place for one or, at a
pinch, two men, it was ideal, being about two feet deep and three feet
wide. It attracted Tommy mightily. He thought things over in his usual
slow and steady way, deciding that the mention of “Mr. Brown” was not a
request for an individual, but in all probability a password used by
the gang. His lucky use of it had gained him admission. So far he had
aroused no suspicion. But he must decide quickly on his next step.
Suppose he were boldly to enter the room on the left of the passage.
Would the mere fact of his having been admitted to the house be
sufficient? Perhaps a further password would be required, or, at any
rate, some proof of identity. The doorkeeper clearly did not know all
the members of the gang by sight, but it might be different upstairs.
On the whole it seemed to him that luck had served him very well so far,
but that there was such a thing as trusting it too far. To enter
that room was a colossal risk. He could not hope to sustain his part
indefinitely; sooner or later he was almost bound to betray himself, and
then he would have thrown away a vital chance in mere foolhardiness.
A repetition of the signal knock sounded on the door below, and Tommy,
his mind made up, slipped quickly into the recess, and cautiously drew
the curtain farther across so that it shielded him completely from
sight. There were several rents and slits in the ancient material which
afforded him a good view. He would watch events, and any time he chose
could, after all, join the assembly, modelling his behaviour on that of
the new arrival.
The man who came up the staircase with a furtive, soft-footed tread was
quite unknown to Tommy. He was obviously of the very dregs of society.
The low beetling brows, and the criminal jaw, the bestiality of the
whole countenance were new to the young man, though he was a type that
Scotland Yard would have recognized at a glance.
The man passed the recess, breathing heavily as he went. He stopped at
the door opposite, and gave a repetition of the signal knock. A voice
inside called out something, and the man opened the door and passed in,
affording Tommy a momentary glimpse of the room inside. He thought there
must be about four or five people seated round a long table that took up
most of the space, but his attention was caught and held by a tall man
with close-cropped hair and a short, pointed, naval-looking beard,
who sat at the head of the table with papers in front of him. As the
new-comer entered he glanced up, and with a correct, but curiously
precise enunciation, which attracted Tommy’s notice, he asked:
“Your number, comrade?”
“Fourteen, gov’nor,” replied the other hoarsely.
“Correct.”
The door shut again.
“If that isn’t a Hun, I’m a Dutchman!” said Tommy to himself. “And
running the show darned systematically too--as they always do. Lucky I
didn’t roll in. I’d have given the wrong number, and there would have
been the deuce to pay. No, this is the place for me. Hullo, here’s
another knock.”
This visitor proved to be of an entirely different type to the last.
Tommy recognized in him an Irish Sinn Feiner. Certainly Mr. Brown’s
organization was a far-reaching concern. The common criminal, the
well-bred Irish gentleman, the pale Russian, and the efficient German
master of the ceremonies! Truly a strange and sinister gathering! Who
was this man who held in his finger these curiously variegated links of
an unknown chain?
In this case, the procedure was exactly the same. The signal knock, the
demand for a number, and the reply “Correct.”
Two knocks followed in quick succession on the door below. The first man
was quite unknown to Tommy, who put him down as a city clerk. A quiet,
intelligent-looking man, rather shabbily dressed. The second was of the
working classes, and his face was vaguely familiar to the young man.
Three minutes later came another, a man of commanding appearance,
exquisitely dressed, and evidently well born. His face, again, was not
unknown to the watcher, though he could not for the moment put a name to
it.
After his arrival there was a long wait. In fact Tommy concluded that
the gathering was now complete, and was just cautiously creeping out
from his hiding-place, when another knock sent him scuttling back to
cover.
This last-comer came up the stairs so quietly that he was almost abreast
of Tommy before the young man had realized his presence.
He was a small man, very pale, with a gentle almost womanish air. The
angle of the cheek-bones hinted at his Slavonic ancestry, otherwise
there was nothing to indicate his nationality. As he passed the recess,
he turned his head slowly. The strange light eyes seemed to burn through
the curtain; Tommy could hardly believe that the man did not know he was
there and in spite of himself he shivered. He was no more fanciful than
the majority of young Englishmen, but he could not rid himself of the
impression that some unusually potent force emanated from the man. The
creature reminded him of a venomous snake.
A moment later his impression was proved correct. The new-comer knocked
on the door as all had done, but his reception was very different. The
bearded man rose to his feet, and all the others followed suit. The
German came forward and shook hands. His heels clicked together.
“We are honoured,” he said. “We are greatly honoured. I much feared that
it would be impossible.”
The other answered in a low voice that had a kind of hiss in it:
“There were difficulties. It will not be possible again, I fear. But one
meeting is essential--to define my policy. I can do nothing without--Mr.
Brown. He is here?”
The change in the German’s voice was audible as he replied with slight
hesitation:
“We have received a message. It is impossible for him to be present
in person.” He stopped, giving a curious impression of having left the
sentence unfinished.
A very slow smile overspread the face of the other. He looked round at a
circle of uneasy faces.
“Ah! I understand. I have read of his methods. He works in the dark and
trusts no one. But, all the same, it is possible that he is among us
now....” He looked round him again, and again that expression of fear
swept over the group. Each man seemed eyeing his neighbour doubtfully.
The Russian tapped his cheek.
“So be it. Let us proceed.”
The German seemed to pull himself together. He indicated the place he
had been occupying at the head of the table. The Russian demurred, but
the other insisted.
“It is the only possible place,” he said, “for--Number One. Perhaps
Number Fourteen will shut the door?”
In another moment Tommy was once more confronting bare wooden panels,
and the voices within had sunk once more to a mere undistinguishable
murmur. Tommy became restive. The conversation he had overheard had
stimulated his curiosity. He felt that, by hook or by crook, he must
hear more.
There was no sound from below, and it did not seem likely that the
doorkeeper would come upstairs. After listening intently for a minute or
two, he put his head round the curtain. The passage was deserted. Tommy
bent down and removed his shoes, then, leaving them behind the curtain,
he walked gingerly out on his stockinged feet, and kneeling down by
the closed door he laid his ear cautiously to the crack. To his intense
annoyance he could distinguish little more; just a chance word here and
there if a voice was raised, which merely served to whet his curiosity
still farther.
He eyed the handle of the door tentatively. Could he turn it by degrees
so gently and imperceptibly that those in the room would notice nothing?
He decided that with great care it could be done. Very slowly, a
fraction of an inch at a time, he moved it round, holding his breath in
his excessive care. A little more--a little more still--would it never
be finished? Ah! at last it would turn no farther.
He stayed so for a minute or two, then drew a deep breath, and pressed
it ever so slightly inward. The door did not budge. Tommy was annoyed.
If he had to use too much force, it would almost certainly creak.
He waited until the voices rose a little, then he tried again. Still
nothing happened. He increased the pressure. Had the beastly thing
stuck? Finally, in desperation, he pushed with all his might. But the
door remained firm, and at last the truth dawned upon him. It was locked
or bolted on the inside.
For a moment or two Tommy’s indignation got the better of him.
“Well, I’m damned!” he said. “What a dirty trick!”
As his indignation cooled, he prepared to face the situation. Clearly
the first thing to be done was to restore the handle to its original
position. If he let it go suddenly, the men inside would be almost
certain to notice it, so, with the same infinite pains, he reversed his
former tactics. All went well, and with a sigh of relief the young man
rose to his feet. There was a certain bulldog tenacity about Tommy that
made him slow to admit defeat. Checkmated for the moment, he was far
from abandoning the conflict. He still intended to hear what was going
on in the locked room. As one plan had failed, he must hunt about for
another.
He looked round him. A little farther along the passage on the left was
a second door. He slipped silently along to it. He listened for a moment
or two, then tried the handle. It yielded, and he slipped inside.
The room, which was untenanted, was furnished as a bedroom. Like
everything else in the house, the furniture was falling to pieces, and
the dirt was, if anything, more abundant.
But what interested Tommy was the thing he had hoped to find, a
communicating door between the two rooms, up on the left by the window.
Carefully closing the door into the passage behind him, he stepped
across to the other and examined it closely. The bolt was shot across
it. It was very rusty, and had clearly not been used for some time. By
gently wriggling it to and fro, Tommy managed to draw it back without
making too much noise. Then he repeated his former manœuvres with the
handle--this time with complete success. The door swung open--a crack,
a mere fraction, but enough for Tommy to hear what went on. There was a
velvet _portière_ on the inside of this door which prevented him from
seeing, but he was able to recognize the voices with a reasonable amount
of accuracy.
The Sinn Feiner was speaking. His rich Irish voice was unmistakable:
“That’s all very well. But more money is essential. No money--no
results!”
Another voice which Tommy rather thought was that of Boris replied:
“Will you guarantee that there _are_ results?”
“In a month from now--sooner or later as you wish--I will guarantee you
such a reign of terror in Ireland as shall shake the British Empire to
its foundations.”
There was a pause, and then came the soft, sibilant accents of Number
One:
“Good! You shall have the money. Boris, you will see to that.”
Boris asked a question:
“Via the Irish Americans, and Mr. Potter as usual?”
“I guess that’ll be all right!” said a new voice, with a transatlantic
intonation, “though I’d like to point out, here and now, that things
are getting a mite difficult. There’s not the sympathy there was, and
a growing disposition to let the Irish settle their own affairs without
interference from America.”
Tommy felt that Boris had shrugged his shoulders as he answered:
“Does that matter, since the money only nominally comes from the
States?”
“The chief difficulty is the landing of the ammunition,” said the Sinn
Feiner. “The money is conveyed in easily enough--thanks to our colleague
here.”
Another voice, which Tommy fancied was that of the tall,
commanding-looking man whose face had seemed familiar to him, said:
“Think of the feelings of Belfast if they could hear you!”
“That is settled, then,” said the sibilant tones. “Now, in the matter
of the loan to an English newspaper, you have arranged the details
satisfactorily, Boris?”
“I think so.”
“That is good. An official denial from Moscow will be forthcoming if
necessary.”
There was a pause, and then the clear voice of the German broke the
silence:
“I am directed by--Mr. Brown, to place the summaries of the reports
from the different unions before you. That of the miners is most
satisfactory. We must hold back the railways. There may be trouble with
the A.S.E.”
For a long time there was a silence, broken only by the rustle of papers
and an occasional word of explanation from the German. Then Tommy heard
the light tap-tap of fingers, drumming on the table.
“And--the date, my friend?” said Number One.
“The 29th.”
The Russian seemed to consider:
“That is rather soon.”
“I know. But it was settled by the principal Labour leaders, and we
cannot seem to interfere too much. They must believe it to be entirely
their own show.”
The Russian laughed softly, as though amused.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “That is true. They must have no inkling that we
are using them for our own ends. They are honest men--and that is their
value to us. It is curious--but you cannot make a revolution without
honest men. The instinct of the populace is infallible.” He paused, and
then repeated, as though the phrase pleased him: “Every revolution has
had its honest men. They are soon disposed of afterwards.”
There was a sinister note in his voice.
The German resumed:
“Clymes must go. He is too far-seeing. Number Fourteen will see to
that.”
There was a hoarse murmur.
“That’s all right, gov’nor.” And then after a moment or two: “Suppose
I’m nabbed.”
“You will have the best legal talent to defend you,” replied the
German quietly. “But in any case you will wear gloves fitted with the
finger-prints of a notorious housebreaker. You have little to fear.”
“Oh, I ain’t afraid, gov’nor. All for the good of the cause. The streets
is going to run with blood, so they say.” He spoke with a grim relish.
“Dreams of it, sometimes, I does. And diamonds and pearls rolling about
in the gutter for anyone to pick up!”
Tommy heard a chair shifted. Then Number One spoke:
“Then all is arranged. We are assured of success?”
“I--think so.” But the German spoke with less than his usual confidence.
Number One’s voice held suddenly a dangerous quality:
“What has gone wrong?”
“Nothing; but----”
“But what?”
“The Labour leaders. Without them, as you say, we can do nothing. If
they do not declare a general strike on the 29th----”
“Why should they not?”
“As you’ve said, they’re honest. And, in spite of everything we’ve
done to discredit the Government in their eyes, I’m not sure that they
haven’t got a sneaking faith and belief in it.”
“But----”
“I know. They abuse it unceasingly. But, on the whole, public opinion
swings to the side of the Government. They will not go against it.”
Again the Russian’s fingers drummed on the table.
“To the point, my friend. I was given to understand that there was a
certain document in existence which assured success.”
“That is so. If that document were placed before the leaders, the result
would be immediate. They would publish it broadcast throughout England,
and declare for the revolution without a moment’s hesitation. The
Government would be broken finally and completely.”
“Then what more do you want?”
“The document itself,” said the German bluntly.
“Ah! It is not in your possession? But you know where it is?”
“No.”
“Does anyone know where it is?”
“One person--perhaps. And we are not sure of that even.”
“Who is this person?”
“A girl.”
Tommy held his breath.
“A girl?” The Russian’s voice rose contemptuously. “And you have not
made her speak? In Russia we have ways of making a girl talk.”
“This case is different,” said the German sullenly.
“How--different?” He paused a moment, then went on: “Where is the girl
now?”
“The girl?”
“Yes.”
“She is----”
But Tommy heard no more. A crashing blow descended on his head, and all
was darkness.
CHAPTER IX. TUPPENCE ENTERS DOMESTIC SERVICE
WHEN Tommy set forth on the trail of the two men, it took all Tuppence’s
self-command to refrain from accompanying him. However, she contained
herself as best she might, consoled by the reflection that her reasoning
had been justified by events. The two men had undoubtedly come from the
second floor flat, and that one slender thread of the name “Rita” had
set the Young Adventurers once more upon the track of the abductors of
Jane Finn.
The question was what to do next? Tuppence hated letting the grass grow
under her feet. Tommy was amply employed, and debarred from joining him
in the chase, the girl felt at a loose end. She retraced her steps
to the entrance hall of the mansions. It was now tenanted by a small
lift-boy, who was polishing brass fittings, and whistling the latest air
with a good deal of vigour and a reasonable amount of accuracy.
He glanced round at Tuppence’s entry. There was a certain amount of the
gamin element in the girl, at all events she invariably got on well
with small boys. A sympathetic bond seemed instantly to be formed. She
reflected that an ally in the enemy’s camp, so to speak, was not to be
despised.
“Well, William,” she remarked cheerfully, in the best approved
hospital-early-morning style, “getting a good shine up?”
The boy grinned responsively.
“Albert, miss,” he corrected.
“Albert be it,” said Tuppence. She glanced mysteriously round the hall.
The effect was purposely a broad one in case Albert should miss it. She
leaned towards the boy and dropped her voice: “I want a word with you,
Albert.”
Albert ceased operations on the fittings and opened his mouth slightly.
“Look! Do you know what this is?” With a dramatic gesture she flung back
the left side of her coat and exposed a small enamelled badge. It was
extremely unlikely that Albert would have any knowledge of it--indeed,
it would have been fatal for Tuppence’s plans, since the badge in
question was the device of a local training corps originated by the
archdeacon in the early days of the war. Its presence in Tuppence’s coat
was due to the fact that she had used it for pinning in some flowers a
day or two before. But Tuppence had sharp eyes, and had noted the corner
of a threepenny detective novel protruding from Albert’s pocket, and the
immediate enlargement of his eyes told her that her tactics were good,
and that the fish would rise to the bait.
“American Detective Force!” she hissed.
Albert fell for it.
“Lord!” he murmured ecstatically.
Tuppence nodded at him with the air of one who has established a
thorough understanding.
“Know who I’m after?” she inquired genially.
Albert, still round-eyed, demanded breathlessly:
“One of the flats?”
Tuppence nodded and jerked a thumb up the stairs.
“No. 20. Calls herself Vandemeyer. Vandemeyer! Ha! ha!”
Albert’s hand stole to his pocket.
“A crook?” he queried eagerly.
“A crook? I should say so. Ready Rita they call her in the States.”
“Ready Rita,” repeated Albert deliriously. “Oh, ain’t it just like the
pictures!”
It was. Tuppence was a great frequenter of the cinema.
“Annie always said as how she was a bad lot,” continued the boy.
“Who’s Annie?” inquired Tuppence idly.
“‘Ouse-parlourmaid. She’s leaving to-day. Many’s the time Annie’s said
to me: ‘Mark my words, Albert, I wouldn’t wonder if the police was to
come after her one of these days.’ Just like that. But she’s a stunner
to look at, ain’t she?”
“She’s some peach,” allowed Tuppence carelessly. “Finds it useful in her
lay-out, you bet. Has she been wearing any of the emeralds, by the way?”
“Emeralds? Them’s the green stones, isn’t they?”
Tuppence nodded.
“That’s what we’re after her for. You know old man Rysdale?”
Albert shook his head.
“Peter B. Rysdale, the oil king?”
“It seems sort of familiar to me.”
“The sparklers belonged to him. Finest collection of emeralds in the
world. Worth a million dollars!”
“Lumme!” came ecstatically from Albert. “It sounds more like the
pictures every minute.”
Tuppence smiled, gratified at the success of her efforts.
“We haven’t exactly proved it yet. But we’re after her. And”--she
produced a long-drawn-out wink--“I guess she won’t get away with the
goods this time.”
Albert uttered another ejaculation indicative of delight.
“Mind you, sonny, not a word of this,” said Tuppence suddenly. “I guess
I oughtn’t to have put you wise, but in the States we know a real smart
lad when we see one.”
“I’ll not breathe a word,” protested Albert eagerly. “Ain’t there
anything I could do? A bit of shadowing, maybe, or such like?”
Tuppence affected to consider, then shook her head.
“Not at the moment, but I’ll bear you in mind, son. What’s this about
the girl you say is leaving?”
“Annie? Regular turn up, they ‘ad. As Annie said, servants is some one
nowadays, and to be treated accordingly, and, what with her passing the
word round, she won’t find it so easy to get another.”
“Won’t she?” said Tuppence thoughtfully. “I wonder----”
An idea was dawning in her brain. She thought a minute or two, then
tapped Albert on the shoulder.
“See here, son, my brain’s got busy. How would it be if you mentioned
that you’d got a young cousin, or a friend of yours had, that might suit
the place. You get me?”
“I’m there,” said Albert instantly. “You leave it to me, miss, and I’ll
fix the whole thing up in two ticks.”
“Some lad!” commented Tuppence, with a nod of approval. “You might say
that the young woman could come in right away. You let me know, and if
it’s O.K. I’ll be round to-morrow at eleven o’clock.”
“Where am I to let you know to?”
“_Ritz_,” replied Tuppence laconically. “Name of Cowley.”
Albert eyed her enviously.
“It must be a good job, this tec business.”
“It sure is,” drawled Tuppence, “especially when old man Rysdale backs
the bill. But don’t fret, son. If this goes well, you shall come in on
the ground floor.”
With which promise she took leave of her new ally, and walked briskly
away from South Audley Mansions, well pleased with her morning’s work.
But there was no time to be lost. She went straight back to the _Ritz_
and wrote a few brief words to Mr. Carter. Having dispatched this, and
Tommy not having yet returned--which did not surprise her--she started
off on a shopping expedition which, with an interval for tea and
assorted creamy cakes, occupied her until well after six o’clock, and
she returned to the hotel jaded, but satisfied with her purchases.
Starting with a cheap clothing store, and passing through one or two
second-hand establishments, she had finished the day at a well-known
hairdresser’s. Now, in the seclusion of her bedroom, she unwrapped
that final purchase. Five minutes later she smiled contentedly at her
reflection in the glass. With an actress’s pencil she had slightly
altered the line of her eyebrows, and that, taken in conjunction with
the new luxuriant growth of fair hair above, so changed her appearance
that she felt confident that even if she came face to face with
Whittington he would not recognize her. She would wear elevators in her
shoes, and the cap and apron would be an even more valuable disguise.
From hospital experience she knew only too well that a nurse out of
uniform is frequently unrecognized by her patients.
“Yes,” said Tuppence aloud, nodding at the pert reflection in the glass,
“you’ll do.” She then resumed her normal appearance.
Dinner was a solitary meal. Tuppence was rather surprised at Tommy’s
non-return. Julius, too, was absent--but that to the girl’s mind was
more easily explained. His “hustling” activities were not confined
to London, and his abrupt appearances and disappearances were fully
accepted by the Young Adventurers as part of the day’s work. It
was quite on the cards that Julius P. Hersheimmer had left for
Constantinople at a moment’s notice if he fancied that a clue to his
cousin’s disappearance was to be found there. The energetic young
man had succeeded in making the lives of several Scotland Yard men
unbearable to them, and the telephone girls at the Admiralty had learned
to know and dread the familiar “Hullo!” He had spent three hours in
Paris hustling the Prefecture, and had returned from there imbued with
the idea, possibly inspired by a weary French official, that the true
clue to the mystery was to be found in Ireland.
“I dare say he’s dashed off there now,” thought Tuppence. “All very
well, but this is very dull for _me!_ Here I am bursting with news, and
absolutely no one to tell it to! Tommy might have wired, or something. I
wonder where he is. Anyway, he can’t have ‘lost the trail’ as they say.
That reminds me----” And Miss Cowley broke off in her meditations, and
summoned a small boy.
Ten minutes later the lady was ensconced comfortably on her bed,
smoking cigarettes and deep in the perusal of _Garnaby Williams, the Boy
Detective_, which, with other threepenny works of lurid fiction, she had
sent out to purchase. She felt, and rightly, that before the strain
of attempting further intercourse with Albert, it would be as well to
fortify herself with a good supply of local colour.
The morning brought a note from Mr. Carter:
“DEAR MISS TUPPENCE,
“You have made a splendid start, and I congratulate you. I feel, though,
that I should like to point out to you once more the risks you are
running, especially if you pursue the course you indicate. Those people
are absolutely desperate and incapable of either mercy or pity. I feel
that you probably underestimate the danger, and therefore warn you
again that I can promise you no protection. You have given us valuable
information, and if you choose to withdraw now no one could blame you.
At any rate, think the matter over well before you decide.
“If, in spite of my warnings, you make up your mind to go through with
it, you will find everything arranged. You have lived for two years with
Miss Dufferin, The Parsonage, Llanelly, and Mrs. Vandemeyer can apply to
her for a reference.
“May I be permitted a word or two of advice? Stick as near to the truth
as possible--it minimizes the danger of ‘slips.’ I suggest that you
should represent yourself to be what you are, a former V.A.D., who has
chosen domestic service as a profession. There are many such at the
present time. That explains away any incongruities of voice or manner
which otherwise might awaken suspicion.
“Whichever way you decide, good luck to you.
“Your sincere friend,
“MR. CARTER.”
Tuppence’s spirits rose mercurially. Mr. Carter’s warnings passed
unheeded. The young lady had far too much confidence in herself to pay
any heed to them.
With some reluctance she abandoned the interesting part she had sketched
out for herself. Although she had no doubts of her own powers to sustain
a role indefinitely, she had too much common sense not to recognize the
force of Mr. Carter’s arguments.
There was still no word or message from Tommy, but the morning post
brought a somewhat dirty postcard with the words: “It’s O.K.” scrawled
upon it.
At ten-thirty Tuppence surveyed with pride a slightly battered tin trunk
containing her new possessions. It was artistically corded. It was with
a slight blush that she rang the bell and ordered it to be placed in a
taxi. She drove to Paddington, and left the box in the cloak room.
She then repaired with a handbag to the fastnesses of the ladies’
waiting-room. Ten minutes later a metamorphosed Tuppence walked demurely
out of the station and entered a bus.
It was a few minutes past eleven when Tuppence again entered the hall
of South Audley Mansions. Albert was on the look-out, attending to his
duties in a somewhat desultory fashion. He did not immediately recognize
Tuppence. When he did, his admiration was unbounded.
“Blest if I’d have known you! That rig-out’s top-hole.”
“Glad you like it, Albert,” replied Tuppence modestly. “By the way, am I
your cousin, or am I not?”
“Your voice too,” cried the delighted boy. “It’s as English as anything!
No, I said as a friend of mine knew a young gal. Annie wasn’t best
pleased. She’s stopped on till to-day--to oblige, _she_ said, but really
it’s so as to put you against the place.”
“Nice girl,” said Tuppence.
Albert suspected no irony.
“She’s style about her, and keeps her silver a treat--but, my word,
ain’t she got a temper. Are you going up now, miss? Step inside the
lift. No. 20 did you say?” And he winked.
Tuppence quelled him with a stern glance, and stepped inside.
As she rang the bell of No. 20 she was conscious of Albert’s eyes slowly
descending beneath the level of the floor.
A smart young woman opened the door.
“I’ve come about the place,” said Tuppence.
“It’s a rotten place,” said the young woman without hesitation. “Regular
old cat--always interfering. Accused me of tampering with her letters.
Me! The flap was half undone anyway. There’s never anything in the
waste-paper basket--she burns everything. She’s a wrong ‘un, that’s what
she is. Swell clothes, but no class. Cook knows something about her--but
she won’t tell--scared to death of her. And suspicious! She’s on to you
in a minute if you as much as speak to a fellow. I can tell you----”
But what more Annie could tell, Tuppence was never destined to learn,
for at that moment a clear voice with a peculiarly steely ring to it
called:
“Annie!”
The smart young woman jumped as if she had been shot.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Who are you talking to?”
“It’s a young woman about the situation, ma’am.”
“Show her in then. At once.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Tuppence was ushered into a room on the right of the long passage. A
woman was standing by the fireplace. She was no longer in her first
youth, and the beauty she undeniably possessed was hardened and
coarsened. In her youth she must have been dazzling. Her pale gold hair,
owing a slight assistance to art, was coiled low on her neck, her eyes,
of a piercing electric blue, seemed to possess a faculty of boring into
the very soul of the person she was looking at. Her exquisite figure was
enhanced by a wonderful gown of indigo charmeuse. And yet, despite her
swaying grace, and the almost ethereal beauty of her face, you felt
instinctively the presence of something hard and menacing, a kind of
metallic strength that found expression in the tones of her voice and in
that gimlet-like quality of her eyes.
For the first time Tuppence felt afraid. She had not feared Whittington,
but this woman was different. As if fascinated, she watched the long
cruel line of the red curving mouth, and again she felt that sensation
of panic pass over her. Her usual self-confidence deserted her. Vaguely
she felt that deceiving this woman would be very different to deceiving
Whittington. Mr. Carter’s warning recurred to her mind. Here, indeed,
she might expect no mercy.
Fighting down that instinct of panic which urged her to turn tail and
run without further delay, Tuppence returned the lady’s gaze firmly and
respectfully.
As though that first scrutiny had been satisfactory, Mrs. Vandemeyer
motioned to a chair.
“You can sit down. How did you hear I wanted a house-parlourmaid?”
“Through a friend who knows the lift boy here. He thought the place
might suit me.”
Again that basilisk glance seemed to pierce her through.
“You speak like an educated girl?”
Glibly enough, Tuppence ran through her imaginary career on the lines
suggested by Mr. Carter. It seemed to her, as she did so, that the
tension of Mrs. Vandemeyer’s attitude relaxed.
“I see,” she remarked at length. “Is there anyone I can write to for a
reference?”
“I lived last with a Miss Dufferin, The Parsonage, Llanelly. I was with
her two years.”
“And then you thought you would get more money by coming to London,
I suppose? Well, it doesn’t matter to me. I will give you
£50--£60--whatever you want. You can come in at once?”
“Yes, ma’am. To-day, if you like. My box is at Paddington.”
“Go and fetch it in a taxi, then. It’s an easy place. I am out a good
deal. By the way, what’s your name?”
“Prudence Cooper, ma’am.”
“Very well, Prudence. Go away and fetch your box. I shall be out to
lunch. The cook will show you where everything is.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Tuppence withdrew. The smart Annie was not in evidence. In the hall
below a magnificent hall porter had relegated Albert to the background.
Tuppence did not even glance at him as she passed meekly out.
The adventure had begun, but she felt less elated than she had done
earlier in the morning. It crossed her mind that if the unknown Jane
Finn had fallen into the hands of Mrs. Vandemeyer, it was likely to have
gone hard with her.
CHAPTER X. ENTER SIR JAMES PEEL EDGERTON
TUPPENCE betrayed no awkwardness in her new duties. The daughters of the
archdeacon were well grounded in household tasks. They were also experts
in training a “raw girl,” the inevitable result being that the raw girl,
once trained, departed elsewhere where her newly acquired knowledge
commanded a more substantial remuneration than the archdeacon’s meagre
purse allowed.
Tuppence had therefore very little fear of proving inefficient. Mrs.
Vandemeyer’s cook puzzled her. She evidently went in deadly terror of
her mistress. The girl thought it probable that the other woman had some
hold over her. For the rest, she cooked like a _chef_, as Tuppence had
an opportunity of judging that evening. Mrs. Vandemeyer was expecting a
guest to dinner, and Tuppence accordingly laid the beautifully polished
table for two. She was a little exercised in her own mind as to this
visitor. It was highly possible that it might prove to be Whittington.
Although she felt fairly confident that he would not recognize her, yet
she would have been better pleased had the guest proved to be a total
stranger. However, there was nothing for it but to hope for the best.
At a few minutes past eight the front door bell rang, and Tuppence went
to answer it with some inward trepidation. She was relieved to see that
the visitor was the second of the two men whom Tommy had taken upon
himself to follow.
He gave his name as Count Stepanov. Tuppence announced him, and Mrs.
Vandemeyer rose from her seat on a low divan with a quick murmur of
pleasure.
“It is delightful to see you, Boris Ivanovitch,” she said.
“And you, madame!” He bowed low over her hand.
Tuppence returned to the kitchen.
“Count Stepanov, or some such,” she remarked, and affecting a frank and
unvarnished curiosity: “Who’s he?”
“A Russian gentleman, I believe.”
“Come here much?”
“Once in a while. What d’you want to know for?”
“Fancied he might be sweet on the missus, that’s all,” explained the
girl, adding with an appearance of sulkiness: “How you do take one up!”
“I’m not quite easy in my mind about the _soufflé_,” explained the
other.
“You know something,” thought Tuppence to herself, but aloud she only
said: “Going to dish up now? Right-o.”
Whilst waiting at table, Tuppence listened closely to all that was said.
She remembered that this was one of the men Tommy was shadowing when she
had last seen him. Already, although she would hardly admit it, she was
becoming uneasy about her partner. Where was he? Why had no word of any
kind come from him? She had arranged before leaving the _Ritz_ to have
all letters or messages sent on at once by special messenger to a small
stationer’s shop near at hand where Albert was to call in frequently.
True, it was only yesterday morning that she had parted from Tommy, and
she told herself that any anxiety on his behalf would be absurd. Still,
it was strange that he had sent no word of any kind.
But, listen as she might, the conversation presented no clue. Boris and
Mrs. Vandemeyer talked on purely indifferent subjects: plays they had
seen, new dances, and the latest society gossip. After dinner they
repaired to the small boudoir where Mrs. Vandemeyer, stretched on the
divan, looked more wickedly beautiful than ever. Tuppence brought in the
coffee and liqueurs and unwillingly retired. As she did so, she heard
Boris say:
“New, isn’t she?”
“She came in to-day. The other was a fiend. This girl seems all right.
She waits well.”
Tuppence lingered a moment longer by the door which she had carefully
neglected to close, and heard him say:
“Quite safe, I suppose?”
“Really, Boris, you are absurdly suspicious. I believe she’s the cousin
of the hall porter, or something of the kind. And nobody even dreams
that I have any connection with our--mutual friend, Mr. Brown.”
“For heaven’s sake, be careful, Rita. That door isn’t shut.”
“Well, shut it then,” laughed the woman.
Tuppence removed herself speedily.
She dared not absent herself longer from the back premises, but she
cleared away and washed up with a breathless speed acquired in hospital.
Then she slipped quietly back to the boudoir door. The cook, more
leisurely, was still busy in the kitchen and, if she missed the other,
would only suppose her to be turning down the beds.
Alas! The conversation inside was being carried on in too low a tone
to permit of her hearing anything of it. She dared not reopen the
door, however gently. Mrs. Vandemeyer was sitting almost facing it, and
Tuppence respected her mistress’s lynx-eyed powers of observation.
Nevertheless, she felt she would give a good deal to overhear what was
going on. Possibly, if anything unforeseen had happened, she might get
news of Tommy. For some moments she reflected desperately, then her
face brightened. She went quickly along the passage to Mrs. Vandemeyer’s
bedroom, which had long French windows leading on to a balcony that ran
the length of the flat. Slipping quickly through the window, Tuppence
crept noiselessly along till she reached the boudoir window. As she
had thought it stood a little ajar, and the voices within were plainly
audible.
Tuppence listened attentively, but there was no mention of anything
that could be twisted to apply to Tommy. Mrs. Vandemeyer and the Russian
seemed to be at variance over some matter, and finally the latter
exclaimed bitterly:
“With your persistent recklessness, you will end by ruining us!”
“Bah!” laughed the woman. “Notoriety of the right kind is the best way
of disarming suspicion. You will realize that one of these days--perhaps
sooner than you think!”
“In the meantime, you are going about everywhere with Peel Edgerton.
Not only is he, perhaps, the most celebrated K.C. in England, but his
special hobby is criminology! It is madness!”
“I know that his eloquence has saved untold men from the gallows,” said
Mrs. Vandemeyer calmly. “What of it? I may need his assistance in that
line myself some day. If so, how fortunate to have such a friend at
court--or perhaps it would be more to the point to say _in_ court.”
Boris got up and began striding up and down. He was very excited.
“You are a clever woman, Rita; but you are also a fool! Be guided by me,
and give up Peel Edgerton.”
Mrs. Vandemeyer shook her head gently.
“I think not.”
“You refuse?” There was an ugly ring in the Russian’s voice.
“I do.”
“Then, by Heaven,” snarled the Russian, “we will see----”
But Mrs. Vandemeyer also rose to her feet, her eyes flashing.
“You forget, Boris,” she said. “I am accountable to no one. I take my
orders only from--Mr. Brown.”
The other threw up his hands in despair.
“You are impossible,” he muttered. “Impossible! Already it may be too
late. They say Peel Edgerton can _smell_ a criminal! How do we know what
is at the bottom of his sudden interest in you? Perhaps even now his
suspicions are aroused. He guesses----”
Mrs. Vandemeyer eyed him scornfully.
“Reassure yourself, my dear Boris. He suspects nothing. With less than
your usual chivalry, you seem to forget that I am commonly accounted a
beautiful woman. I assure you that is all that interests Peel Edgerton.”
Boris shook his head doubtfully.
“He has studied crime as no other man in this kingdom has studied it. Do
you fancy that you can deceive him?”
Mrs. Vandemeyer’s eyes narrowed.
“If he is all that you say--it would amuse me to try!”
“Good heavens, Rita----”
“Besides,” added Mrs. Vandemeyer, “he is extremely rich. I am not one
who despises money. The ‘sinews of war,’ you know, Boris!”
“Money--money! That is always the danger with you, Rita. I believe you
would sell your soul for money. I believe----” He paused, then in a
low, sinister voice he said slowly: “Sometimes I believe that you would
sell-- _us!_”
Mrs. Vandemeyer smiled and shrugged her shoulders.
“The price, at any rate, would have to be enormous,” she said lightly.
“It would be beyond the power of anyone but a millionaire to pay.”
“Ah!” snarled the Russian. “You see, I was right!”
“My dear Boris, can you not take a joke?”
“Was it a joke?”
“Of course.”
“Then all I can say is that your ideas of humour are peculiar, my dear
Rita.”
Mrs. Vandemeyer smiled.
“Let us not quarrel, Boris. Touch the bell. We will have some drinks.”
Tuppence beat a hasty retreat. She paused a moment to survey herself in
Mrs. Vandemeyer’s long glass, and be sure that nothing was amiss with
her appearance. Then she answered the bell demurely.
The conversation that she had overheard, although interesting in that
it proved beyond doubt the complicity of both Rita and Boris, threw very
little light on the present preoccupations. The name of Jane Finn had
not even been mentioned.
The following morning a few brief words with Albert informed her that
nothing was waiting for her at the stationer’s. It seemed incredible
that Tommy, if all was well with him, should not send any word to her.
A cold hand seemed to close round her heart.... Supposing.... She choked
her fears down bravely. It was no good worrying. But she leapt at a
chance offered her by Mrs. Vandemeyer.
“What day do you usually go out, Prudence?”
“Friday’s my usual day, ma’am.”
Mrs. Vandemeyer lifted her eyebrows.
“And to-day is Friday! But I suppose you hardly wish to go out to-day,
as you only came yesterday.”
“I was thinking of asking you if I might, ma’am.”
Mrs. Vandemeyer looked at her a minute longer, and then smiled.
“I wish Count Stepanov could hear you. He made a suggestion about
you last night.” Her smile broadened, catlike. “Your request is
very--typical. I am satisfied. You do not understand all this--but
you can go out to-day. It makes no difference to me, as I shall not be
dining at home.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Tuppence felt a sensation of relief once she was out of the other’s
presence. Once again she admitted to herself that she was afraid,
horribly afraid, of the beautiful woman with the cruel eyes.
In the midst of a final desultory polishing of her silver, Tuppence was
disturbed by the ringing of the front door bell, and went to answer it.
This time the visitor was neither Whittington nor Boris, but a man of
striking appearance.
Just a shade over average height, he nevertheless conveyed the
impression of a big man. His face, clean-shaven and exquisitely mobile,
was stamped with an expression of power and force far beyond the
ordinary. Magnetism seemed to radiate from him.
Tuppence was undecided for the moment whether to put him down as an
actor or a lawyer, but her doubts were soon solved as he gave her his
name: Sir James Peel Edgerton.
She looked at him with renewed interest. This, then, was the famous K.C.
whose name was familiar all over England. She had heard it said that he
might one day be Prime Minister. He was known to have refused office in
the interests of his profession, preferring to remain a simple Member
for a Scotch constituency.
Tuppence went back to her pantry thoughtfully. The great man had
impressed her. She understood Boris’s agitation. Peel Edgerton would not
be an easy man to deceive.
In about a quarter of an hour the bell rang, and Tuppence repaired to
the hall to show the visitor out. He had given her a piercing glance
before. Now, as she handed him his hat and stick, she was conscious of
his eyes raking her through. As she opened the door and stood aside to
let him pass out, he stopped in the doorway.
“Not been doing this long, eh?”
Tuppence raised her eyes, astonished. She read in his glance kindliness,
and something else more difficult to fathom.
He nodded as though she had answered.
“V.A.D. and hard up, I suppose?”
“Did Mrs. Vandemeyer tell you that?” asked Tuppence suspiciously.
“No, child. The look of you told me. Good place here?”
“Very good, thank you, sir.”
“Ah, but there are plenty of good places nowadays. And a change does no
harm sometimes.”
“Do you mean----?” began Tuppence.
But Sir James was already on the topmost stair. He looked back with his
kindly, shrewd glance.
“Just a hint,” he said. “That’s all.”
Tuppence went back to the pantry more thoughtful than ever.
CHAPTER XI. JULIUS TELLS A STORY
DRESSED appropriately, Tuppence duly sallied forth for her “afternoon
out.” Albert was in temporary abeyance, but Tuppence went herself to the
stationer’s to make quite sure that nothing had come for her. Satisfied
on this point, she made her way to the _Ritz_. On inquiry she learnt
that Tommy had not yet returned. It was the answer she had expected, but
it was another nail in the coffin of her hopes. She resolved to appeal
to Mr. Carter, telling him when and where Tommy had started on his
quest, and asking him to do something to trace him. The prospect of
his aid revived her mercurial spirits, and she next inquired for Julius
Hersheimmer. The reply she got was to the effect that he had returned
about half an hour ago, but had gone out immediately.
Tuppence’s spirits revived still more. It would be something to see
Julius. Perhaps he could devise some plan for finding out what
had become of Tommy. She wrote her note to Mr. Carter in Julius’s
sitting-room, and was just addressing the envelope when the door burst
open.
“What the hell----” began Julius, but checked himself abruptly. “I beg
your pardon, Miss Tuppence. Those fools down at the office would have it
that Beresford wasn’t here any longer--hadn’t been here since Wednesday.
Is that so?”
Tuppence nodded.
“You don’t know where he is?” she asked faintly.
“I? How should I know? I haven’t had one darned word from him, though I
wired him yesterday morning.”
“I expect your wire’s at the office unopened.”
“But where is he?”
“I don’t know. I hoped you might.”
“I tell you I haven’t had one darned word from him since we parted at
the depot on Wednesday.”
“What depot?”
“Waterloo. Your London and South Western road.”
“Waterloo?” frowned Tuppence.
“Why, yes. Didn’t he tell you?”
“I haven’t seen him either,” replied Tuppence impatiently. “Go on about
Waterloo. What were you doing there?”
“He gave me a call. Over the phone. Told me to get a move on, and
hustle. Said he was trailing two crooks.”
“Oh!” said Tuppence, her eyes opening. “I see. Go on.”
“I hurried along right away. Beresford was there. He pointed out the
crooks. The big one was mine, the guy you bluffed. Tommy shoved a ticket
into my hand and told me to get aboard the cars. He was going to sleuth
the other crook.” Julius paused. “I thought for sure you’d know all
this.”
“Julius,” said Tuppence firmly, “stop walking up and down. It makes me
giddy. Sit down in that armchair, and tell me the whole story with as
few fancy turns of speech as possible.”
Mr. Hersheimmer obeyed.
“Sure,” he said. “Where shall I begin?”
“Where you left off. At Waterloo.”
“Well,” began Julius, “I got into one of your dear old-fashioned
first-class British compartments. The train was just off. First thing I
knew a guard came along and informed me mighty politely that I wasn’t
in a smoking-carriage. I handed him out half a dollar, and that settled
that. I did a bit of prospecting along the corridor to the next coach.
Whittington was there right enough. When I saw the skunk, with his big
sleek fat face, and thought of poor little Jane in his clutches, I felt
real mad that I hadn’t got a gun with me. I’d have tickled him up some.
“We got to Bournemouth all right. Whittington took a cab and gave the
name of an hotel. I did likewise, and we drove up within three minutes
of each other. He hired a room, and I hired one too. So far it was all
plain sailing. He hadn’t the remotest notion that anyone was on to him.
Well, he just sat around in the hotel lounge, reading the papers and so
on, till it was time for dinner. He didn’t hurry any over that either.
“I began to think that there was nothing doing, that he’d just come on
the trip for his health, but I remembered that he hadn’t changed for
dinner, though it was by way of being a slap-up hotel, so it seemed
likely enough that he’d be going out on his real business afterwards.
“Sure enough, about nine o’clock, so he did. Took a car across the
town--mighty pretty place by the way, I guess I’ll take Jane there for
a spell when I find her--and then paid it off and struck out along those
pine-woods on the top of the cliff. I was there too, you understand.
We walked, maybe, for half an hour. There’s a lot of villas all the way
along, but by degrees they seemed to get more and more thinned out, and
in the end we got to one that seemed the last of the bunch. Big house it
was, with a lot of piny grounds around it.
“It was a pretty black night, and the carriage drive up to the house was
dark as pitch. I could hear him ahead, though I couldn’t see him. I
had to walk carefully in case he might get on to it that he was being
followed. I turned a curve and I was just in time to see him ring the
bell and get admitted to the house. I just stopped where I was. It was
beginning to rain, and I was soon pretty near soaked through. Also, it
was almighty cold.
“Whittington didn’t come out again, and by and by I got kind of restive,
and began to mouch around. All the ground floor windows were shuttered
tight, but upstairs, on the first floor (it was a two-storied house) I
noticed a window with a light burning and the curtains not drawn.
“Now, just opposite to that window, there was a tree growing. It was
about thirty foot away from the house, maybe, and I sort of got it into
my head that, if I climbed up that tree, I’d very likely be able to see
into that room. Of course, I knew there was no reason why Whittington
should be in that room rather than in any other--less reason, in fact,
for the betting would be on his being in one of the reception-rooms
downstairs. But I guess I’d got the hump from standing so long in the
rain, and anything seemed better than going on doing nothing. So I
started up.
“It wasn’t so easy, by a long chalk! The rain had made the boughs mighty
slippery, and it was all I could do to keep a foothold, but bit by bit I
managed it, until at last there I was level with the window.
“But then I was disappointed. I was too far to the left. I could only
see sideways into the room. A bit of curtain, and a yard of wallpaper
was all I could command. Well, that wasn’t any manner of good to me, but
just as I was going to give it up, and climb down ignominiously, some
one inside moved and threw his shadow on my little bit of wall--and, by
gum, it was Whittington!
“After that, my blood was up. I’d just _got_ to get a look into that
room. It was up to me to figure out how. I noticed that there was a long
branch running out from the tree in the right direction. If I could only
swarm about half-way along it, the proposition would be solved. But it
was mighty uncertain whether it would bear my weight. I decided I’d
just got to risk that, and I started. Very cautiously, inch by inch, I
crawled along. The bough creaked and swayed in a nasty fashion, and it
didn’t do to think of the drop below, but at last I got safely to where
I wanted to be.
“The room was medium-sized, furnished in a kind of bare hygienic way.
There was a table with a lamp on it in the middle of the room, and
sitting at that table, facing towards me, was Whittington right enough.
He was talking to a woman dressed as a hospital nurse. She was sitting
with her back to me, so I couldn’t see her face. Although the blinds
were up, the window itself was shut, so I couldn’t catch a word of what
they said. Whittington seemed to be doing all the talking, and the nurse
just listened. Now and then she nodded, and sometimes she’d shake
her head, as though she were answering questions. He seemed very
emphatic--once or twice he beat with his fist on the table. The rain had
stopped now, and the sky was clearing in that sudden way it does.
“Presently, he seemed to get to the end of what he was saying. He got
up, and so did she. He looked towards the window and asked something--I
guess it was whether it was raining. Anyway, she came right across and
looked out. Just then the moon came out from behind the clouds. I
was scared the woman would catch sight of me, for I was full in the
moonlight. I tried to move back a bit. The jerk I gave was too much for
that rotten old branch. With an almighty crash, down it came, and Julius
P. Hersheimmer with it!”
“Oh, Julius,” breathed Tuppence, “how exciting! Go on.”
“Well, luckily for me, I pitched down into a good soft bed of earth--but
it put me out of action for the time, sure enough. The next thing I
knew, I was lying in bed with a hospital nurse (not Whittington’s one)
on one side of me, and a little black-bearded man with gold glasses,
and medical man written all over him, on the other. He rubbed his hands
together, and raised his eyebrows as I stared at him. ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘So
our young friend is coming round again. Capital. Capital.’
“I did the usual stunt. Said: ‘What’s happened?’ And ‘Where am I?’ But
I knew the answer to the last well enough. There’s no moss growing on
my brain. ‘I think that’ll do for the present, sister,’ said the little
man, and the nurse left the room in a sort of brisk well-trained way.
But I caught her handing me out a look of deep curiosity as she passed
through the door.
“That look of hers gave me an idea. ‘Now then, doc,’ I said, and tried
to sit up in bed, but my right foot gave me a nasty twinge as I did so.
‘A slight sprain,’ explained the doctor. ‘Nothing serious. You’ll be
about again in a couple of days.’”
“I noticed you walked lame,” interpolated Tuppence.
Julius nodded, and continued:
“‘How did it happen?’ I asked again. He replied dryly. ‘You fell, with
a considerable portion of one of my trees, into one of my newly planted
flower-beds.’
“I liked the man. He seemed to have a sense of humour. I felt sure that
he, at least, was plumb straight. ‘Sure, doc,’ I said, ‘I’m sorry about
the tree, and I guess the new bulbs will be on me. But perhaps you’d
like to know what I was doing in your garden?’ ‘I think the facts do
call for an explanation,’ he replied. ‘Well, to begin with, I wasn’t
after the spoons.’
“He smiled. ‘My first theory. But I soon altered my mind. By the way,
you are an American, are you not?’ I told him my name. ‘And you?’ ‘I am
Dr. Hall, and this, as you doubtless know, is my private nursing home.’
“I didn’t know, but I wasn’t going to put him wise. I was just thankful
for the information. I liked the man, and I felt he was straight, but
I wasn’t going to give him the whole story. For one thing he probably
wouldn’t have believed it.
“I made up my mind in a flash. ‘Why, doctor,’ I said, ‘I guess I feel
an almighty fool, but I owe it to you to let you know that it wasn’t
the Bill Sikes business I was up to.’ Then I went on and mumbled out
something about a girl. I trotted out the stern guardian business, and a
nervous breakdown, and finally explained that I had fancied I recognized
her among the patients at the home, hence my nocturnal adventures. I
guess it was just the kind of story he was expecting. ‘Quite a romance,’
he said genially, when I’d finished. ‘Now, doc,’ I went on, ‘will you
be frank with me? Have you here now, or have you had here at any time,
a young girl called Jane Finn?’ He repeated the name thoughtfully. ‘Jane
Finn?’ he said. ‘No.’
“I was chagrined, and I guess I showed it. ‘You are sure?’ ‘Quite sure,
Mr. Hersheimmer. It is an uncommon name, and I should not have been
likely to forget it.’
“Well, that was flat. It laid me out for a space. I’d kind of hoped
my search was at an end. ‘That’s that,’ I said at last. ‘Now, there’s
another matter. When I was hugging that darned branch I thought I
recognized an old friend of mine talking to one of your nurses.’ I
purposely didn’t mention any name because, of course, Whittington might
be calling himself something quite different down here, but the doctor
answered at once. ‘Mr. Whittington, perhaps?’ ‘That’s the fellow,’ I
replied. ‘What’s he doing down here? Don’t tell me _his_ nerves are out
of order?’
“Dr. Hall laughed. ‘No. He came down to see one of my nurses, Nurse
Edith, who is a niece of his.’ ‘Why, fancy that!’ I exclaimed. ‘Is he
still here?’ ‘No, he went back to town almost immediately.’ ‘What a
pity!’ I ejaculated. ‘But perhaps I could speak to his niece--Nurse
Edith, did you say her name was?’
“But the doctor shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that, too, is impossible.
Nurse Edith left with a patient to-night also.’ ‘I seem to be real
unlucky,’ I remarked. ‘Have you Mr. Whittington’s address in town?
I guess I’d like to look him up when I get back.’ ‘I don’t know his
address. I can write to Nurse Edith for it if you like.’ I thanked him.
‘Don’t say who it is wants it. I’d like to give him a little surprise.’
“That was about all I could do for the moment. Of course, if the girl
was really Whittington’s niece, she might be too cute to fall into the
trap, but it was worth trying. Next thing I did was to write out a wire
to Beresford saying where I was, and that I was laid up with a sprained
foot, and telling him to come down if he wasn’t busy. I had to be
guarded in what I said. However, I didn’t hear from him, and my foot
soon got all right. It was only ricked, not really sprained, so to-day I
said good-bye to the little doctor chap, asked him to send me word if
he heard from Nurse Edith, and came right away back to town. Say, Miss
Tuppence, you’re looking mighty pale!”
“It’s Tommy,” said Tuppence. “What can have happened to him?”
“Buck up, I guess he’s all right really. Why shouldn’t he be? See here,
it was a foreign-looking guy he went off after. Maybe they’ve gone
abroad--to Poland, or something like that?”
Tuppence shook her head.
“He couldn’t without passports and things. Besides I’ve seen that man,
Boris Something, since. He dined with Mrs. Vandemeyer last night.”
“Mrs. Who?”
“I forgot. Of course you don’t know all that.”
“I’m listening,” said Julius, and gave vent to his favourite expression.
“Put me wise.”
Tuppence thereupon related the events of the last two days. Julius’s
astonishment and admiration were unbounded.
“Bully for you! Fancy you a menial. It just tickles me to death!” Then
he added seriously: “But say now, I don’t like it, Miss Tuppence, I sure
don’t. You’re just as plucky as they make ‘em, but I wish you’d keep
right out of this. These crooks we’re up against would as soon croak a
girl as a man any day.”
“Do you think I’m afraid?” said Tuppence indignantly, valiantly
repressing memories of the steely glitter in Mrs. Vandemeyer’s eyes.
“I said before you were darned plucky. But that doesn’t alter facts.”
“Oh, bother _me!_” said Tuppence impatiently. “Let’s think about what
can have happened to Tommy. I’ve written to Mr. Carter about it,” she
added, and told him the gist of her letter.
Julius nodded gravely.
“I guess that’s good as far as it goes. But it’s for us to get busy and
do something.”
“What can we do?” asked Tuppence, her spirits rising.
“I guess we’d better get on the track of Boris. You say he’s been to
your place. Is he likely to come again?”
“He might. I really don’t know.”
“I see. Well, I guess I’d better buy a car, a slap-up one, dress as a
chauffeur and hang about outside. Then if Boris comes, you could make
some kind of signal, and I’d trail him. How’s that?”
“Splendid, but he mightn’t come for weeks.”
“We’ll have to chance that. I’m glad you like the plan.” He rose.
“Where are you going?”
“To buy the car, of course,” replied Julius, surprised. “What make do
you like? I guess you’ll do some riding in it before we’ve finished.”
“Oh,” said Tuppence faintly, “I _like_ Rolls-Royces, but----”
“Sure,” agreed Julius. “What you say goes. I’ll get one.”
“But you can’t at once,” cried Tuppence. “People wait ages sometimes.”
“Little Julius doesn’t,” affirmed Mr. Hersheimmer. “Don’t you worry any.
I’ll be round in the car in half an hour.”
Tuppence got up.
“You’re awfully good, Julius. But I can’t help feeling that it’s rather
a forlorn hope. I’m really pinning my faith to Mr. Carter.”
“Then I shouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Just an idea of mine.”
“Oh; but he must do something. There’s no one else. By the way, I forgot
to tell you of a queer thing that happened this morning.”
And she narrated her encounter with Sir James Peel Edgerton. Julius was
interested.
“What did the guy mean, do you think?” he asked.
“I don’t quite know,” said Tuppence meditatively. “But I think that, in
an ambiguous, legal, without prejudishish lawyer’s way, he was trying to
warn me.”
“Why should he?”
“I don’t know,” confessed Tuppence. “But he looked kind, and
simply awfully clever. I wouldn’t mind going to him and telling him
everything.”
Somewhat to her surprise, Julius negatived the idea sharply.
“See here,” he said, “we don’t want any lawyers mixed up in this. That
guy couldn’t help us any.”
“Well, I believe he could,” reiterated Tuppence obstinately.
“Don’t you think it. So long. I’ll be back in half an hour.”
Thirty-five minutes had elapsed when Julius returned. He took Tuppence
by the arm, and walked her to the window.
“There she is.”
“Oh!” said Tuppence with a note of reverence in her voice, as she gazed
down at the enormous car.
“She’s some pace-maker, I can tell you,” said Julius complacently.
“How did you get it?” gasped Tuppence.
“She was just being sent home to some bigwig.”
“Well?”
“I went round to his house,” said Julius. “I said that I reckoned a car
like that was worth every penny of twenty thousand dollars. Then I told
him that it was worth just about fifty thousand dollars to me if he’d
get out.”
“Well?” said Tuppence, intoxicated.
“Well,” returned Julius, “he got out, that’s all.”
CHAPTER XII. A FRIEND IN NEED
FRIDAY and Saturday passed uneventfully. Tuppence had received a brief
answer to her appeal from Mr. Carter. In it he pointed out that the
Young Adventurers had undertaken the work at their own risk, and had
been fully warned of the dangers. If anything had happened to Tommy he
regretted it deeply, but he could do nothing.
This was cold comfort. Somehow, without Tommy, all the savour went out
of the adventure, and, for the first time, Tuppence felt doubtful of
success. While they had been together she had never questioned it for
a minute. Although she was accustomed to take the lead, and to pride
herself on her quick-wittedness, in reality she had relied upon Tommy
more than she realized at the time. There was something so eminently
sober and clear-headed about him, his common sense and soundness of
vision were so unvarying, that without him Tuppence felt much like a
rudderless ship. It was curious that Julius, who was undoubtedly much
cleverer than Tommy, did not give her the same feeling of support. She
had accused Tommy of being a pessimist, and it is certain that he
always saw the disadvantages and difficulties which she herself was
optimistically given to overlooking, but nevertheless she had really
relied a good deal on his judgment. He might be slow, but he was very
sure.
It seemed to the girl that, for the first time, she realized the
sinister character of the mission they had undertaken so lightheartedly.
It had begun like a page of romance. Now, shorn of its glamour, it
seemed to be turning to grim reality. Tommy--that was all that mattered.
Many times in the day Tuppence blinked the tears out of her eyes
resolutely. “Little fool,” she would apostrophize herself, “don’t
snivel. Of course you’re fond of him. You’ve known him all your life.
But there’s no need to be sentimental about it.”
In the meantime, nothing more was seen of Boris. He did not come to the
flat, and Julius and the car waited in vain. Tuppence gave herself over
to new meditations. Whilst admitting the truth of Julius’s objections,
she had nevertheless not entirely relinquished the idea of appealing to
Sir James Peel Edgerton. Indeed, she had gone so far as to look up his
address in the _Red Book_. Had he meant to warn her that day? If so,
why? Surely she was at least entitled to demand an explanation. He had
looked at her so kindly. Perhaps he might tell them something concerning
Mrs. Vandemeyer which might lead to a clue to Tommy’s whereabouts.
Anyway, Tuppence decided, with her usual shake of the shoulders, it was
worth trying, and try it she would. Sunday was her afternoon out. She
would meet Julius, persuade him to her point of view, and they would
beard the lion in his den.
When the day arrived Julius needed a considerable amount of persuading,
but Tuppence held firm. “It can do no harm,” was what she always came
back to. In the end Julius gave in, and they proceeded in the car to
Carlton House Terrace.
The door was opened by an irreproachable butler. Tuppence felt a little
nervous. After all, perhaps it _was_ colossal cheek on her part. She
had decided not to ask if Sir James was “at home,” but to adopt a more
personal attitude.
“Will you ask Sir James if I can see him for a few minutes? I have an
important message for him.”
The butler retired, returning a moment or two later.
“Sir James will see you. Will you step this way?”
He ushered them into a room at the back of the house, furnished as a
library. The collection of books was a magnificent one, and Tuppence
noticed that all one wall was devoted to works on crime and criminology.
There were several deep-padded leather arm-chairs, and an old-fashioned
open hearth. In the window was a big roll-top desk strewn with papers at
which the master of the house was sitting.
He rose as they entered.
“You have a message for me? Ah”--he recognized Tuppence with a
smile--“it’s you, is it? Brought a message from Mrs. Vandemeyer, I
suppose?”
“Not exactly,” said Tuppence. “In fact, I’m afraid I only said that to
be quite sure of getting in. Oh, by the way, this is Mr. Hersheimmer,
Sir James Peel Edgerton.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said the American, shooting out a hand.
“Won’t you both sit down?” asked Sir James. He drew forward two chairs.
“Sir James,” said Tuppence, plunging boldly, “I dare say you will think
it is most awful cheek of me coming here like this. Because, of course,
it’s nothing whatever to do with you, and then you’re a very important
person, and of course Tommy and I are very unimportant.” She paused for
breath.
“Tommy?” queried Sir James, looking across at the American.
“No, that’s Julius,” explained Tuppence. “I’m rather nervous, and that
makes me tell it badly. What I really want to know is what you meant by
what you said to me the other day? Did you mean to warn me against Mrs.
Vandemeyer? You did, didn’t you?”
“My dear young lady, as far as I recollect I only mentioned that there
were equally good situations to be obtained elsewhere.”
“Yes, I know. But it was a hint, wasn’t it?”
“Well, perhaps it was,” admitted Sir James gravely.
“Well, I want to know more. I want to know just _why_ you gave me a
hint.”
Sir James smiled at her earnestness.
“Suppose the lady brings a libel action against me for defamation of
character?”
“Of course,” said Tuppence. “I know lawyers are always dreadfully
careful. But can’t we say ‘without prejudice’ first, and then say just
what we want to.”
“Well,” said Sir James, still smiling, “without prejudice, then, if I
had a young sister forced to earn her living, I should not like to see
her in Mrs. Vandemeyer’s service. I felt it incumbent on me just to give
you a hint. It is no place for a young and inexperienced girl. That is
all I can tell you.”
“I see,” said Tuppence thoughtfully. “Thank you very much. But I’m not
_really_ inexperienced, you know. I knew perfectly that she was a bad
lot when I went there--as a matter of fact that’s _why_ I went----” She
broke off, seeing some bewilderment on the lawyer’s face, and went on:
“I think perhaps I’d better tell you the whole story, Sir James. I’ve a
sort of feeling that you’d know in a minute if I didn’t tell the truth,
and so you might as well know all about it from the beginning. What do
you think, Julius?”
“As you’re bent on it, I’d go right ahead with the facts,” replied the
American, who had so far sat in silence.
“Yes, tell me all about it,” said Sir James. “I want to know who Tommy
is.”
Thus encouraged Tuppence plunged into her tale, and the lawyer listened
with close attention.
“Very interesting,” he said, when she finished. “A great deal of what
you tell me, child, is already known to me. I’ve had certain theories
of my own about this Jane Finn. You’ve done extraordinarily well so
far, but it’s rather too bad of--what do you know him as?--Mr. Carter to
pitchfork you two young things into an affair of this kind. By the
way, where did Mr. Hersheimmer come in originally? You didn’t make that
clear?”
Julius answered for himself.
“I’m Jane’s first cousin,” he explained, returning the lawyer’s keen
gaze.
“Ah!”
“Oh, Sir James,” broke out Tuppence, “what do you think has become of
Tommy?”
“H’m.” The lawyer rose, and paced slowly up and down. “When you arrived,
young lady, I was just packing up my traps. Going to Scotland by the
night train for a few days’ fishing. But there are different kinds of
fishing. I’ve a good mind to stay, and see if we can’t get on the track
of that young chap.”
“Oh!” Tuppence clasped her hands ecstatically.
“All the same, as I said before, it’s too bad of--of Carter to set you
two babies on a job like this. Now, don’t get offended, Miss--er----”
“Cowley. Prudence Cowley. But my friends call me Tuppence.”
“Well, Miss Tuppence, then, as I’m certainly going to be a friend. Don’t
be offended because I think you’re young. Youth is a failing only too
easily outgrown. Now, about this young Tommy of yours----”
“Yes.” Tuppence clasped her hands.
“Frankly, things look bad for him. He’s been butting in somewhere where
he wasn’t wanted. Not a doubt of it. But don’t give up hope.”
“And you really will help us? There, Julius! He didn’t want me to come,”
she added by way of explanation.
“H’m,” said the lawyer, favouring Julius with another keen glance. “And
why was that?”
“I reckoned it would be no good worrying you with a petty little
business like this.”
“I see.” He paused a moment. “This petty little business, as you call
it, bears directly on a very big business, bigger perhaps than either
you or Miss Tuppence know. If this boy is alive, he may have very
valuable information to give us. Therefore, we must find him.”
“Yes, but how?” cried Tuppence. “I’ve tried to think of everything.”
Sir James smiled.
“And yet there’s one person quite near at hand who in all probability
knows where he is, or at all events where he is likely to be.”
“Who is that?” asked Tuppence, puzzled.
“Mrs. Vandemeyer.”
“Yes, but she’d never tell us.”
“Ah, that is where I come in. I think it quite likely that I shall be
able to make Mrs. Vandemeyer tell me what I want to know.”
“How?” demanded Tuppence, opening her eyes very wide.
“Oh, just by asking her questions,” replied Sir James easily. “That’s
the way we do it, you know.”
He tapped with his finger on the table, and Tuppence felt again the
intense power that radiated from the man.
“And if she won’t tell?” asked Julius suddenly.
“I think she will. I have one or two powerful levers. Still, in that
unlikely event, there is always the possibility of bribery.”
“Sure. And that’s where I come in!” cried Julius, bringing his fist down
on the table with a bang. “You can count on me, if necessary, for one
million dollars. Yes, sir, one million dollars!”
Sir James sat down and subjected Julius to a long scrutiny.
“Mr. Hersheimmer,” he said at last, “that is a very large sum.”
“I guess it’ll have to be. These aren’t the kind of folk to offer
sixpence to.”
“At the present rate of exchange it amounts to considerably over two
hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”
“That’s so. Maybe you think I’m talking through my hat, but I can
deliver the goods all right, with enough over to spare for your fee.”
Sir James flushed slightly.
“There is no question of a fee, Mr. Hersheimmer. I am not a private
detective.”
“Sorry. I guess I was just a mite hasty, but I’ve been feeling bad about
this money question. I wanted to offer a big reward for news of Jane
some days ago, but your crusted institution of Scotland Yard advised me
against it. Said it was undesirable.”
“They were probably right,” said Sir James dryly.
“But it’s all O.K. about Julius,” put in Tuppence. “He’s not pulling
your leg. He’s got simply pots of money.”
“The old man piled it up in style,” explained Julius. “Now, let’s get
down to it. What’s your idea?”
Sir James considered for a moment or two.
“There is no time to be lost. The sooner we strike the better.” He
turned to Tuppence. “Is Mrs. Vandemeyer dining out to-night, do you
know?”
“Yes, I think so, but she will not be out late. Otherwise, she would
have taken the latchkey.”
“Good. I will call upon her about ten o’clock. What time are you
supposed to return?”
“About nine-thirty or ten, but I could go back earlier.”
“You must not do that on any account. It might arouse suspicion if you
did not stay out till the usual time. Be back by nine-thirty. I will
arrive at ten. Mr. Hersheimmer will wait below in a taxi perhaps.”
“He’s got a new Rolls-Royce car,” said Tuppence with vicarious pride.
“Even better. If I succeed in obtaining the address from her, we can
go there at once, taking Mrs. Vandemeyer with us if necessary. You
understand?”
“Yes.” Tuppence rose to her feet with a skip of delight. “Oh, I feel so
much better!”
“Don’t build on it too much, Miss Tuppence. Go easy.”
Julius turned to the lawyer.
“Say, then. I’ll call for you in the car round about nine-thirty. Is
that right?”
“Perhaps that will be the best plan. It would be unnecessary to have two
cars waiting about. Now, Miss Tuppence, my advice to you is to go and
have a good dinner, a _really_ good one, mind. And don’t think ahead
more than you can help.”
He shook hands with them both, and a moment later they were outside.
“Isn’t he a duck?” inquired Tuppence ecstatically, as she skipped down
the steps. “Oh, Julius, isn’t he just a duck?”
“Well, I allow he seems to be the goods all right. And I was wrong about
its being useless to go to him. Say, shall we go right away back to the
_Ritz?_”
“I must walk a bit, I think. I feel so excited. Drop me in the park,
will you? Unless you’d like to come too?”
“I want to get some petrol,” he explained. “And send off a cable or
two.”
“All right. I’ll meet you at the _Ritz_ at seven. We’ll have to dine
upstairs. I can’t show myself in these glad rags.”
“Sure. I’ll get Felix help me choose the menu. He’s some head waiter,
that. So long.”
Tuppence walked briskly along towards the Serpentine, first glancing at
her watch. It was nearly six o’clock. She remembered that she had had no
tea, but felt too excited to be conscious of hunger. She walked as
far as Kensington Gardens and then slowly retraced her steps, feeling
infinitely better for the fresh air and exercise. It was not so easy to
follow Sir James’s advice, and put the possible events of the evening
out of her head. As she drew nearer and nearer to Hyde Park corner, the
temptation to return to South Audley Mansions was almost irresistible.
At any rate, she decided, it would do no harm just to go and _look_
at the building. Perhaps, then, she could resign herself to waiting
patiently for ten o’clock.
South Audley Mansions looked exactly the same as usual. What Tuppence
had expected she hardly knew, but the sight of its red brick stolidity
slightly assuaged the growing and entirely unreasonable uneasiness
that possessed her. She was just turning away when she heard a piercing
whistle, and the faithful Albert came running from the building to join
her.
Tuppence frowned. It was no part of the programme to have attention
called to her presence in the neighbourhood, but Albert was purple with
suppressed excitement.
“I say, miss, she’s a-going!”
“Who’s going?” demanded Tuppence sharply.
“The crook. Ready Rita. Mrs. Vandemeyer. She’s a-packing up, and she’s
just sent down word for me to get her a taxi.”
“What?” Tuppence clutched his arm.
“It’s the truth, miss. I thought maybe as you didn’t know about it.”
“Albert,” cried Tuppence, “you’re a brick. If it hadn’t been for you
we’d have lost her.”
Albert flushed with pleasure at this tribute.
“There’s no time to lose,” said Tuppence, crossing the road. “I’ve got
to stop her. At all costs I must keep her here until----” She broke off.
“Albert, there’s a telephone here, isn’t there?”
The boy shook his head.
“The flats mostly have their own, miss. But there’s a box just round the
corner.”
“Go to it then, at once, and ring up the _Ritz Hotel_. Ask for Mr.
Hersheimmer, and when you get him tell him to get Sir James and come on
at once, as Mrs. Vandemeyer is trying to hook it. If you can’t get him,
ring up Sir James Peel Edgerton, you’ll find his number in the book, and
tell him what’s happening. You won’t forget the names, will you?”
Albert repeated them glibly. “You trust to me, miss, it’ll be all right.
But what about you? Aren’t you afraid to trust yourself with her?”
“No, no, that’s all right. _But go and telephone_. Be quick.”
Drawing a long breath, Tuppence entered the Mansions and ran up to the
door of No. 20. How she was to detain Mrs. Vandemeyer until the two men
arrived, she did not know, but somehow or other it had to be done, and
she must accomplish the task single-handed. What had occasioned this
precipitate departure? Did Mrs. Vandemeyer suspect her?
Speculations were idle. Tuppence pressed the bell firmly. She might
learn something from the cook.
Nothing happened and, after waiting some minutes, Tuppence pressed the
bell again, keeping her finger on the button for some little while.
At last she heard footsteps inside, and a moment later Mrs. Vandemeyer
herself opened the door. She lifted her eyebrows at the sight of the
girl.
“You?”
“I had a touch of toothache, ma’am,” said Tuppence glibly. “So thought
it better to come home and have a quiet evening.”
Mrs. Vandemeyer said nothing, but she drew back and let Tuppence pass
into the hall.
“How unfortunate for you,” she said coldly. “You had better go to bed.”
“Oh, I shall be all right in the kitchen, ma’am. Cook will----”
“Cook is out,” said Mrs. Vandemeyer, in a rather disagreeable tone. “I
sent her out. So you see you had better go to bed.”
Suddenly Tuppence felt afraid. There was a ring in Mrs. Vandemeyer’s
voice that she did not like at all. Also, the other woman was slowly
edging her up the passage. Tuppence turned at bay.
“I don’t want----”
Then, in a flash, a rim of cold steel touched her temple, and Mrs.
Vandemeyer’s voice rose cold and menacing:
“You damned little fool! Do you think I don’t know? No, don’t answer. If
you struggle or cry out, I’ll shoot you like a dog.”
The rim of steel pressed a little harder against the girl’s temple.
“Now then, march,” went on Mrs. Vandemeyer. “This way--into my room. In
a minute, when I’ve done with you, you’ll go to bed as I told you to.
And you’ll sleep--oh yes, my little spy, you’ll sleep all right!”
There was a sort of hideous geniality in the last words which Tuppence
did not at all like. For the moment there was nothing to be done, and
she walked obediently into Mrs. Vandemeyer’s bedroom. The pistol never
left her forehead. The room was in a state of wild disorder, clothes
were flung about right and left, a suit-case and a hat box, half-packed,
stood in the middle of the floor.
Tuppence pulled herself together with an effort. Her voice shook a
little, but she spoke out bravely.
“Come now,” she said. “This is nonsense. You can’t shoot me. Why, every
one in the building would hear the report.”
“I’d risk that,” said Mrs. Vandemeyer cheerfully. “But, as long as you
don’t sing out for help, you’re all right--and I don’t think you will.
You’re a clever girl. You deceived _me_ all right. I hadn’t a suspicion
of you! So I’ve no doubt that you understand perfectly well that this
is where I’m on top and you’re underneath. Now then--sit on the bed. Put
your hands above your head, and if you value your life don’t move them.”
Tuppence obeyed passively. Her good sense told her that there was
nothing else to do but accept the situation. If she shrieked for help
there was very little chance of anyone hearing her, whereas there was
probably quite a good chance of Mrs. Vandemeyer’s shooting her. In the
meantime, every minute of delay gained was valuable.
Mrs. Vandemeyer laid down the revolver on the edge of the washstand
within reach of her hand, and, still eyeing Tuppence like a lynx in case
the girl should attempt to move, she took a little stoppered bottle from
its place on the marble and poured some of its contents into a glass
which she filled up with water.
“What’s that?” asked Tuppence sharply.
“Something to make you sleep soundly.”
Tuppence paled a little.
“Are you going to poison me?” she asked in a whisper.
“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Vandemeyer, smiling agreeably.
“Then I shan’t drink it,” said Tuppence firmly. “I’d much rather be
shot. At any rate that would make a row, and some one might hear it. But
I won’t be killed off quietly like a lamb.”
Mrs. Vandemeyer stamped her foot.
“Don’t be a little fool! Do you really think I want a hue and cry for
murder out after me? If you’ve any sense at all, you’ll realize that
poisoning you wouldn’t suit my book at all. It’s a sleeping draught,
that’s all. You’ll wake up to-morrow morning none the worse. I simply
don’t want the bother of tying you up and gagging you. That’s the
alternative--and you won’t like it, I can tell you! I can be very rough
if I choose. So drink this down like a good girl, and you’ll be none the
worse for it.”
In her heart of hearts Tuppence believed her. The arguments she had
adduced rang true. It was a simple and effective method of getting her
out of the way for the time being. Nevertheless, the girl did not take
kindly to the idea of being tamely put to sleep without as much as one
bid for freedom. She felt that once Mrs. Vandemeyer gave them the slip,
the last hope of finding Tommy would be gone.
Tuppence was quick in her mental processes. All these reflections
passed through her mind in a flash, and she saw where a chance, a very
problematical chance, lay, and she determined to risk all in one supreme
effort.
Accordingly, she lurched suddenly off the bed and fell on her knees
before Mrs. Vandemeyer, clutching her skirts frantically.
“I don’t believe it,” she moaned. “It’s poison--I know it’s poison.
Oh, don’t make me drink it”--her voice rose to a shriek--“don’t make me
drink it!”
Mrs. Vandemeyer, glass in hand, looked down with a curling lip at this
sudden collapse.
“Get up, you little idiot! Don’t go on drivelling there. How you ever
had the nerve to play your part as you did I can’t think.” She stamped
her foot. “Get up, I say.”
But Tuppence continued to cling and sob, interjecting her sobs with
incoherent appeals for mercy. Every minute gained was to the good.
Moreover, as she grovelled, she moved imperceptibly nearer to her
objective.
Mrs. Vandemeyer gave a sharp impatient exclamation, and jerked the girl
to her knees.
“Drink it at once!” Imperiously she pressed the glass to the girl’s
lips.
Tuppence gave one last despairing moan.
“You swear it won’t hurt me?” she temporized.
“Of course it won’t hurt you. Don’t be a fool.”
“Will you swear it?”
“Yes, yes,” said the other impatiently. “I swear it.”
Tuppence raised a trembling left hand to the glass.
“Very well.” Her mouth opened meekly.
Mrs. Vandemeyer gave a sigh of relief, off her guard for the moment.
Then, quick as a flash, Tuppence jerked the glass upward as hard as she
could. The fluid in it splashed into Mrs. Vandemeyer’s face, and during
her momentary gasp, Tuppence’s right hand shot out and grasped the
revolver where it lay on the edge of the washstand. The next moment
she had sprung back a pace, and the revolver pointed straight at Mrs.
Vandemeyer’s heart, with no unsteadiness in the hand that held it.
In the moment of victory, Tuppence betrayed a somewhat unsportsmanlike
triumph.
“Now who’s on top and who’s underneath?” she crowed.
The other’s face was convulsed with rage. For a minute Tuppence thought
she was going to spring upon her, which would have placed the girl in an
unpleasant dilemma, since she meant to draw the line at actually letting
off the revolver. However, with an effort Mrs. Vandemeyer controlled
herself, and at last a slow evil smile crept over her face.
“Not a fool, then, after all! You did that well, girl. But you shall pay
for it--oh, yes, you shall pay for it! I have a long memory!”
“I’m surprised you should have been gulled so easily,” said Tuppence
scornfully. “Did you really think I was the kind of girl to roll about
on the floor and whine for mercy?”
“You may do--some day!” said the other significantly.
The cold malignity of her manner sent an unpleasant chill down
Tuppence’s spine, but she was not going to give in to it.
“Supposing we sit down,” she said pleasantly. “Our present attitude is
a little melodramatic. No--not on the bed. Draw a chair up to the table,
that’s right. Now I’ll sit opposite you with the revolver in front of
me--just in case of accidents. Splendid. Now, let’s talk.”
“What about?” said Mrs. Vandemeyer sullenly.
Tuppence eyed her thoughtfully for a minute. She was remembering several
things. Boris’s words, “I believe you would sell-- _us!_” and her
answer, “The price would have to be enormous,” given lightly, it was
true, yet might not there be a substratum of truth in it? Long ago,
had not Whittington asked: “Who’s been blabbing? Rita?” Would Rita
Vandemeyer prove to be the weak spot in the armour of Mr. Brown?
Keeping her eyes fixed steadily on the other’s face, Tuppence replied
quietly:
“Money----”
Mrs. Vandemeyer started. Clearly, the reply was unexpected.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you. You said just now that you had a long memory. A long
memory isn’t half as useful as a long purse! I dare say it relieves your
feelings a good deal to plan out all sorts of dreadful things to do to
me, but is that _practical?_ Revenge is very unsatisfactory. Every one
always says so. But money”--Tuppence warmed to her pet creed--“well,
there’s nothing unsatisfactory about money, is there?”
“Do you think,” said Mrs. Vandemeyer scornfully, “that I am the kind of
woman to sell my friends?”
“Yes,” said Tuppence promptly. “If the price was big enough.”
“A paltry hundred pounds or so!”
“No,” said Tuppence. “I should suggest--a hundred thousand!”
Her economical spirit did not permit her to mention the whole million
dollars suggested by Julius.
A flush crept over Mrs. Vandemeyer’s face.
“What did you say?” she asked, her fingers playing nervously with a
brooch on her breast. In that moment Tuppence knew that the fish was
hooked, and for the first time she felt a horror of her own money-loving
spirit. It gave her a dreadful sense of kinship to the woman fronting
her.
“A hundred thousand pounds,” repeated Tuppence.
The light died out of Mrs. Vandemeyer’s eyes. She leaned back in her
chair.
“Bah!” she said. “You haven’t got it.”
“No,” admitted Tuppence, “I haven’t--but I know some one who has.”
“Who?”
“A friend of mine.”
“Must be a millionaire,” remarked Mrs. Vandemeyer unbelievingly.
“As a matter of fact he is. He’s an American. He’ll pay you that
without a murmur. You can take it from me that it’s a perfectly genuine
proposition.”
Mrs. Vandemeyer sat up again.
“I’m inclined to believe you,” she said slowly.
There was silence between them for some time, then Mrs. Vandemeyer
looked up.
“What does he want to know, this friend of yours?”
Tuppence went through a momentary struggle, but it was Julius’s money,
and his interests must come first.
“He wants to know where Jane Finn is,” she said boldly.
Mrs. Vandemeyer showed no surprise.
“I’m not sure where she is at the present moment,” she replied.
“But you could find out?”
“Oh, yes,” returned Mrs. Vandemeyer carelessly. “There would be no
difficulty about that.”
“Then”--Tuppence’s voice shook a little--“there’s a boy, a friend of
mine. I’m afraid something’s happened to him, through your pal Boris.”
“What’s his name?”
“Tommy Beresford.”
“Never heard of him. But I’ll ask Boris. He’ll tell me anything he
knows.”
“Thank you.” Tuppence felt a terrific rise in her spirits. It impelled
her to more audacious efforts. “There’s one thing more.”
“Well?”
Tuppence leaned forward and lowered her voice.
_“Who is Mr. Brown?”_
Her quick eyes saw the sudden paling of the beautiful face. With an
effort Mrs. Vandemeyer pulled herself together and tried to resume her
former manner. But the attempt was a mere parody.
She shrugged her shoulders.
“You can’t have learnt much about us if you don’t know that _nobody
knows who Mr. Brown is_....”
“You do,” said Tuppence quietly.
Again the colour deserted the other’s face.
“What makes you think that?”
“I don’t know,” said the girl truthfully. “But I’m sure.”
Mrs. Vandemeyer stared in front of her for a long time.
“Yes,” she said hoarsely, at last, “_I_ know. I was beautiful, you
see--very beautiful----”
“You are still,” said Tuppence with admiration.
Mrs. Vandemeyer shook her head. There was a strange gleam in her
electric-blue eyes.
“Not beautiful enough,” she said in a soft dangerous voice.
“Not--beautiful--enough! And sometimes, lately, I’ve been afraid....
It’s dangerous to know too much!” She leaned forward across the table.
“Swear that my name shan’t be brought into it--that no one shall ever
know.”
“I swear it. And, once’s he caught, you’ll be out of danger.”
A terrified look swept across Mrs. Vandemeyer’s face.
“Shall I? Shall I ever be?” She clutched Tuppence’s arm. “You’re sure
about the money?”
“Quite sure.”
“When shall I have it? There must be no delay.”
“This friend of mine will be here presently. He may have to send cables,
or something like that. But there won’t be any delay--he’s a terrific
hustler.”
A resolute look settled on Mrs. Vandemeyer’s face.
“I’ll do it. It’s a great sum of money, and besides”--she gave a curious
smile--“it is not--wise to throw over a woman like me!”
For a moment or two, she remained smiling, and lightly tapping her
fingers on the table. Suddenly she started, and her face blanched.
“What was that?”
“I heard nothing.”
Mrs. Vandemeyer gazed round her fearfully.
“If there should be some one listening----”
“Nonsense. Who could there be?”
“Even the walls might have ears,” whispered the other. “I tell you I’m
frightened. You don’t know him!”
“Think of the hundred thousand pounds,” said Tuppence soothingly.
Mrs. Vandemeyer passed her tongue over her dried lips.
“You don’t know him,” she reiterated hoarsely. “He’s--ah!”
With a shriek of terror she sprang to her feet. Her outstretched hand
pointed over Tuppence’s head. Then she swayed to the ground in a dead
faint.
Tuppence looked round to see what had startled her.
In the doorway were Sir James Peel Edgerton and Julius Hersheimmer.
CHAPTER XIII. THE VIGIL
SIR James brushed past Julius and hurriedly bent over the fallen woman.
“Heart,” he said sharply. “Seeing us so suddenly must have given her a
shock. Brandy--and quickly, or she’ll slip through our fingers.”
Julius hurried to the washstand.
“Not there,” said Tuppence over her shoulder. “In the tantalus in the
dining-room. Second door down the passage.”
Between them Sir James and Tuppence lifted Mrs. Vandemeyer and carried
her to the bed. There they dashed water on her face, but with no result.
The lawyer fingered her pulse.
“Touch and go,” he muttered. “I wish that young fellow would hurry up
with the brandy.”
At that moment Julius re-entered the room, carrying a glass half full of
the spirit which he handed to Sir James. While Tuppence lifted her head
the lawyer tried to force a little of the spirit between her closed
lips. Finally the woman opened her eyes feebly. Tuppence held the glass
to her lips.
“Drink this.”
Mrs. Vandemeyer complied. The brandy brought the colour back to her
white cheeks, and revived her in a marvellous fashion. She tried to sit
up--then fell back with a groan, her hand to her side.
“It’s my heart,” she whispered. “I mustn’t talk.”
She lay back with closed eyes.
Sir James kept his finger on her wrist a minute longer, then withdrew it
with a nod.
“She’ll do now.”
All three moved away, and stood together talking in low voices. One
and all were conscious of a certain feeling of anticlimax. Clearly any
scheme for cross-questioning the lady was out of the question for the
moment. For the time being they were baffled, and could do nothing.
Tuppence related how Mrs. Vandemeyer had declared herself willing
to disclose the identity of Mr. Brown, and how she had consented to
discover and reveal to them the whereabouts of Jane Finn. Julius was
congratulatory.
“That’s all right, Miss Tuppence. Splendid! I guess that hundred
thousand pounds will look just as good in the morning to the lady as it
did over night. There’s nothing to worry over. She won’t speak without
the cash anyway, you bet!”
There was certainly a good deal of common sense in this, and Tuppence
felt a little comforted.
“What you say is true,” said Sir James meditatively. “I must confess,
however, that I cannot help wishing we had not interrupted at the minute
we did. Still, it cannot be helped, it is only a matter of waiting until
the morning.”
He looked across at the inert figure on the bed. Mrs. Vandemeyer lay
perfectly passive with closed eyes. He shook his head.
“Well,” said Tuppence, with an attempt at cheerfulness, “we must wait
until the morning, that’s all. But I don’t think we ought to leave the
flat.”
“What about leaving that bright boy of yours on guard?”
“Albert? And suppose she came round again and hooked it. Albert couldn’t
stop her.”
“I guess she won’t want to make tracks away from the dollars.”
“She might. She seemed very frightened of ‘Mr. Brown.’”
“What? Real plumb scared of him?”
“Yes. She looked round and said even walls had ears.”
“Maybe she meant a dictaphone,” said Julius with interest.
“Miss Tuppence is right,” said Sir James quietly. “We must not leave the
flat--if only for Mrs. Vandemeyer’s sake.”
Julius stared at him.
“You think he’d get after her? Between now and to-morrow morning. How
could he know, even?”
“You forget your own suggestion of a dictaphone,” said Sir James dryly.
“We have a very formidable adversary. I believe, if we exercise all due
care, that there is a very good chance of his being delivered into our
hands. But we must neglect no precaution. We have an important witness,
but she must be safeguarded. I would suggest that Miss Tuppence should
go to bed, and that you and I, Mr. Hersheimmer, should share the vigil.”
Tuppence was about to protest, but happening to glance at the bed she
saw Mrs. Vandemeyer, her eyes half-open, with such an expression of
mingled fear and malevolence on her face that it quite froze the words
on her lips.
For a moment she wondered whether the faint and the heart attack had
been a gigantic sham, but remembering the deadly pallor she could hardly
credit the supposition. As she looked the expression disappeared as by
magic, and Mrs. Vandemeyer lay inert and motionless as before. For a
moment the girl fancied she must have dreamt it. But she determined
nevertheless to be on the alert.
“Well,” said Julius, “I guess we’d better make a move out of here any
way.”
The others fell in with his suggestion. Sir James again felt Mrs.
Vandemeyer’s pulse.
“Perfectly satisfactory,” he said in a low voice to Tuppence. “She’ll be
absolutely all right after a night’s rest.”
The girl hesitated a moment by the bed. The intensity of the expression
she had surprised had impressed her powerfully. Mrs. Vandemeyer lifted
her lids. She seemed to be struggling to speak. Tuppence bent over her.
“Don’t--leave----” she seemed unable to proceed, murmuring something
that sounded like “sleepy.” Then she tried again.
Tuppence bent lower still. It was only a breath.
“Mr.--Brown----” The voice stopped.
But the half-closed eyes seemed still to send an agonized message.
Moved by a sudden impulse, the girl said quickly:
“I shan’t leave the flat. I shall sit up all night.”
A flash of relief showed before the lids descended once more. Apparently
Mrs. Vandemeyer slept. But her words had awakened a new uneasiness in
Tuppence. What had she meant by that low murmur: “Mr. Brown?” Tuppence
caught herself nervously looking over her shoulder. The big wardrobe
loomed up in a sinister fashion before her eyes. Plenty of room for a
man to hide in that.... Half-ashamed of herself, Tuppence pulled it open
and looked inside. No one--of course! She stooped down and looked under
the bed. There was no other possible hiding-place.
Tuppence gave her familiar shake of the shoulders. It was absurd, this
giving way to nerves! Slowly she went out of the room. Julius and Sir
James were talking in a low voice. Sir James turned to her.
“Lock the door on the outside, please, Miss Tuppence, and take out the
key. There must be no chance of anyone entering that room.”
The gravity of his manner impressed them, and Tuppence felt less ashamed
of her attack of “nerves.”
“Say,” remarked Julius suddenly, “there’s Tuppence’s bright boy. I guess
I’d better go down and ease his young mind. That’s some lad, Tuppence.”
“How did you get in, by the way?” asked Tuppence suddenly. “I forgot to
ask.”
“Well, Albert got me on the phone all right. I ran round for Sir James
here, and we came right on. The boy was on the look out for us, and was
just a mite worried about what might have happened to you. He’d been
listening outside the door of the flat, but couldn’t hear anything.
Anyhow he suggested sending us up in the coal lift instead of ringing
the bell. And sure enough we landed in the scullery and came right along
to find you. Albert’s still below, and must be just hopping mad by this
time.” With which Julius departed abruptly.
“Now then, Miss Tuppence,” said Sir James, “you know this place better
than I do. Where do you suggest we should take up our quarters?”
Tuppence considered for a moment or two.
“I think Mrs. Vandemeyer’s boudoir would be the most comfortable,” she
said at last, and led the way there.
Sir James looked round approvingly.
“This will do very well, and now, my dear young lady, do go to bed and
get some sleep.”
Tuppence shook her head resolutely.
“I couldn’t, thank you, Sir James. I should dream of Mr. Brown all
night!”
“But you’ll be so tired, child.”
“No, I shan’t. I’d rather stay up--really.”
The lawyer gave in.
Julius reappeared some minutes later, having reassured Albert and
rewarded him lavishly for his services. Having in his turn failed to
persuade Tuppence to go to bed, he said decisively:
“At any rate, you’ve got to have something to eat right away. Where’s
the larder?”
Tuppence directed him, and he returned in a few minutes with a cold pie
and three plates.
After a hearty meal, the girl felt inclined to pooh-pooh her fancies of
half an hour before. The power of the money bribe could not fail.
“And now, Miss Tuppence,” said Sir James, “we want to hear your
adventures.”
“That’s so,” agreed Julius.
Tuppence narrated her adventures with some complacence. Julius
occasionally interjected an admiring “Bully.” Sir James said nothing
until she had finished, when his quiet “well done, Miss Tuppence,” made
her flush with pleasure.
“There’s one thing I don’t get clearly,” said Julius. “What put her up
to clearing out?”
“I don’t know,” confessed Tuppence.
Sir James stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“The room was in great disorder. That looks as though her flight was
unpremeditated. Almost as though she got a sudden warning to go from
some one.”
“Mr. Brown, I suppose,” said Julius scoffingly.
The lawyer looked at him deliberately for a minute or two.
“Why not?” he said. “Remember, you yourself have once been worsted by
him.”
Julius flushed with vexation.
“I feel just mad when I think of how I handed out Jane’s photograph to
him like a lamb. Gee, if I ever lay hands on it again, I’ll freeze on to
it like--like hell!”
“That contingency is likely to be a remote one,” said the other dryly.
“I guess you’re right,” said Julius frankly. “And, in any case, it’s the
original I’m out after. Where do you think she can be, Sir James?”
The lawyer shook his head.
“Impossible to say. But I’ve a very good idea where she _has_ been.”
“You have? Where?”
Sir James smiled.
“At the scene of your nocturnal adventures, the Bournemouth nursing
home.”
“There? Impossible. I asked.”
“No, my dear sir, you asked if anyone of the name of Jane Finn had been
there. Now, if the girl had been placed there it would almost certainly
be under an assumed name.”
“Bully for you,” cried Julius. “I never thought of that!”
“It was fairly obvious,” said the other.
“Perhaps the doctor’s in it too,” suggested Tuppence.
Julius shook his head.
“I don’t think so. I took to him at once. No, I’m pretty sure Dr. Hall’s
all right.”
“Hall, did you say?” asked Sir James. “That is curious--really very
curious.”
“Why?” demanded Tuppence.
“Because I happened to meet him this morning. I’ve known him slightly on
and off for some years, and this morning I ran across him in the street.
Staying at the _Métropole_, he told me.” He turned to Julius. “Didn’t
he tell you he was coming up to town?”
Julius shook his head.
“Curious,” mused Sir James. “You did not mention his name this
afternoon, or I would have suggested your going to him for further
information with my card as introduction.”
“I guess I’m a mutt,” said Julius with unusual humility. “I ought to
have thought of the false name stunt.”
“How could you think of anything after falling out of that tree?” cried
Tuppence. “I’m sure anyone else would have been killed right off.”
“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter now, anyway,” said Julius. “We’ve got
Mrs. Vandemeyer on a string, and that’s all we need.”
“Yes,” said Tuppence, but there was a lack of assurance in her voice.
A silence settled down over the party. Little by little the magic of
the night began to gain a hold on them. There were sudden creaks of the
furniture, imperceptible rustlings in the curtains. Suddenly Tuppence
sprang up with a cry.
“I can’t help it. I know Mr. Brown’s somewhere in the flat! I can _feel_
him.”
“Sure, Tuppence, how could he be? This door’s open into the hall. No
one could have come in by the front door without our seeing and hearing
him.”
“I can’t help it. I _feel_ he’s here!”
She looked appealingly at Sir James, who replied gravely:
“With due deference to your feelings, Miss Tuppence (and mine as well
for that matter), I do not see how it is humanly possible for anyone to
be in the flat without our knowledge.”
The girl was a little comforted by his words.
“Sitting up at night is always rather jumpy,” she confessed.
“Yes,” said Sir James. “We are in the condition of people holding a
séance. Perhaps if a medium were present we might get some marvellous
results.”
“Do you believe in spiritualism?” asked Tuppence, opening her eyes wide.
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders.
“There is some truth in it, without a doubt. But most of the testimony
would not pass muster in the witness-box.”
The hours drew on. With the first faint glimmerings of dawn, Sir James
drew aside the curtains. They beheld, what few Londoners see, the slow
rising of the sun over the sleeping city. Somehow, with the coming
of the light, the dreads and fancies of the past night seemed absurd.
Tuppence’s spirits revived to the normal.
“Hooray!” she said. “It’s going to be a gorgeous day. And we shall find
Tommy. And Jane Finn. And everything will be lovely. I shall ask Mr.
Carter if I can’t be made a Dame!”
At seven o’clock Tuppence volunteered to go and make some tea. She
returned with a tray, containing the teapot and four cups.
“Who’s the other cup for?” inquired Julius.
“The prisoner, of course. I suppose we might call her that?”
“Taking her tea seems a kind of anticlimax to last night,” said Julius
thoughtfully.
“Yes, it does,” admitted Tuppence. “But, anyway, here goes. Perhaps
you’d both come, too, in case she springs on me, or anything. You see,
we don’t know what mood she’ll wake up in.”
Sir James and Julius accompanied her to the door.
“Where’s the key? Oh, of course, I’ve got it myself.”
She put it in the lock, and turned it, then paused.
“Supposing, after all, she’s escaped?” she murmured in a whisper.
“Plumb impossible,” replied Julius reassuringly.
But Sir James said nothing.
Tuppence drew a long breath and entered. She heaved a sigh of relief as
she saw that Mrs. Vandemeyer was lying on the bed.
“Good morning,” she remarked cheerfully. “I’ve brought you some tea.”
Mrs. Vandemeyer did not reply. Tuppence put down the cup on the table
by the bed and went across to draw up the blinds. When she turned, Mrs.
Vandemeyer still lay without a movement. With a sudden fear clutching
at her heart, Tuppence ran to the bed. The hand she lifted was cold as
ice.... Mrs. Vandemeyer would never speak now....
Her cry brought the others. A very few minutes sufficed. Mrs. Vandemeyer
was dead--must have been dead some hours. She had evidently died in her
sleep.
“If that isn’t the cruellest luck,” cried Julius in despair.
The lawyer was calmer, but there was a curious gleam in his eyes.
“If it is luck,” he replied.
“You don’t think--but, say, that’s plumb impossible--no one could have
got in.”
“No,” admitted the lawyer. “I don’t see how they could. And yet--she is
on the point of betraying Mr. Brown, and--she dies. Is it only chance?”
“But how----”
“Yes, _how!_ Th
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