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The passage as it is.
 
 

 

 

 


THE SECRET

ADVERSARY

 

AGATHA CHRISTIE

 

 

TO ALL THOSE WHO LEAD

MONOTONOUS LIVES

IN THE HOPE THAT THEY MAY EXPERIENCE<= /span>

AT SECOND HAND

THE DELIGHTS AND DANGERS OF

ADVENTURE

 

 

 

CONTENTS

 

Prologue

I    &n= bsp; The Young Adventurers, Ltd.

II     Mr. Whittington's Offer

III    A Set Back

IV     Who Is Jane Finn?

V    &n= bsp; Mr. Julius P. Hersheimmer

VI     A Plan of Campaign

VII    The House in Soho

VIII   The Adventures of Tommy

IX     Tuppence Enters Domestic Service

X    &n= bsp; Enter Sir James Peel Edgerton

XI     Julius Tells a Story

XII    A Friend in Need

XIII   The= Vigil

XIV    A Consultation

XV     Tuppence Receives a Proposal

XVI    Further Adventures of Tommy

XVII   Ann= ette

XVIII  The Tele= gram

XIX    Jane Finn

XX     Too Late

XXI    Tommy Makes a Discovery

XXII   In = Downing Street

XXIII  A Race A= gainst Time

XXIV   Jul= ius Takes a Hand

XXV    Jane's Story

XXVI   Mr.= Brown

XXVII  A Supper= Party at the Savoy

XXVIII And After

 

 

 

 

PROLOGUE

 

IT was 2 p.m. on the afternoon of May 7, 1915.  The Lusitania had<= /span>

been struck by two torpedoes in succession and was sinking

rapidly, while the boats were being launched with all possib= le

speed. The women and children were being lined up awaiting t= heir

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 you= ng,

not more than eighteen.&nbs= p; She did not seem afraid, and her grave= ,

steadfast eyes looked straight ahead<= /span>.

 

"I beg your pardon<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >."

 

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 spok= e

to him he was quick to rebuff the overture. Also he had a nervous

way of looking over his shoulder with a swift, suspicious gl= ance.

 

She noticed now that he was greatly agitated.  There were beads<= /span>

of perspiration on his brow.  He was evidently in a state of

overmastering fear. And yet he did not strike her as the kin= d 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 irresolutio= n.

 

"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 mu= ch 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<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >

lowered his voice.  "I'm carrying papers--vitally important<= /span>

papers. They may make all the difference to the Allies in th= e

war. You understand?  These papers have GOT to be saved! They've<= /span>

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<= /span>

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 col= umn 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 ta= ke

the packet to the American Embassy, and deliver it into the<= /span>

Ambassador's own hands.&nbs= p; 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 lo= uder tone.

 

Her hand closed on the oilskin packet that had lain in his p= alm.

 

The Lusitania<= /st1:State> settled with a more decided list to starboard. In<= /span>

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<= /span>

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," continu= ed 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 wer= e.

Let's get out of it."

 

The girl assenting, they started walking down Dover Street<= /span>

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."<= span style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'>  She pounced at<= /span>

once.

 

"Tommy, you're stony!"

 

"Not a bit of it," declared Tommy unconvincingly. "Rolling in

cash."

 

"You always were a shocking liar," said Tupp= ence severely,

"though you did once persuade Sister Greenbank th= at 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!  Goo= d 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<= /span>

the way upstairs.

 

The place was full, and they wandered about looking for a ta= ble,

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<= /span>

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 par= cels,

and Tuppence deftly ensconced herself in one of the vacant s= eats.

 

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 t= here.

Tuppence had no claim to beauty, but there was character and=

charm in the elfin lines of her little face, with its determ= ined

chin and large, wide-apart grey eyes that looked mistily out from

under straight, black brows.  She wore a small bright green toqu= e

over her black bobbed hair, and her extremely short and rath= er

shabby skirt revealed a pair of uncommonly dainty ankles. He= r

appearance presented a valiant attempt at smartness.

 

The tea came at last, and Tuppence, rousing herself from a f= it 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<= /span>

hospital in 1916."

 

"Very well."  Tuppence helped herself liberally = to buttered

toast. "Abridged biography of Miss Prudence Cowley, fif= th

daughter of Archdeacon Cowley of Little Missendell, Suffolk.

Miss Cowley left the delights (and drudgeries) of her home l= ife

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 pai= l.

Sixth month:  Promoted to waiting at table.  Seventh month:

Pleasing appearance and nice manners so striking that am promoted

to waiting on the Sisters!&= nbsp; 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<= /span>

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 Beresfor= d

(bow, Tommy!), whom I had not seen for five long years.  The<= /span>

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 gener= al!"

The last was the pleasantest. He was quite a young general!"

 

"What brighter was that?" inquired Tommy.  "Perfectly sickening

the way those brass hats drove from the War Office to the Savoy,

and from the S= avoy 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<= /span>

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 Armist= ice

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 wounde= d

for the second time, and went into hospital out there. Then I got

stuck in Egypt till the Armistice happened, kicked my heels there<= /span>

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<= /span>

any jobs!  And,= if there were, they wouldn't give 'em to me. What

good am I?  Wha= t do I know about business?  Nothing<= /span>."

 

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<= /span>

her. Just a bit of spite."

 

"Your mother's dead, isn't she?" said Tuppen= ce 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.&n= bsp; 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<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >?"

 

"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!&nb= sp; He has that delightful early Victorian

view that short skirts and smoking are immoral. You can imag= ine

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 moth= ers' meetings!  I<= /span>

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 gettin= g it too,"=

continued Tuppence.  "There are only three!  To be left it, to

marry it, or to make it.&nb= sp; First is ruled out. I haven't got any

rich elderly relatives.&nbs= p; 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 t= urn

out to be eccentric millionaires. But not one of them has ev= er

asked me my name--and quite a lot never said 'Thank you.'&n= bsp; "

 

There was a pause.

 

"Of course," resumed Tuppence, "marriag= e 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," s= he 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.<= span style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'>  "But I dare say you

mean it all right.  Well, there it is! I'm ready and willing--but<= /span>

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.  &quo= t;No, there it is!  Now you could ma= rry a rich girl."=

 

"I'm like you.&n= bsp; I don't know any."

 

"That doesn't matter.  You can always get to know one. No= w, 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 simila= rly 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 Tom= my.

 

"On the other hand," proceeded Tuppence, "my millionaire would

probably run for his life!&= nbsp; No--marriage is fraught with

difficulties.  Remains--to MAKE money!"

 

"We've tried that, and failed," Tommy remind= ed 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 steal= ing a

diamond necklace for yourself and being hired to steal it."

 

"There wouldn't be the least difference if you we= re caught!"=

 

"Perhaps not.&nb= sp; 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?&= nbsp; Shall we form a

business partnership?"

 

"Form a company for the stealing of diamond neckl= aces?"

 

"That was only an illustration.  Let's have a--what do you call

it in book-keeping?"

 

"Don't know.&nbs= p; Never did any."

 

"I have--but I always got mixed up, and used to p= ut 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 gall= eons

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 mi= ght be something

in it."

 

"How do you propose to get in touch with your would-be

employers?"

 

"Advertisement," replied Tuppence promptly.<= span style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'>  "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 Tuppen= ce

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 sor= t

of thing might touch the heart of an elderly spinster, and s= he

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 th= ing.

Now listen--how's this?&nbs= p; '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 UNreasonable one!"

 

"Tommy!  You're a genius!  That'= s ever so much more chic. 'No

unreasonable offer refused--if pay is good.'  How's that<= /span>?"

 

"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<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >

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 el= se 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.  T= imes, I think. Reply to

Box so-and-so. I expect it will be about five shillings. Her= e'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<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >?"

 

"Tommy, you're a sport!  I knew you would be!  Let's drink to<= /span>

success." She poured some cold dregs of tea into the two cups.

 

"Here's to our joint venture, and may it prosper<= /span>!"

 

"The Young Adventurers, Ltd.!" responded Tom= my.

 

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 statio= n. 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. Tuppen= ce'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.  WHITTINGTO= N'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<= /span>:

 

"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 particu= lar

motive which she had at first attributed to him.  She looked him<= /span>

up and down.  H= e was a big man, clean shaven, with a heavy jowl.

His eyes were small and cunning, and shifted their glance un= der

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 Ly= ons'."

 

"Well--what of it?"

 

"Nothing--except that I think I may be of some us= e to you."=

 

Another inference forced itself into Tuppence's mind<= span dir=3DRTL>:

 

"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 wit= h a

bow.

 

Tuppence took it and scrutinized it carefully.  It bore the<= /span>

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 el= even o'clock, I

will lay the details of my proposition before you."

 

"At eleven o'clock?" said Tuppence doubtfull= y.

 

"At eleven o'clock<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >."

 

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<= /span>

curious movement of her shoulders, rather as a terrier shake= s

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 han= d,

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 tur= ned

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 spu= rred

her to action, and she decided to risk the waste of ninepenc= e.

 

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 i= t to Tommy

at his club, from which in one short month he would have to<= /span>

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 ho= me,

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 munch= ed

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 a= n

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 lo= ok

over-eager. So Tuppence decided to walk to the end of the st= reet

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 t= o

walk up.

 

Slightly out of breath, she came to a halt outside the groun= d

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<= /span>

papers. Tuppence felt her previous judgment confirmed.  There was<= /span>

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<= /span>

you?"

 

Tuppence sat down on the chair facing him.  She looked<= /span>

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 L100 down, and all<= /span>

expenses paid?" Mr. Whittington leaned back in his chai= r, 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 someho= w 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<= /span>

than ever puzzled.

 

"You want me to go to Madame Colombier's? For how long?"=

 

"That depends.&n= bsp; Possibly three months."

 

"And that is all?  There are no other conditions?"

 

"None whatever.&= nbsp; You would, of course, go in the character of my<= /span>

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 g= irl. I dare say

I picked it up from her.&nb= sp; I can soon get out of it again."

 

"On the contrary, it might be simpler for you to = pass as an

American.  Deta= ils 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<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >

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 cou= ld

doubtless obtain some one else for very much less. What I am=

willing to pay for is a young lady with sufficient intellige= nce

and presence of mind to sustain her part well, and also one = who

will have sufficient discretion not to ask too many question= s."

 

Tuppence smiled a little.&n= bsp; She felt that Whittington had scored.

 

"There's another thing.  So far there has been no mention o= f Mr.

Beresford.  Whe= re 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<= span dir=3DRTL>.

Sorry--but that's how it is.  Good morning, Mr. Whittington."

 

"Wait a minute.&= nbsp; Let us see if something can't be managed. Sit<= /span>

down again, Miss----" He paused interrogatively<= span dir=3DRTL>.

 

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 paus= ed open-mouthed at

the effect of those two simple words<= /span>.

 

All the geniality had faded out of Whittington's face. It wa= s

purple with rage, and the veins stood out on the forehead. A= nd

behind it all there lurked a sort of incredulous dismay. He<= /span>

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 s= he

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, li= ke 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<= /span>

was ebbing out of his face.=   He eyed her keenly.  "Who's been

blabbing?  Rita= ?"

 

Tuppence shook her head.&nb= sp; 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<= /span>.

 

"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 allay= ed.

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 g= irls 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 b= ang.

 

"Quit fooling!&n= bsp; How much do you know?  = And how much do you want?"

 

The last five words took Tuppence's fancy mightily, especial= ly

after a meagre breakfast and a supper of buns the night befo= re.

Her present part was of the adventuress rather than the

adventurous order, but she did not deny its possibilities. S= he

sat up and smiled with the air of one who has the situation<= /span>

thoroughly well in hand.

 

"My dear Mr. Whittington," she said, "l= et us by all means lay our

cards upon the table.  And pray do not be so angry. You heard me<= /span>

say yesterday that I proposed to live by my wits. It seems t= o 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 e= nds

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 th= en

said softly:

 

"I shouldn't like to contradict you, Mr. Whitting= ton."

 

"So we come to the usual question--how much?"

 

Tuppence was in a dilemma.&= nbsp; 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 fu= ller 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,&quo= t; 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 lai= d a

paper at his master's elbow.

 

"Telephone message just come for you, sir<= span dir=3DRTL>."

 

Whittington snatched it up and read it.  A frown gathered on his

brow.

 

"That'll do, Brown.  You can go<= /span>."

 

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 he= r 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!"  Whitt= ington 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 b= een.

To begin with, the resources of Tommy's pockets were somewha= t

limited. In the end the fare was managed, the lady recollect= ing a

plebeian twopence, and the driver, still holding the varied<= /span>

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 ta= xi 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 belie= ve

it.  I found th= at out this morning. Now let's go to lunch.  How

about the Savo= y?"

 

Tommy grinned.

 

"How about the Ritz= ?"

 

"On second thoughts, I prefer the Piccadilly.  It's nearer. We<= /span>

shan't have to take another taxi.  Come along<= /span>."

 

"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<= /span>

money, and the shock has been too much for me!  For that

particular form of mental trouble an eminent physician recommends

unlimited Hors d'oeuvre, Lobster a l'americane, Chicken Newb= erg,

and Peche Melba!  Let's go and get them!"

 

"Tuppence, old girl, what has really come over yo= u?"

 

"Oh, unbelieving one!"  Tuppence wrenched open her bag. "Look

here, and here, and here!"

 

"Great Jehosaphat!  My dear girl, don't wave Fishers a= loft like

that!"

 

"They're not Fishers.  They're five times better than Fis= hers,

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 bein= g

waved about in a dangerous fashion?"

 

"Even so, O King!  Now, will you come and have lunch<= /span>?"

 

"I'll come anywhere.  But what have you been doing? Hold= ing 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 Tuppe= nce.

 

"That's mere wicked wanton extravagance.  Come on below."

 

"Are you sure I can get all the things I want the= re?"

 

"That extremely unwholesome menu you were outlini= ng 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'oeuvre 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 yesterd= ay 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.&nbs= p; I remember now.  How extraordinary----" Tuppence

tailed off into silence.&nb= sp; 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<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >

dark."

 

"That's him," cried Tuppence, in an ungrammatical squeal. "That's

Whittington!  W= hat 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!&q= uot; Tuppence tackled

her Peche Melba happily.

 

But Tommy had become serious.

 

"Look here, Tuppence, old girl, what is this goin= g to lead to?"=

 

"More money," replied his companion.

 

"I know that.&nb= sp; 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.&nb= sp; 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 re= ally

know anything."

 

"Hm," said Tommy doubtfully.  "Well, anyway, what ARE we go= ing to

do? Whittington was in a hurry to get rid of you this mornin= g,

but next time he'll want to know something more before he pa= rts

with his money. He'll want to know how much YOU know, and wh= ere

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.&= nbsp; Order some Turkish coffee, Tommy.&n= bsp; 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 mo= re

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 relap= sed into silence.

 

"There!" said Tuppence at last.  "I've got a plan. Obviously w= hat

we've got to do is to find out more about it all."

 

Tommy applauded.

 

"Don't jeer.&nbs= p; 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<= /span>

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 cr= owd."

 

"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 does= n't

matter if I don't get any more money at once. Fifty pounds o= ught

to last us a few days."

 

"Or even longer!"

 

"You'll hang about outside.  When I come out I shan't speak to<= /span>

you in case he's watching.&= nbsp; 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 stre= et

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<= /span>

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<= /span>

you doing this afternoon?"

 

"Well," said Tuppence meditatively.  "I HAD thought of hats! Or

perhaps silk stockings!&nbs= p; Or perhaps----"

 

"Hold hard," admonished Tommy.  "There's a limit to fifty pou= nds!

But let's do dinner and a show to-night at all events= ."

 

"Rather."

 

The day passed pleasantly.&= nbsp; The evening even more so. Two of the

five-pound notes were now irretrievably dead.

 

They met by arrangement the following morning and proceeded<= /span>

citywards. Tommy remained on the opposite side of the road w= hile

Tuppence plunged into the building.

 

Tommy strolled slowly down to the end of the street, then ba= ck

again. Just as he came abreast of the building, Tuppence dar= ted

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<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >.

 

"Were you wanting the Esthonia Glassware?"

 

"Yes, please."

 

"It's closed down.  Since yesterday afternoon.  Company being<= /span>

wound up, they say.  Not that I've ever heard of it myself. But<= /span>

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<= /span>.

 

"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 agai= n. Lend me that

bit of pencil.  Thanks.  Wait a minute--don't interrupt.  There!"

Tuppence handed back the pencil, and surveyed the piece of p= aper

on which she had written with a satisfied eye:

 

"What's that?"

 

"Advertisement."

 

"You're not going to put that thing in after all<= /span>?"

 

"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 l= ong

time. Luckily the weather was fine, and "walking is che= ap,"

dictated Tuppence.  An outlying picture house provided them with<= /span>

recreation for the evening.

 

The day of disillusionment had been a Wednesday.  On Thursday the<= /span>

advertisement had duly appeared.  On Friday letters might be<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >

expected to arrive at Tommy's rooms.

 

He had been bound by an honourable promise not to open any s= uch

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<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >

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.<= span style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'>  "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.&nb= sp; 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 Tuppe= nce 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 despa= ir

with which I have kindly provided you free of charge, let us= get

down to our mail, as the saying goes<= /span>."

 

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<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >."

 

"Right you are.&= nbsp; 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<= /span>.     

         "Yours truly,        =        

         "A. CARTER.

 

 

"27 Carshalton Gardens," said Tuppence, referri= ng to the address.

"That's Gloucester Road way.  Plenty of time to get there if we<= /span>

tube."

 

"The following," said Tommy, "is the pl= an 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 customar= y. He

then says:  'Pl= ease take a seat, Mr.--er?'  To whi= ch 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<= /span>

from the Ritz!"

 

"A hundred pounds instead of fifty!"

 

"I'll read it:

 

"DEAR SIR,

 

"Re your advertisement, I should be glad if you w= ould call round

somewhere about lunch-time.        =             

  <= /span>        =      "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 ra= ng 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<= /span>,

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, Tuppen= ce

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."&nbs= p; 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 remain= ed 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 persona= lity.

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.&= nbsp; 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 s= tory

from the forming of the Young Adventurers, Ltd., downwards.

 

Mr. Carter listened in silence with a resumption of his tire= d

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--y= ou

might succeed where others have failed . . . I believe in lu= ck,

you know--always have...."

 

He paused a moment, and then went on<= /span>.

 

"Well, how about it?  You're out for adventure.  How would you<= /span>

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 wid= er

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 t= ips

of his fingers together, and began in a low monotone<= span dir=3DRTL>:

 

"Secret diplomacy (which, by the way, is nearly always bad

policy!) does not concern you.  It will be sufficient to say that<= /span>

in the early days of 1915 a certain document came into being= . It

was the draft of a secret agreement--treaty--call it what yo= u

like. It was drawn up ready for signature by the various

representatives, and drawn up in America--at that time a neutr= al

country. It was dispatched to England by a special messenge= r

selected for that purpose, a young fellow called Danvers.  It was

hoped that the whole affair had been kept so secret that not= hing

would have leaked out.  That kind of hope is usually

disappointed. Somebody always talks!

 

"Danvers sailed for England on the Lusitania.  He carried the<= /span>

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. Danve= rs 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<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >

that strengthened the possibility of the latter theory. After the

torpedo struck the ship, in the few moments during the launc= hing

of the boats, D= anvers was seen speaking to a young American girl.

No one actually saw him pass anything to her, but he might h= ave

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<= /span>

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 shad= owed on the way over.  Was this gir= l

in league with his enemies? Or had she, in her turn, been

shadowed and either tricked or forced into handing over the<= /span>

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 litt= le to

help us.  She w= as 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.&nb= sp; 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 hos= pital 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 diplomat= ic

aspect changed accordingly, and the treaty was never redraft= ed.

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<= span dir=3DRTL>:

 

"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 destro= yed after all,

and that they might be resurrected to-day with a new and dea= dly

significance."

 

Tuppence stared.  Mr. Carter nodded.

 

"Yes, five years ago, that draft treaty was a wea= pon 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

Ger= many this time! That is an extreme possibility, and I do not

believe in its likelihood myself, but that document undoubte= dly

implicates a number of our statesmen whom we cannot afford t= o

have discredited in any way at the present moment.  As a party<= /span>

cry for Labour it would be irresistible, and a Labour Govern= ment

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 th= is country

for the specific purpose of procuring a Revolution.  And there is<= /span>

a certain man, a man whose real name is unknown to us, who i= s

working in the dark for his own ends. The Bolshevists are be= hind

the Labour unrest--but this man is BEHIND THE BOLSHEVISTS.  Who

is he?  We do n= ot know. He is always spoken of by the unassuming

title of 'Mr. Brown.'  But one thing is certain, he is the master<= /span>

criminal of this age. He controls a marvellous organization<= /span>.

Most of the Peace propaganda during the war was originated a= nd

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 pow= er

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<= /span>

are ignorant of it.  Where we have come across his tracks, he has<= /span>

always played a secondary part.  Somebody else assumes the chief

role. 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 esc= aped

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.&nb= sp; A curious point is that the name is usually<= /span>

mentioned. An idiosyncrasy of genius.  Can you describe him at

all?"

 

"I really didn't notice.  He was quite ordinary--just like a= nyone

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<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >?"

 

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 t= he

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.&nb= sp; You're such young things, both of you<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >.

I shouldn't like anything to happen to you."

 

"It won't," Tuppence assured him positively<= /span>.

 

"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<= /span>

hands, and that they intend to produce it at a given moment.  On<= /span>

the other hand, they are clearly at fault about many of its<= /span>

provisions. The Government consider it as mere bluff on thei= r

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<= /span>

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 w= ash.

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 THE= Y'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, th= ey'll produce a Jane Finn of their own--say at a

pensionnat in P= aris."  Tuppence gasped, and Mr. Carter sm= iled.

"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 t= he 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 sa= id.

 

 

 

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<= /span>

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<= /span>

Tuppence plumped out that name!  I should have myself. But look

here, sir, we're taking up an awful lot of your time. Have y= ou

any tips to give us before we clear out?"

 

"I think not.&nb= sp; My experts, working in stereotyped ways, have<= /span>

failed. You will bring imagination and an open mind to the t= ask.

Don't be discouraged if that too does not succeed. For one t= hing

there is a likelihood of the pace being forced."

 

Tuppence frowned uncomprehendingly.

 

"When you had that interview with Whittington, th= ey 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 stri= ke

menace.  They'l= l get wind of it soon, if they haven't already,

and it's possible that that may bring things to a head. I ho= pe it

will myself.  T= he less time they have to mature their plans the

better.  I'm ju= st 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<= /span>

easy proposition anyway.&nb= sp; 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 slightl= y,

but he replied succinctly:&= nbsp; "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 c= an'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 thing= s 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.&nb= sp; We've got plenty to go with for the present, but<= /span>

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 ha= ve to

fill up a blue form and send it in, and then, after three mo= nths,

they send us a green one, and so on--well, that won't be muc= h

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 hundre= d a

year? And an equal sum for Mr. Beresford, of course."

 

Tuppence beamed upon him.

 

"How lovely.&nbs= p; 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 wh= en I

think."

 

"I'm sure you do.  Well, good-bye, and good luck to y= ou both."=

 

He shook hands with them, and in another minute they were

descending the steps of 27 Carshalton Terrace with their hea= ds 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 bore= d, 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<= /span>

first.

 

"Julius P. Hersheimmer!"

 

"We never told Mr. Carter about hearing from him<= /span>."

 

"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 arriv= ing this way,"=

said Tuppence, leaning back luxuriously.  "I'm sure blackmailers=

never arrive in buses!"

 

"We've ceased being blackmailers," Tommy poi= nted out.

 

"I'm not sure I have," said Tuppence darkly<= /span>.

 

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 i= n.

 

Mr. Julius P. Hersheimmer was a great deal younger than eith= er

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 f= ace was pugnacious but pleasant. No one could have

mistaken him for anything but an American, though he spoke w= ith

very little accent.

 

"Get my note?&nb= sp; Sit down and tell me right away all you know about

my cousin."

 

"Your cousin?"

 

"Sure thing.&nbs= p; 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<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >

her back history you were after, and that you'd know where s= he

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<= /span>

Piccadilly."

 

Tommy hastened to explain.

 

"We haven't kidnapped your cousin.  On the contrary, we're trying

to find her.  W= e'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 age= nts"

commissioned to find her, and added that they would therefor= e 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<= /span>

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 m= ean?"

 

"Never seen her," responded Mr. Hersheimmer<= /span>.

 

"What?" demanded Tommy, astonished.

 

Hersheimmer turned to him.

 

"No, sir.  As I said before, my father and her mother were<= /span>

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 Fi= nn,

who was a poor school teacher out West, my father was just m= ad!

Said if he made his pile, as he seemed in a fair way to do, she'd

never see a cent of it.&nbs= p; 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 yo= u 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

abour{sic} your Aunt Jane, way out West?  It w= orried 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 lef= t a

daughter--Jane--who'd been torpedoed in the Lusitania on her way<= /span>

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<= /span>

rather choked me off, but Scotland Yard were very civil--sai= d

they would make inquiries, even sent a man round this mornin= g 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 af= ter her for anything?

Contempt of court, or something British?  A proud-spirited young

American girl might find your rules and regulations in war t= ime

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.&nb= sp; 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 b= owed

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<= /span>

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 g= ot 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 nex= t

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.  A= ll barriers went down with a crash, and Tommy and

Tuppence felt they had known the young American all their li= ves.

They abandoned the discreet reticence of "private inqui= ry

agents," and revealed to him the whole history of the j= oint

venture, whereat the young man declared himself "tickle= d 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 scar= ed 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 an= d

Tuppence took up their abode forthwith at the Ritz, in order= , as

Tuppence put it, to keep in touch with Jane Finn's only livi= ng

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<= /span>

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<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >."

 

"Therefore, as I said before, we must DO somethin= g."

 

"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 fu= nny, Tommy.  It<= /span>

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<= /span>

essential that we should without delay map out a plan of

campaign."

 

"Hear, hear!"

 

"Well, let's do it<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >."

 

Tommy laid his paper finally aside.  "There's something of the

simplicity of the truly great mind about you, Tuppence.  Fire

ahead.  I'm lis= tening."

 

"To begin with," said Tuppence, "what h= ave we to go upon?"

 

"Absolutely nothing," said Tommy cheerily.

 

"Wrong!"&nb= sp; 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 thous= and

to one against your running against him by accident."

 

"I'm not so sure about that," replied Tuppen= ce 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 sa= y, 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 T= ommy.

 

"How like a man!=   What does mere food matter?"

 

"That's all very well.  You've just had a thundering good<= /span>

breakfast. No one's got a better appetite than you have,

Tuppence, and by tea-time you'd be eating the flags, pins an= d

all.  But, hone= stly, I don't think much of the idea.  Whittington

mayn't be in Lo= ndon at all."=

 

"That's true.&nb= sp; Anyway, I think clue No. 2 is more promising<= /span>."

 

"Let's hear it."

 

"It's nothing much.  Only a Christian name--Rita.  Whittington<= /span>

mentioned it that day."

 

"Are you proposing a third advertisement:  Wanted, female crook,

answering to the name of Rita<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >?"

 

"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<= /span>?"

 

"If she wasn't, how would they have known Jane Fi= nn 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.&nb= sp; I wrote a long list of things I wanted to know,

and sent it to Mr. Carter.&= nbsp; I got his reply this morning, and

among other things it encloses the official statement of tho= se

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."  Toget= her they bent over the list. "You see,

very few Christian names are given.  They're nearly all Mrs. or<= span lang=3DAR-SA dir=3DRTL style=3D'font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Courier New"'= >

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 a= ll. We'll start

with the London= area.  Just note down the addr= esses 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 o= f 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 ga= rden.

Tommy paid off the taxi, and accompanied Tuppence to the fro= nt

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 asi= de, and see how easily

the mere male deals with the situation." He pressed the bell.

Tuppence withdrew to a suitable spot<= /span>.

 

A slatternly looking servant, with an extremely dirty face a= nd 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.&= nbsp; The new Voting Register.  Mrs. Edgar

 

 

Project to find use of m= ay in Agatha Chtistie

 
 

 

 

 

 <= /p>

= 1      Wait--I must warn you.<= span style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'>  There may be a risk--if I've been follow

= 2      nt in this morning's paper, I may be able to be of some = use to y

3      ETHING.  Of course, Jane Finn = may be dead for all we know--but I

4      othing--ex= cept that I think I may be of some use to you."  Anoth

5      , and it's possible that that may bring things to a head= . I hope

6       rene= w his subscription.  "It may catch him," she murmured.  "An

7      S LIVES IN= THE HOPE THAT THEY MAY EXPERIENCE AT SECOND HAND THE

8      nly a chan= ce, that this woman may have been 'Rita.' "  "And if s

9        "Excuse me," it said.&nbs= p; "But may I speak to you for a moment?"

10     e's to our joint venture, and may it prosper!"  "The Young Adven

11     itally important papers. They may make all the difference to the

12      and then s= aid quietly:  "You = may perhaps have heard or read tha

13     as 2 p.m. on the afternoon of May 7, 1915.  The Lusitania had be

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 <= /p>