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THE SECRET
ADVERSARY
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
I The Young Adventurers, Ltd.
II Mr. Whittington's Offer
III A Set Back
IV Who Is Jane Finn?
V 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 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 Annette
XVIII The Telegram
XIX Jane Finn
XX Too Late
XXI Tommy Makes a Discovery
XXII In Downing Street
XXIII A Race Against Time
XXIV Julius 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
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 brighter 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 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?"
"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 L100 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'oeuvre, Lobster a l'americane, Chicken Newberg,
and Peche 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'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 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 Peche 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.