CHAPTER V

MR.  JULIUS P. HERSHEIMMER


"WELL," said Tuppence, recovering herself, "it really seems as
though it were meant to be."

Carter nodded.

"I know what you mean.  I'm superstitious myself.  Luck, and all
that sort of thing.  Fate seems to have chosen you out to be
mixed up in this."

Tommy indulged in a chuckle.

"My word!  I don't wonder Whittington got the wind up when
Tuppence plumped out that name!  I should have myself. But look
here, sir, we're taking up an awful lot of your time. Have you
any tips to give us before we clear out?"

"I think not.  My experts, working in stereotyped ways, have
failed. You will bring imagination and an open mind to the task.
Don't be discouraged if that too does not succeed. For one thing
there is a likelihood of the pace being forced."

Tuppence frowned uncomprehendingly.

"When you had that interview with Whittington, they had time
before them. I have information that the big coup was planned for
early in the new year. But the Government is contemplating
legislative action which will deal effectually with the strike
menace.  They'll get wind of it soon, if they haven't already,
and it's possible that that may bring things to a head. I hope it
will myself.  The less time they have to mature their plans the
better.  I'm just warning you that you haven't much time before
you, and that you needn't be cast down if you fail.  It's not an
easy proposition anyway.  That's all."

Tuppence rose.

"I think we ought to be businesslike.  What exactly can we count
upon you for, Mr. Carter?"  Mr. Carter's lips twitched slightly,
but he replied succinctly:  "Funds within reason, detailed
information on any point, and NO OFFICIAL RECOGNITION.  I mean
that if you get yourselves into trouble with the police, I can't
officially help you out of it. You're on your own."

Tuppence nodded sagely.

"I quite understand that.  I'll write out a list of the things I
want to know when I've had time to think.  Now--about money----"

"Yes, Miss Tuppence.  Do you want to say how much?"

"Not exactly.  We've got plenty to go with for the present, but
when we want more----"

"It will be waiting for you."

"Yes, but--I'm sure I don't want to be rude about the Government
if you've got anything to do with it, but you know one really has
the devil of a time getting anything out of it! And if we have to
fill up a blue form and send it in, and then, after three months,
they send us a green one, and so on--well, that won't be much
use, will it?"

Mr. Carter laughed outright.

"Don't worry, Miss Tuppence.  You will send a personal demand to
me here, and the money, in notes, shall be sent by return of
post. As to salary, shall we say at the rate of three hundred a
year? And an equal sum for Mr. Beresford, of course."

Tuppence beamed upon him.

"How lovely.  You are kind.  I do love money!  I'll keep
beautiful accounts of our expenses all debit and credit, and the
balance on the right side, and red line drawn sideways with the
totals the same at the bottom. I really know how to do it when I
think."

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

He shook hands with them, and in another minute they were
descending the steps of 27 Carshalton Terrace with their heads in
a whirl.

"Tommy!  Tell me at once, who is 'Mr. Carter'?"

Tommy murmured a name in her ear.

"Oh!" said Tuppence, impressed.

"And I can tell you, old bean, he's IT!"

"Oh!" said Tuppence again.  Then she added reflectively,

"I like him, don't you?  He looks so awfully tired and bored, and
yet you feel that underneath he's just like steel, all keen and
flashing.  Oh!"  She gave a skip.  "Pinch me, Tommy, do pinch me.
I can't believe it's real!"

Mr. Beresford obliged.

"Ow!  That's enough!  Yes, we're not dreaming.  We've got a job!"

"And what a job!  The joint venture has really begun."

"It's more respectable than I thought it would be," said Tuppence
thoughtfully.

"Luckily I haven't got your craving for crime!  What time is it?
Let's have lunch--oh!"

The same thought sprang to the minds of each.  Tommy voiced it
first.

"Julius P. Hersheimmer!"

"We never told Mr. Carter about hearing from him."

"Well, there wasn't much to tell--not till we've seen him. Come
on, we'd better take a taxi."

"Now who's being extravagant?"

"All expenses paid, remember.  Hop in."

"At any rate, we shall make a better effect arriving this way,"
said Tuppence, leaning back luxuriously.  "I'm sure blackmailers
never arrive in buses!"

"We've ceased being blackmailers," Tommy pointed out.

"I'm not sure I have," said Tuppence darkly.

On inquiring for Mr. Hersheimmer, they were at once taken up to
his suite. An impatient voice cried "Come in" in answer to the
page-boy's knock, and the lad stood aside to let them pass in.

Mr. Julius P. Hersheimmer was a great deal younger than either
Tommy or Tuppence had pictured him.  The girl put him down as
thirty-five. He was of middle height, and squarely built to match
his jaw.  His face was pugnacious but pleasant. No one could have
mistaken him for anything but an American, though he spoke with
very little accent.

"Get my note?  Sit down and tell me right away all you know about
my cousin."

"Your cousin?"

"Sure thing.  Jane Finn."

"Is she your cousin?"

"My father and her mother were brother and sister," explained Mr.
Hersheimmer meticulously.

"Oh!" cried Tuppence.  "Then you know where she is?"

"No!"  Mr. Hersheimmer brought down his fist with a bang on the
table. "I'm darned if I do!  Don't you?"

"We advertised to receive information, not to give it," said
Tuppence severely.

"I guess I know that.  I can read.  But I thought maybe it was
her back history you were after, and that you'd know where she
was now?"

"Well, we wouldn't mind hearing her back history," said Tuppence
guardedly.

But Mr. Hersheimmer seemed to grow suddenly suspicious.

"See here," he declared.  "This isn't Sicily!  No demanding
ransom or threatening to crop her ears if I refuse. These are the
British Isles, so quit the funny business, or I'll just sing out
for that beautiful big British policeman I see out there in
Piccadilly."

Tommy hastened to explain.

"We haven't kidnapped your cousin.  On the contrary, we're trying
to find her.  We're employed to do so."

Mr. Hersheimmer leant back in his chair.

"Put me wise," he said succinctly.

Tommy fell in with this demand in so far as he gave him a guarded
version of the disappearance of Jane Finn, and of the possibility
of her having been mixed up unawares in "some political show." He
alluded to Tuppence and himself as "private inquiry agents"
commissioned to find her, and added that they would therefore be
glad of any details Mr. Hersheimmer could give them.

That gentleman nodded approval.

"I guess that's all right.  I was just a mite hasty. But London
gets my goat!  I only know little old New York.  Just trot out
your questions and I'll answer."

For the moment this paralysed the Young Adventurers, but
Tuppence, recovering herself, plunged boldly into the breach with
a reminiscence culled from detective fiction.

"When did you last see the dece--your cousin, I mean?"

"Never seen her," responded Mr. Hersheimmer.

"What?" demanded Tommy, astonished.

Hersheimmer turned to him.

"No, sir.  As I said before, my father and her mother were
brother and sister, just as you might be"--Tommy did not correct
this view of their relationship--"but they didn't always get on
together. And when my aunt made up her mind to marry Amos Finn,
who was a poor school teacher out West, my father was just mad!
Said if he made his pile, as he seemed in a fair way to do, she'd
never see a cent of it.  Well, the upshot was that Aunt Jane went
out West and we never heard from her again.

"The old man DID pile it up.  He went into oil, and he went into
steel, and he played a bit with railroads, and I can tell you he
made Wall Street sit up!"  He paused.  "Then he died--last
fall--and I got the dollars.  Well, would you believe it, my
conscience got busy!  Kept knocking me up and saying: What
abour{sic} your Aunt Jane, way out West?  It worried me some. You
see, I figured it out that Amos Finn would never make good. He
wasn't the sort.  End of it was, I hired a man to hunt her down.
Result, she was dead, and Amos Finn was dead, but they'd left a
daughter--Jane--who'd been torpedoed in the Lusitania on her way
to Paris.  She was saved all right, but they didn't seem able to
hear of her over this side. I guessed they weren't hustling any,
so I thought I'd come along over, and speed things up.  I phoned
Scotland Yard and the Admiralty first thing.  The Admiralty
rather choked me off, but Scotland Yard were very civil--said
they would make inquiries, even sent a man round this morning to
get her photograph. I'm off to Paris to-morrow, just to see what
the Prefecture is doing. I guess if I go to and fro hustling
them, they ought to get busy!"

The energy of Mr. Hersheimmer was tremendous.  They bowed before
it.

"But say now," he ended, "you're not after her for anything?
Contempt of court, or something British?  A proud-spirited young
American girl might find your rules and regulations in war time
rather irksome, and get up against it.  If that's the case, and
there's such a thing as graft in this country, I'll buy her off."

Tuppence reassured him.

"That's good.  Then we can work together.  What about some lunch?
Shall we have it up here, or go down to the restaurant?"

Tuppence expressed a preference for the latter, and Julius bowed
to her decision.

Oysters had just given place to Sole Colbert when a card was
brought to Hersheimmer.

"Inspector Japp, C.I.D. Scotland Yard again.  Another man this
time. What does he expect I can tell him that I didn't tell the
first chap?  I hope they haven't lost that photograph. That
Western photographer's place was burned down and all his
negatives destroyed--this is the only copy in existence. I got it
from the principal of the college there."

An unformulated dread swept over Tuppence.

"You--you don't know the name of the man who came this morning?"

"Yes, I do.  No, I don't. Half a second.  It was on his card.
Oh, I know! Inspector Brown.  Quiet, unassuming sort of chap."

CHAPTER VI

A PLAN OF CAMPAIGN

A veil might with profit be drawn over the events of the next
half-hour. Suffice it to say that no such person as "Inspector
Brown" was known to Scotland Yard.  The photograph of Jane Finn,
which would have been of the utmost value to the police in
tracing her, was lost beyond recovery. Once again "Mr. Brown" had
triumphed.

The immediate result of this set back was to effect a
rapprochement between Julius Hersheimmer and the Young
Adventurers.  All barriers went down with a crash, and Tommy and
Tuppence felt they had known the young American all their lives.
They abandoned the discreet reticence of "private inquiry
agents," and revealed to him the whole history of the joint
venture, whereat the young man declared himself "tickled to
death."

He turned to Tuppence at the close of the narration.

"I've always had a kind of idea that English girls were just a
mite moss-grown. Old-fashioned and sweet, you know, but scared to
move round without a footman or a maiden aunt. I guess I'm a bit
behind the times!"

The upshot of these confidential relations was that Tommy and
Tuppence took up their abode forthwith at the Ritz, in order, as
Tuppence put it, to keep in touch with Jane Finn's only living
relation. "And put like that," she added confidentially to Tommy,
"nobody could boggle at the expense!"

Nobody did, which was the great thing.

"And now," said the young lady on the morning after their
installation, "to work!"

Mr. Beresford put down the Daily Mail, which he was reading, and
applauded with somewhat unnecessary vigour.  He was politely
requested by his colleague not to be an ass.

"Dash it all, Tommy, we've got to DO something for our money."

Tommy sighed.

"Yes, I fear even the dear old Government will not support us at
the Ritz in idleness for ever."

"Therefore, as I said before, we must DO something."

"Well," said Tommy, picking up the Daily Mail again, "DO it. I
shan't stop you."

"You see," continued Tuppence.  "I've been thinking----"

She was interrupted by a fresh bout of applause.

"It's all very well for you to sit there being funny, Tommy.  It
would do you no harm to do a little brain work too."

"My union, Tuppence, my union!  It does not permit me to work
before 11 a.m."

"Tommy, do you want something thrown at you?  It is absolutely
essential that we should without delay map out a plan of
campaign."

"Hear, hear!"

"Well, let's do it."

Tommy laid his paper finally aside.  "There's something of the
simplicity of the truly great mind about you, Tuppence.  Fire
ahead.  I'm listening."

"To begin with," said Tuppence, "what have we to go upon?"

"Absolutely nothing," said Tommy cheerily.

"Wrong!"  Tuppence wagged an energetic finger.  "We have two
distinct clues."

"What are they?"

"First clue, we know one of the gang."

"Whittington?"

"Yes.  I'd recognize him anywhere."

"Hum," said Tommy doubtfully, "I don't call that much of a clue.
You don't know where to look for him, and it's about a thousand
to one against your running against him by accident."

"I'm not so sure about that," replied Tuppence thoughtfully.
"I've often noticed that once coincidences start happening they
go on happening in the most extraordinary way. I dare say it's
some natural law that we haven't found out. Still, as you say, we
can't rely on that.  But there ARE places in London where simply
every one is bound to turn up sooner or later. Piccadilly Circus,
for instance.  One of my ideas was to take up my stand there
every day with a tray of flags."

"What about meals?" inquired the practical Tommy.

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

"That's all very well.  You've just had a thundering good
breakfast. No one's got a better appetite than you have,
Tuppence, and by tea-time you'd be eating the flags, pins and
all.  But, honestly, I don't think much of the idea.  Whittington
mayn't be in London at all."

"That's true.  Anyway, I think clue No. 2 is more promising."

"Let's hear it."

"It's nothing much.  Only a Christian name--Rita.  Whittington
mentioned it that day."

"Are you proposing a third advertisement:  Wanted, female crook,
answering to the name of Rita?"

"I am not.  I propose to reason in a logical manner. That man,
Danvers, was shadowed on the way over, wasn't he? And it's more
likely to have been a woman than a man----"

"I don't see that at all."

"I am absolutely certain that it would be a woman, and a
good-looking one," replied Tuppence calmly.

"On these technical points I bow to your decision," murmured Mr.
Beresford.

"Now, obviously this woman, whoever she was, was saved."

"How do you make that out?"

"If she wasn't, how would they have known Jane Finn had got the
papers?"

"Correct.  Proceed, O Sherlock!"

"Now there's just a chance, I admit it's only a chance, that this
woman may have been 'Rita.' "

"And if so?"

"If so, we've got to hunt through the survivors of the Lusitania
till we find her."

"Then the first thing is to get a list of the survivors."

"I've got it.  I wrote a long list of things I wanted to know,
and sent it to Mr. Carter.  I got his reply this morning, and
among other things it encloses the official statement of those
saved from the Lusitania.  How's that for clever little
Tuppence?"

"Full marks for industry, zero for modesty.  But the great point
is, is there a 'Rita' on the list?"

"That's just what I don't know," confessed Tuppence.

"Don't know?"

"Yes.  Look here."  Together they bent over the list. "You see,
very few Christian names are given.  They're nearly all Mrs. or
Miss."

Tommy nodded.

"That complicates matters," he murmured thoughtfully.

Tuppence gave her characteristic "terrier" shake.

"Well, we've just got to get down to it, that's all. We'll start
with the London area.  Just note down the addresses of any of the
females who live in London or roundabout, while I put on my hat."

Five minutes later the young couple emerged into Piccadilly, and
a few seconds later a taxi was bearing them to The Laurels,
Glendower Road, N.7, the residence of Mrs. Edgar Keith, whose
name figured first in a list of seven reposing in Tommy's
pocket-book.

The Laurels was a dilapidated house, standing back from the road
with a few grimy bushes to support the fiction of a front garden.
Tommy paid off the taxi, and accompanied Tuppence to the front
door bell. As she was about to ring it, he arrested her hand.

"What are you going to say?"

"What am I going to say?  Why, I shall say--Oh dear, I don't
know. It's very awkward."

"I thought as much," said Tommy with satisfaction. "How like a
woman!  No foresight!  Now just stand aside, and see how easily
the mere male deals with the situation." He pressed the bell.
Tuppence withdrew to a suitable spot.

A slatternly looking servant, with an extremely dirty face and a
pair of eyes that did not match, answered the door.

Tommy had produced a notebook and pencil.

"Good morning," he said briskly and cheerfully.  "From the
Hampstead Borough Council.  The new Voting Register.  Mrs. Edgar
Keith lives here, does she not?"

"Yaas," said the servant.

"Christian name?" asked Tommy, his pencil poised.

"Missus's? Eleanor Jane."

"Eleanor," spelt Tommy.  "Any sons or daughters over twenty-one?"

"Naow."

"Thank you."  Tommy closed the notebook with a brisk snap.  "Good
morning."

The servant volunteered her first remark:

"I thought perhaps as you'd come about the gas," she observed
cryptically, and shut the door.

Tommy rejoined his accomplice.

"You see, Tuppence," he observed.  "Child's play to the masculine
mind."

"I don't mind admitting that for once you've scored handsomely. I
should never have thought of that."

"Good wheeze, wasn't it?  And we can repeat it ad lib."

Lunch-time found the young couple attacking a steak and chips in
an obscure hostelry with avidity.  They had collected a Gladys
Mary and a Marjorie, been baffled by one change of address, and
had been forced to listen to a long lecture on universal suffrage
from a vivacious American lady whose Christian name had proved to
be Sadie.

"Ah!" said Tommy, imbibing a long draught of beer, "I feel
better. Where's the next draw?"

The notebook lay on the table between them.  Tuppence picked it
up.

"Mrs. Vandemeyer," she read, "20 South Audley Mansions.  Miss
Wheeler, 43 Clapington Road, Battersea.  She's a lady's maid, as
far as I remember, so probably won't be there, and, anyway, she's
not likely."

"Then the Mayfair lady is clearly indicated as the first port of
call."

"Tommy, I'm getting discouraged."

"Buck up, old bean.  We always knew it was an outside chance.
And, anyway, we're only starting.  If we draw a blank in London,
there's a fine tour of England, Ireland and Scotland before us."

"True," said Tuppence, her flagging spirits reviving. "And all
expenses paid!  But, oh, Tommy, I do like things to happen
quickly.  So far, adventure has succeeded adventure, but this
morning has been dull as dull."

"You must stifle this longing for vulgar sensation, Tuppence.
Remember that if Mr. Brown is all he is reported to be, it's a
wonder that he has not ere now done us to death.  That's a good
sentence, quite a literary flavour about it."

"You're really more conceited than I am--with less excuse!  Ahem!
But it certainly is queer that Mr. Brown has not yet wreaked
vengeance upon us. (You see, I can do it too.) We pass on our way
unscathed."

"Perhaps he doesn't think us worth bothering about," suggested
the young man simply.

Tuppence received the remark with great disfavour.

"How horrid you are, Tommy.  Just as though we didn't count."

"Sorry, Tuppence.  What I meant was that we work like moles in
the dark, and that he has no suspicion of our nefarious schemes.
Ha ha!"

"Ha ha!" echoed Tuppence approvingly, as she rose.

South Audley Mansions was an imposing-looking block of flats just
off Park Lane.  No. 20 was on the second floor.

Tommy had by this time the glibness born of practice. He rattled
off the formula to the elderly woman, looking more like a
housekeeper than a servant, who opened the door to him.

"Christian name?"

"Margaret."

Tommy spelt it, but the other interrupted him.

"No, G U E."

"Oh, Marguerite; French way, I see."  He paused, then plunged
boldly. "We had her down as Rita Vandemeyer, but I suppose that's
incorrect?"

"She's mostly called that, sir, but Marguerite's her name."

"Thank you.  That's all.  Good morning."

Hardly able to contain his excitement, Tommy hurried down the
stairs. Tuppence was waiting at the angle of the turn.

"You heard?"

"Yes.  Oh, TOMMY!"

Tommy squeezed her arm sympathetically.

"I know, old thing.  I feel the same."

"It's--it's so lovely to think of things--and then for them
really to happen!" cried Tuppence enthusiastically.

Her hand was still in Tommy's. They had reached the entrance
hall. There were footsteps on the stairs above them, and voices.

Suddenly, to Tommy's complete surprise, Tuppence dragged him into
the little space by the side of the lift where the shadow was
deepest.

"What the----"

"Hush!"

Two men came down the stairs and passed out through the entrance.
Tuppence's hand closed tighter on Tommy's arm.

"Quick--follow them.  I daren't. He might recognize me. I don't
know who the other man is, but the bigger of the two was
Whittington."

CHAPTER VII

THE HOUSE IN SOHO

WHITTINGTON and his companion were walking at a good pace. Tommy
started in pursuit at once, and was in time to see them turn the
corner of the street.  His vigorous strides soon enabled him to
gain upon them, and by the time he, in his turn, reached the
corner the distance between them was sensibly lessened. The small
Mayfair streets were comparatively deserted, and he judged it
wise to content himself with keeping them in sight.

The sport was a new one to him.  Though familiar with the
technicalities from a course of novel reading, he had never
before attempted to "follow" anyone, and it appeared to him at
once that, in actual practice, the proceeding was fraught with
difficulties. Supposing, for instance, that they should suddenly
hail a taxi? In books, you simply leapt into another, promised
the driver a sovereign--or its modern equivalent--and there you
were. In actual fact, Tommy foresaw that it was extremely likely
there would be no second taxi.  Therefore he would have to run.
What happened in actual fact to a young man who ran incessantly
and persistently through the London streets?  In a main road he
might hope to create the illusion that he was merely running for
a bus. But in these obscure aristocratic byways he could not but
feel that an officious policeman might stop him to explain
matters.

At this juncture in his thoughts a taxi with flag erect turned
the corner of the street ahead.  Tommy held his breath. Would
they hail it?

He drew a sigh of relief as they allowed it to pass unchallenged.
Their course was a zigzag one designed to bring them as quickly
as possible to Oxford Street.  When at length they turned into
it, proceeding in an easterly direction, Tommy slightly increased
his pace. Little by little he gained upon them.  On the crowded
pavement there was little chance of his attracting their notice,
and he was anxious if possible to catch a word or two of their
conversation. In this he was completely foiled; they spoke low
and the din of the traffic drowned their voices effectually.

Just before the Bond Street Tube station they crossed the road,
Tommy, unperceived, faithfully at their heels, and entered the
big Lyons'. There they went up to the first floor, and sat at a
small table in the window.  It was late, and the place was
thinning out. Tommy took a seat at the table next to them,
sitting directly behind Whittington in case of recognition.  On
the other hand, he had a full view of the second man and studied
him attentively. He was fair, with a weak, unpleasant face, and
Tommy put him down as being either a Russian or a Pole.  He was
probably about fifty years of age, his shoulders cringed a little
as he talked, and his eyes, small and crafty, shifted
unceasingly.

Having already lunched heartily, Tommy contented himself with
ordering a Welsh rarebit and a cup of coffee.  Whittington
ordered a substantial lunch for himself and his companion; then,
as the waitress withdrew, he moved his chair a little closer to
the table and began to talk earnestly in a low voice.  The other
man joined in.  Listen as he would, Tommy could only catch a word
here and there; but the gist of it seemed to be some directions
or orders which the big man was impressing on his companion, and
with which the latter seemed from time to time to disagree.
Whittington addressed the other as Boris.

Tommy caught the word "Ireland" several times, also "propaganda,"
but of Jane Finn there was no mention.  Suddenly, in a lull in
the clatter of the room, he got one phrase entire.  Whittington
was speaking. "Ah, but you don't know Flossie.  She's a marvel.
An archbishop would swear she was his own mother.  She gets the
voice right every time, and that's really the principal thing."

Tommy did not hear Boris's reply, but in response to it
Whittington said something that sounded like:  "Of course--only
in an emergency...."

Then he lost the thread again.  But presently the phrases became
distinct again whether because the other two had insensibly
raised their voices, or because Tommy's ears were getting more
attuned, he could not tell. But two words certainly had a most
stimulating effect upon the listener. They were uttered by Boris
and they were:  "Mr. Brown."

Whittington seemed to remonstrate with him, but he merely
laughed.

"Why not, my friend?  It is a name most respectable--most common.
Did he not choose it for that reason?  Ah, I should like to meet
him--Mr. Brown."

There was a steely ring in Whittington's voice as he replied:

"Who knows?  You may have met him already."

"Bah!" retorted the other.  "That is children's talk--a fable for
the police.  Do you know what I say to myself sometimes? That he
is a fable invented by the Inner Ring, a bogy to frighten us
with. It might be so."

"And it might not."

"I wonder ... or is it indeed true that he is with us and amongst
us, unknown to all but a chosen few?  If so, he keeps his secret
well. And the idea is a good one, yes.  We never know.  We look
at each other--ONE OF US IS MR.  BROWN--which?  He commands--but
also he serves. Among us--in the midst of us.  And no one knows
which he is...."

With an effort the Russian shook off the vagary of his fancy. He
looked at his watch.

"Yes," said Whittington.  "We might as well go."

He called the waitress and asked for his bill.  Tommy did
likewise, and a few moments later was following the two men down
the stairs.

Outside, Whittington hailed a taxi, and directed the driver to go
to Waterloo.

Taxis were plentiful here, and before Whittington's had driven
off another was drawing up to the curb in obedience to Tommy's
peremptory hand.

"Follow that other taxi," directed the young man. "Don't lose
it."

The elderly chauffeur showed no interest.  He merely grunted and
jerked down his flag.  The drive was uneventful. Tommy's taxi
came to rest at the departure platform just after Whittington's.
Tommy was behind him at the booking-office. He took a first-class
single ticket to Bournemouth, Tommy did the same. As he emerged,
Boris remarked, glancing up at the clock: "You are early.  You
have nearly half an hour."

Boris's words had aroused a new train of thought in Tommy's mind.
Clearly Whittington was making the journey alone, while the other
remained in London.  Therefore he was left with a choice as to
which he would follow.  Obviously, he could not follow both of
them unless----Like Boris, he glanced up at the clock, and then
to the announcement board of the trains. The Bournemouth train
left at 3.30. It was now ten past. Whittington and Boris were
walking up and down by the bookstall. He gave one doubtful look
at them, then hurried into an adjacent telephone box.  He dared
not waste time in trying to get hold of Tuppence.  In all
probability she was still in the neighbourhood of South Audley
Mansions.  But there remained another ally. He rang up the Ritz
and asked for Julius Hersheimmer.  There was a click and a buzz.
Oh, if only the young American was in his room! There was another
click, and then "Hello" in unmistakable accents came over the
wire.

"That you, Hersheimmer?  Beresford speaking. I'm at Waterloo.
I've followed Whittington and another man here. No time to
explain.  Whittington's off to Bournemouth by the 3.30. Can you
get there by then?"

The reply was reassuring.

"Sure.  I'll hustle."

The telephone rang off.  Tommy put back the receiver with a sigh
of relief.  His opinion of Julius's power of hustling was high.
He felt instinctively that the American would arrive in time.

Whittington and Boris were still where he had left them. If Boris
remained to see his friend off, all was well. Then Tommy fingered
his pocket thoughtfully.  In spite of the carte blanche assured
to him, he had not yet acquired the habit of going about with any
considerable sum of money on him. The taking of the first-class
ticket to Bournemouth had left him with only a few shillings in
his pocket. It was to be hoped that Julius would arrive better
provided.

In the meantime, the minutes were creeping by:  3.15, 3.20, 3.25,
3.27. Supposing Julius did not get there in time.  3.29.... Doors
were banging.  Tommy felt cold waves of despair pass over him.
Then a hand fell on his shoulder.

"Here I am, son.  Your British traffic beats description! Put me
wise to the crooks right away."

"That's Whittington--there, getting in now, that big dark man.
The other is the foreign chap he's talking to."

"I'm on to them.  Which of the two is my bird?"

Tommy had thought out this question.

"Got any money with you?"

Julius shook his head, and Tommy's face fell.

"I guess I haven't more than three or four hundred dollars with
me at the moment," explained the American.

Tommy gave a faint whoop of relief.

"Oh, Lord, you millionaires!  You don't talk the same language!
Climb aboard the lugger.  Here's your ticket.  Whittington's your
man."

"Me for Whittington!" said Julius darkly.  The train was just
starting as he swung himself aboard.  "So long, Tommy."  The
train slid out of the station.

Tommy drew a deep breath.  The man Boris was coming along the
platform towards him.  Tommy allowed him to pass and then took up
the chase once more.

From Waterloo Boris took the tube as far as Piccadilly Circus.
Then he walked up Shaftesbury Avenue, finally turning off into
the maze of mean streets round Soho.  Tommy followed him at a
judicious distance.

They reached at length a small dilapidated square.  The houses
there had a sinister air in the midst of their dirt and decay.
Boris looked round, and Tommy drew back into the shelter of a
friendly porch.  The place was almost deserted. It was a
cul-de-sac, and consequently no traffic passed that way. The
stealthy way the other had looked round stimulated Tommy's
imagination.  From the shelter of the doorway he watched him go
up the steps of a particularly evil-looking house and rap
sharply, with a peculiar rhythm, on the door.  It was opened
promptly, he said a word or two to the doorkeeper, then passed
inside. The door was shut to again.

It was at this juncture that Tommy lost his head.  What he ought
to have done, what any sane man would have done, was to remain
patiently where he was and wait for his man to come out again.
What he did do was entirely foreign to the sober common sense
which was, as a rule, his leading characteristic. Something, as
he expressed it, seemed to snap in his brain. Without a moment's
pause for reflection he, too, went up the steps, and reproduced
as far as he was able the peculiar knock.

The door swung open with the same promptness as before. A
villainous-faced man with close-cropped hair stood in the
doorway.

"Well?" he grunted.

It was at that moment that the full realization of his folly
began to come home to Tommy.  But he dared not hesitate. He
seized at the first words that came into his mind.

"Mr. Brown?" he said.

To his surprise the man stood aside.

"Upstairs," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, "second
door on your left."

CHAPTER VIII

THE ADVENTURES OF TOMMY


TAKEN aback though he was by the man's words, Tommy did not
hesitate. If audacity had successfully carried him so far, it was
to be hoped it would carry him yet farther.  He quietly passed
into the house and mounted the ramshackle staircase.  Everything
in the house was filthy beyond words. The grimy paper, of a
pattern now indistinguishable, hung in loose festoons from the
wall.  In every angle was a grey mass of cobweb.

Tommy proceeded leisurely.  By the time he reached the bend of
the staircase, he had heard the man below disappear into a back
room.  Clearly no suspicion attached to him as yet. To come to
the house and ask for "Mr. Brown" appeared indeed to be a
reasonable and natural proceeding.

At the top of the stairs Tommy halted to consider his next move.
In front of him ran a narrow passage, with doors opening on
either side of it.  From the one nearest him on the left came a
low murmur of voices.  It was this room which he had been
directed to enter. But what held his glance fascinated was a
small recess immediately on his right, half concealed by a torn
velvet curtain. It was directly opposite the left-handed door
and, owing to its angle, it also commanded a good view of the
upper part of the staircase. As a hiding-place for one or, at a
pinch, two men, it was ideal, being about two feet deep and three
feet wide.  It attracted Tommy mightily. He thought things over
in his usual slow and steady way, deciding that the mention of
"Mr. Brown" was not a request for an individual, but in all
probability a password used by the gang.  His lucky use of it had
gained him admission.  So far he had aroused no suspicion. But he
must decide quickly on his next step.

Suppose he were boldly to enter the room on the left of the
passage. Would the mere fact of his having been admitted to the
house be sufficient? Perhaps a further password would be
required, or, at any rate, some proof of identity.  The
doorkeeper clearly did not know all the members of the gang by
sight, but it might be different upstairs. On the whole it seemed
to him that luck had served him very well so far, but that there
was such a thing as trusting it too far. To enter that room was a
colossal risk.  He could not hope to sustain his part
indefinitely; sooner or later he was almost bound to betray
himself, and then he would have thrown away a vital chance in
mere foolhardiness.

A repetition of the signal knock sounded on the door below, and
Tommy, his mind made up, slipped quickly into the recess, and
cautiously drew the curtain farther across so that it shielded
him completely from sight. There were several rents and slits in
the ancient material which afforded him a good view.  He would
watch events, and any time he chose could, after all, join the
assembly, modelling his behaviour on that of the new arrival.

The man who came up the staircase with a furtive, soft-footed
tread was quite unknown to Tommy.  He was obviously of the very
dregs of society. The low beetling brows, and the criminal jaw,
the bestiality of the whole countenance were new to the young
man, though he was a type that Scotland Yard would have
recognized at a glance.

The man passed the recess, breathing heavily as he went.  He
stopped at the door opposite, and gave a repetition of the signal
knock. A voice inside called out something, and the man opened
the door and passed in, affording Tommy a momentary glimpse of
the room inside. He thought there must be about four or five
people seated round a long table that took up most of the space,
but his attention was caught and held by a tall man with
close-cropped hair and a short, pointed, naval-looking beard, who
sat at the head of the table with papers in front of him. As the
new-comer entered he glanced up, and with a correct, but
curiously precise enunciation, which attracted Tommy's notice, he
asked:

"Your number, comrade?"

"Fourteen, gov'nor," replied the other hoarsely.

"Correct."

The door shut again.

"If that isn't a Hun, I'm a Dutchman!" said Tommy to himself.
"And running the show darned systematically too--as they always
do. Lucky I didn't roll in.  I'd have given the wrong number, and
there would have been the deuce to pay.  No, this is the place
for me. Hullo, here's another knock."

This visitor proved to be of an entirely different type to the
last. Tommy recognized in him an Irish Sinn Feiner.  Certainly
Mr. Brown's organization was a far-reaching concern.  The common
criminal, the well-bred Irish gentleman, the pale Russian, and
the efficient German master of the ceremonies!  Truly a strange
and sinister gathering! Who was this man who held in his finger
these curiously variegated links of an unknown chain?

In this case, the procedure was exactly the same.  The signal
knock, the demand for a number, and the reply "Correct."

Two knocks followed in quick succession on the door below.  The
first man was quite unknown to Tommy, who put him down as a city
clerk. A quiet, intelligent-looking man, rather shabbily dressed.
The second was of the working classes, and his face was vaguely
familiar to the young man.

Three minutes later came another, a man of commanding appearance,
exquisitely dressed, and evidently well born.  His face, again,
was not unknown to the watcher, though he could not for the
moment put a name to it.

After his arrival there was a long wait.  In fact Tommy concluded
that the gathering was now complete, and was just cautiously
creeping out from his hiding-place, when another knock sent him
scuttling back to cover.

This last-comer came up the stairs so quietly that he was almost
abreast of Tommy before the young man had realized his presence.

He was a small man, very pale, with a gentle almost womanish air.
The angle of the cheek-bones hinted at his Slavonic ancestry,
otherwise there was nothing to indicate his nationality. As he
passed the recess, he turned his head slowly. The strange light
eyes seemed to burn through the curtain; Tommy could hardly
believe that the man did not know he was there and in spite of
himself he shivered. He was no more fanciful than the majority of
young Englishmen, but he could not rid himself of the impression
that some unusually potent force emanated from the man.  The
creature reminded him of a venomous snake.

A moment later his impression was proved correct.  The new-comer
knocked on the door as all had done, but his reception was very
different. The bearded man rose to his feet, and all the others
followed suit. The German came forward and shook hands.  His
heels clicked together.

"We are honoured," he said.  "We are greatly honoured. I much
feared that it would be impossible."

The other answered in a low voice that had a kind of hiss in it:

"There were difficulties.  It will not be possible again, I fear.
But one meeting is essential--to define my policy. I can do
nothing without--Mr. Brown.  He is here?"

The change in the German's voice was audible as he replied with
slight hesitation:

"We have received a message.  It is impossible for him to be
present in person."  He stopped, giving a curious impression of
having left the sentence unfinished.

A very slow smile overspread the face of the other. He looked
round at a circle of uneasy faces.

"Ah!  I understand.  I have read of his methods. He works in the
dark and trusts no one.  But, all the same, it is possible that
he is among us now...." He looked round him again, and again that
expression of fear swept over the group. Each man seemed eyeing
his neighbour doubtfully.

The Russian tapped his cheek.

"So be it.  Let us proceed."

The German seemed to pull himself together.  He indicated the
place he had been occupying at the head of the table. The Russian
demurred, but the other insisted.

"It is the only possible place," he said, "for--Number One.
Perhaps Number Fourteen will shut the door?"

In another moment Tommy was once more confronting bare wooden
panels, and the voices within had sunk once more to a mere
undistinguishable murmur.  Tommy became restive. The conversation
he had overheard had stimulated his curiosity. He felt that, by
hook or by crook, he must hear more.

There was no sound from below, and it did not seem likely that
the doorkeeper would come upstairs.  After listening intently for
a minute or two, he put his head round the curtain. The passage
was deserted.  Tommy bent down and removed his shoes, then,
leaving them behind the curtain, he walked gingerly out on his
stockinged feet, and kneeling down by the closed door he laid his
ear cautiously to the crack. To his intense annoyance he could
distinguish little more; just a chance word here and there if a
voice was raised, which merely served to whet his curiosity still
farther.

He eyed the handle of the door tentatively.  Could he turn it by
degrees so gently and imperceptibly that those in the room would
notice nothing?  He decided that with great care it could be
done.  Very slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, he moved it
round, holding his breath in his excessive care. A little more--a
little more still--would it never be finished? Ah! at last it
would turn no farther.

He stayed so for a minute or two, then drew a deep breath, and
pressed it ever so slightly inward.  The door did not budge.
Tommy was annoyed. If he had to use too much force, it would
almost certainly creak. He waited until the voices rose a little,
then he tried again. Still nothing happened.  He increased the
pressure.  Had the beastly thing stuck?  Finally, in desperation,
he pushed with all his might. But the door remained firm, and at
last the truth dawned upon him. It was locked or bolted on the
inside.

For a moment or two Tommy's indignation got the better of him.

"Well, I'm damned!" he said.  "What a dirty trick!"

As his indignation cooled, he prepared to face the situation.
Clearly the first thing to be done was to restore the handle to
its original position.  If he let it go suddenly, the men inside
would be almost certain to notice it, so, with the same infinite
pains, he reversed his former tactics.  All went well, and with a
sigh of relief the young man rose to his feet.  There was a
certain bulldog tenacity about Tommy that made him slow to admit
defeat. Checkmated for the moment, he was far from abandoning the
conflict. He still intended to hear what was going on in the
locked room. As one plan had failed, he must hunt about for
another.

He looked round him.  A little farther along the passage on the
left was a second door.  He slipped silently along to it. He
listened for a moment or two, then tried the handle. It yielded,
and he slipped inside.

The room, which was untenanted, was furnished as a bedroom. Like
everything else in the house, the furniture was falling to
pieces, and the dirt was, if anything, more abundant.

But what interested Tommy was the thing he had hoped to find, a
communicating door between the two rooms, up on the left by the
window. Carefully closing the door into the passage behind him,
he stepped across to the other and examined it closely.  The bolt
was shot across it. It was very rusty, and had clearly not been
used for some time. By gently wriggling it to and fro, Tommy
managed to draw it back without making too much noise.  Then he
repeated his former manoeuvres with the handle--this time with
complete success.  The door swung open--a crack, a mere fraction,
but enough for Tommy to hear what went on. There was a velvet
portiere on the inside of this door which prevented him from
seeing, but he was able to recognize the voices with a reasonable
amount of accuracy.

The Sinn Feiner was speaking.  His rich Irish voice was
unmistakable:

"That's all very well.  But more money is essential. No money--no
results!"

Another voice which Tommy rather thought was that of Boris
replied:

"Will you guarantee that there ARE results?"

"In a month from now--sooner or later as you wish--I will
guarantee you such a reign of terror in Ireland as shall shake
the British Empire to its foundations."

There was a pause, and then came the soft, sibilant accents of
Number One:

"Good!  You shall have the money.  Boris, you will see to that."

Boris asked a question:

"Via the Irish Americans, and Mr. Potter as usual?"

"I guess that'll be all right!" said a new voice, with a
transatlantic intonation, "though I'd like to point out, here and
now, that things are getting a mite difficult. There's not the
sympathy there was, and a growing disposition to let the Irish
settle their own affairs without interference from America."

Tommy felt that Boris had shrugged his shoulders as he answered:

"Does that matter, since the money only nominally comes from the
States?"

"The chief difficulty is the landing of the ammunition," said the
Sinn Feiner.  "The money is conveyed in easily enough--thanks to
our colleague here."

Another voice, which Tommy fancied was that of the tall,
commanding-looking man whose face had seemed familiar to him,
said:

"Think of the feelings of Belfast if they could hear you!"

"That is settled, then," said the sibilant tones. "Now, in the
matter of the loan to an English newspaper, you have arranged the
details satisfactorily, Boris?"

"I think so."

"That is good.  An official denial from Moscow will be
forthcoming if necessary."

There was a pause, and then the clear voice of the German broke
the silence:

"I am directed by--Mr. Brown, to place the summaries of the
reports from the different unions before you.  That of the miners
is most satisfactory. We must hold back the railways.  There may
be trouble with the A.S.E."

For a long time there was a silence, broken only by the rustle of
papers and an occasional word of explanation from the German.
Then Tommy heard the light tap-tap of fingers, drumming on the
table.

"And--the date, my friend?" said Number One.

"The 29th."

The Russian seemed to consider:

"That is rather soon."

"I know.  But it was settled by the principal Labour leaders, and
we cannot seem to interfere too much.  They must believe it to be
entirely their own show."

The Russian laughed softly, as though amused.

"Yes, yes," he said.  "That is true.  They must have no inkling
that we are using them for our own ends.  They are honest
men--and that is their value to us.  It is curious--but you
cannot make a revolution without honest men. The instinct of the
populace is infallible."  He paused, and then repeated, as though
the phrase pleased him:  "Every revolution has had its honest
men. They are soon disposed of afterwards."

There was a sinister note in his voice.

The German resumed:

"Clymes must go.  He is too far-seeing. Number Fourteen will see
to that."

There was a hoarse murmur.

"That's all right, gov'nor." And then after a moment or two:
"Suppose I'm nabbed."

"You will have the best legal talent to defend you," replied the
German quietly.  "But in any case you will wear gloves fitted
with the finger-prints of a notorious housebreaker. You have
little to fear."

"Oh, I ain't afraid, gov'nor. All for the good of the cause. The
streets is going to run with blood, so they say." He spoke with a
grim relish.  "Dreams of it, sometimes, I does. And diamonds and
pearls rolling about in the gutter for anyone to pick up!"

Tommy heard a chair shifted.  Then Number One spoke:

"Then all is arranged.  We are assured of success?"

"I--think so."  But the German spoke with less than his usual
confidence.

Number One's voice held suddenly a dangerous quality:

"What has gone wrong?"

"Nothing; but----"

"But what?"

"The Labour leaders.  Without them, as you say, we can do
nothing. If they do not declare a general strike on the 29th----"

"Why should they not?"

"As you've said, they're honest.  And, in spite of everything
we've done to discredit the Government in their eyes, I'm not
sure that they haven't got a sneaking faith and belief in it."

"But----"

"I know.  They abuse it unceasingly.  But, on the whole, public
opinion swings to the side of the Government.  They will not go
against it."

Again the Russian's fingers drummed on the table.

"To the point, my friend.  I was given to understand that there
was a certain document in existence which assured success."

"That is so.  If that document were placed before the leaders,
the result would be immediate.  They would publish it broadcast
throughout England, and declare for the revolution without a
moment's hesitation. The Government would be broken finally and
completely."

"Then what more do you want?"

"The document itself," said the German bluntly.

"Ah!  It is not in your possession?  But you know where it is?"

"No."

"Does anyone know where it is?"

"One person--perhaps.  And we are not sure of that even."

"Who is this person?"

"A girl."

Tommy held his breath.

"A girl?"  The Russian's voice rose contemptuously. "And you have
not made her speak?  In Russia we have ways of making a girl
talk."

"This case is different," said the German sullenly.

"How--different?"  He paused a moment, then went on: "Where is
the girl now?"

"The girl?"

"Yes."

"She is----"

But Tommy heard no more.  A crashing blow descended on his head,
and all was darkness.

CHAPTER IX

TUPPENCE ENTERS DOMESTIC SERVICE

WHEN Tommy set forth on the trail of the two men, it took all
Tuppence's self-command to refrain from accompanying him.
However, she contained herself as best she might, consoled by the
reflection that her reasoning had been justified by events. The
two men had undoubtedly come from the second floor flat, and that
one slender thread of the name "Rita" had set the Young
Adventurers once more upon the track of the abductors of Jane
Finn.

The question was what to do next?  Tuppence hated letting the
grass grow under her feet.  Tommy was amply employed, and
debarred from joining him in the chase, the girl felt at a loose
end. She retraced her steps to the entrance hall of the mansions.
It was now tenanted by a small lift-boy, who was polishing brass
fittings, and whistling the latest air with a good deal of vigour
and a reasonable amount of accuracy.

He glanced round at Tuppence's entry.  There was a certain amount
of the gamin element in the girl, at all events she invariably
got on well with small boys.  A sympathetic bond seemed instantly
to be formed. She reflected that an ally in the enemy's camp, so
to speak, was not to be despised.

"Well, William," she remarked cheerfully, in the best approved
hospital-early-morning style, "getting a good shine up?"

The boy grinned responsively.

"Albert, miss," he corrected.

"Albert be it," said Tuppence.  She glanced mysteriously round
the hall. The effect was purposely a broad one in case Albert
should miss it. She leaned towards the boy and dropped her voice:
"I want a word with you, Albert."

Albert ceased operations on the fittings and opened his mouth
slightly.

"Look!  Do you know what this is?"  With a dramatic gesture she
flung back the left side of her coat and exposed a small
enamelled badge. It was extremely unlikely that Albert would have
any knowledge of it--indeed, it would have been fatal for
Tuppence's plans, since the badge in question was the device of a
local training corps originated by the archdeacon in the early
days of the war. Its presence in Tuppence's coat was due to the
fact that she had used it for pinning in some flowers a day or
two before. But Tuppence had sharp eyes, and had noted the corner
of a threepenny detective novel protruding from Albert's pocket,
and the immediate enlargement of his eyes told her that her
tactics were good, and that the fish would rise to the bait.

"American Detective Force!" she hissed.

Albert fell for it.

"Lord!" he murmured ecstatically.

Tuppence nodded at him with the air of one who has established a
thorough understanding.

"Know who I'm after?" she inquired genially.

Albert, still round-eyed, demanded breathlessly:

"One of the flats?"

Tuppence nodded and jerked a thumb up the stairs.

"No. 20.  Calls herself Vandemeyer.  Vandemeyer!  Ha! ha!"

Albert's hand stole to his pocket.

"A crook?" he queried eagerly.

"A crook?  I should say so.  Ready Rita they call her in the
States."

"Ready Rita," repeated Albert deliriously.  "Oh, ain't it just
like the pictures!"

It was.  Tuppence was a great frequenter of the kinema.

"Annie always said as how she was a bad lot," continued the boy.

"Who's Annie?" inquired Tuppence idly.

" 'Ouse-parlourmaid. She's leaving to-day. Many's the time
Annie's said to me:  'Mark my words, Albert, I wouldn't wonder if
the police was to come after her one of these days.' dust like
that.  But she's a stunner to look at, ain't she?"

"She's some peach," allowed Tuppence carelessly.  "Finds it
useful in her lay-out, you bet.  Has she been wearing any of the
emeralds, by the way?"

"Emeralds?  Them's the green stones, isn't they?"

Tuppence nodded.

"That's what we're after her for.  You know old man Rysdale?"

Albert shook his head.

"Peter B. Rysdale, the oil king?"

"It seems sort of familiar to me."

"The sparklers belonged to him.  Finest collection of emeralds in
the world. Worth a million dollars!"

"Lumme!" came ecstatically from Albert.  "It sounds more like the
pictures every minute."

Tuppence smiled, gratified at the success of her efforts.

"We haven't exactly proved it yet.  But we're after her.
And"--she produced a long-drawn-out wink--"I guess she won't get
away with the goods this time."

Albert uttered another ejaculation indicative of delight.

"Mind you, sonny, not a word of this," said Tuppence suddenly. "I
guess I oughtn't to have put you wise, but in the States we know
a real smart lad when we see one."

"I'll not breathe a word," protested Albert eagerly. "Ain't there
anything I could do?  A bit of shadowing, maybe, or such like?"

Tuppence affected to consider, then shook her head.

"Not at the moment, but I'll bear you in mind, son.  What's this
about the girl you say is leaving?"

"Annie?  Regular turn up, they 'ad.  As Annie said, servants is
some one nowadays, and to be treated accordingly, and, what with
her passing the word round, she won't find it so easy to get
another."

"Won't she?" said Tuppence thoughtfully.  "I wonder----"

An idea was dawning in her brain.  She thought a minute or two,
then tapped Albert on the shoulder.

"See here, son, my brain's got busy.  How would it be if you
mentioned that you'd got a young cousin, or a friend of yours
had, that might suit the place.  You get me?"

"I'm there," said Albert instantly.  "You leave it to me, miss,
and I'll fix the whole thing up in two ticks."

"Some lad!" commented Tuppence, with a nod of approval. "You
might say that the young woman could come in right away. You let
me know, and if it's O.K. I'll be round to-morrow at eleven
o'clock."

"Where am I to let you know to?"

"Ritz," replied Tuppence laconically.  "Name of Cowley."

Albert eyed her enviously.

"It must be a good job, this tec business."

"It sure is," drawled Tuppence, "especially when old man Rysdale
backs the bill.  But don't fret, son.  If this goes well, you
shall come in on the ground floor."

With which promise she took leave of her new ally, and walked
briskly away from South Audley Mansions, well pleased with her
morning's work.

But there was no time to be lost.  She went straight back to the
Ritz and wrote a few brief words to Mr. Carter.  Having
dispatched this, and Tommy not having yet returned--which did not
surprise her--she started off on a shopping expedition which,
with an interval for tea and assorted creamy cakes, occupied her
until well after six o'clock, and she returned to the hotel
jaded, but satisfied with her purchases.  Starting with a cheap
clothing store, and passing through one or two second-hand
establishments, she had finished the day at a well-known
hairdresser's. Now, in the seclusion of her bedroom, she
unwrapped that final purchase. Five minutes later she smiled
contentedly at her reflection in the glass. With an actress's
pencil she had slightly altered the line of her eyebrows, and
that, taken in conjunction with the new luxuriant growth of fair
hair above, so changed her appearance that she felt confident
that even if she came face to face with Whittington he would not
recognize her.  She would wear elevators in her shoes, and the
cap and apron would be an even more valuable disguise. From
hospital experience she knew only too well that a nurse out of
uniform is frequently unrecognized by her patients.

"Yes," said Tuppence aloud, nodding at the pert reflection in the
glass, "you'll do."  She then resumed her normal appearance.

Dinner was a solitary meal.  Tuppence was rather surprised at
Tommy's non-return. Julius, too, was absent--but that to the
girl's mind was more easily explained. His "hustling" activities
were not confined to London, and his abrupt appearances and
disappearances were fully accepted by the Young Adventurers as
part of the day's work. It was quite on the cards that Julius P.
Hersheimmer had left for Constantinople at a moment's notice if
he fancied that a clue to his cousin's disappearance was to be
found there. The energetic young man had succeeded in making the
lives of several Scotland Yard men unbearable to them, and the
telephone girls at the Admiralty had learned to know and dread
the familiar "Hullo!"  He had spent three hours in Paris hustling
the Prefecture, and had returned from there imbued with the idea,
possibly inspired by a weary French official, that the true clue
to the mystery was to be found in Ireland.

"I dare say he's dashed off there now," thought Tuppence.  "All
very well, but this is very dull for ME!  Here I am bursting with
news, and absolutely no one to tell it to!  Tommy might have
wired, or something. I wonder where he is.  Anyway, he can't have
'lost the trail' as they say. That reminds me----" And Miss
Cowley broke off in her meditations, and summoned a small boy.

Ten minutes later the lady was ensconced comfortably on her bed,
smoking cigarettes and deep in the perusal of Garnaby Williams,
the Boy Detective, which, with other threepenny works of lurid
fiction, she had sent out to purchase.  She felt, and rightly,
that before the strain of attempting further intercourse with
Albert, it would be as well to fortify herself with a good supply
of local colour.

The morning brought a note from Mr. Carter:

"DEAR MISS TUPPENCE,

"You have made a splendid start, and I congratulate you. I feel,
though, that I should like to point out to you once more the
risks you are running, especially if you pursue the course you
indicate. Those people are absolutely desperate and incapable of
either mercy or pity.  I feel that you probably underestimate the
danger, and therefore warn you again that I can promise you no
protection. You have given us valuable information, and if you
choose to withdraw now no one could blame you.  At any rate,
think the matter over well before you decide.

"If, in spite of my warnings, you make up your mind to go through
with it, you will find everything arranged.  You have lived for
two years with Miss Dufferin, The Parsonage, Llanelly, and Mrs.
Vandemeyer can apply to her for a reference.

"May I be permitted a word or two of advice?  Stick as near to
the truth as possible--it minimizes the danger of 'slips.' I
suggest that you should represent yourself to be what you are, a
former V.A.D., who has chosen domestic service as a profession.
There are many such at the present time. That explains away any
incongruities of voice or manner which otherwise might awaken
suspicion.

"Whichever way you decide, good luck to you.                   
"Your sincere friend,                          "MR. CARTER."


Tuppence's spirits rose mercurially.  Mr. Carter's warnings
passed unheeded. The young lady had far too much confidence in
herself to pay any heed to them.

With some reluctance she abandoned the interesting part she had
sketched out for herself.  Although she had no doubts of her own
powers to sustain a role indefinitely, she had too much common
sense not to recognize the force of Mr. Carter's arguments.

There was still no word or message from Tommy, but the morning
post brought a somewhat dirty postcard with the words: "It's
O.K." scrawled upon it.

At ten-thirty Tuppence surveyed with pride a slightly battered
tin trunk containing her new possessions. It was artistically
corded.  It was with a slight blush that she rang the bell and
ordered it to be placed in a taxi. She drove to Paddington, and
left the box in the cloak room. She then repaired with a handbag
to the fastnesses of the ladies' waiting-room. Ten minutes later
a metamorphosed Tuppence walked demurely out of the station and
entered a bus.

It was a few minutes past eleven when Tuppence again entered the
hall of South Audley Mansions.  Albert was on the look-out,
attending to his duties in a somewhat desultory fashion. He did
not immediately recognize Tuppence.  When he did, his admiration
was unbounded.

"Blest if I'd have known you!  That rig-out's top-hole."

"Glad you like it, Albert," replied Tuppence modestly. "By the
way, am I your cousin, or am I not?"

"Your voice too," cried the delighted boy.  "It's as English as
anything! No, I said as a friend of mine knew a young gal.  Annie
wasn't best pleased. She's stopped on till to-day--to oblige, SHE
said, but really it's so as to put you against the place."

"Nice girl," said Tuppence.

Albert suspected no irony.

"She's style about her, and keeps her silver a treat--but, my
word, ain't she got a temper.  Are you going up now, miss?  Step
inside the lift. No. 20 did you say?"  And he winked.

Tuppence quelled him with a stern glance, and stepped inside.

As she rang the bell of No. 20 she was conscious of Albert's eyes
slowly descending beneath the level of the floor.

A smart young woman opened the door.

"I've come about the place," said Tuppence.

"It's a rotten place," said the young woman without hesitation.
"Regular old cat--always interfering.  Accused me of tampering
with her letters.  Me!  The flap was half undone anyway. There's
never anything in the waste-paper basket--she burns everything.
She's a wrong 'un, that's what she is. Swell clothes, but no
class.  Cook knows something about her--but she won't
tell--scared to death of her.  And suspicious! She's on to you in
a minute if you as much as speak to a fellow. I can tell you----"

But what more Annie could tell, Tuppence was never destined to
learn, for at that moment a clear voice with a peculiarly steely
ring to it called:

"Annie!"

The smart young woman jumped as if she had been shot.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Who are you talking to?"

"It's a young woman about the situation, ma'am."

"Show her in then.  At once."

"Yes, ma'am."

Tuppence was ushered into a room on the right of the long
passage. A woman was standing by the fireplace.  She was no
longer in her first youth, and the beauty she undeniably
possessed was hardened and coarsened. In her youth she must have
been dazzling.  Her pale gold hair, owing a slight assistance to
art, was coiled low on her neck, her eyes, of a piercing electric
blue, seemed to possess a faculty of boring into the very soul of
the person she was looking at. Her exquisite figure was enhanced
by a wonderful gown of indigo charmeuse. And yet, despite her
swaying grace, and the almost ethereal beauty of her face, you
felt instinctively the presence of something hard and menacing, a
kind of metallic strength that found expression in the tones of
her voice and in that gimletlike quality of her eyes.

For the first time Tuppence felt afraid.  She had not feared
Whittington, but this woman was different.  As if fascinated, she
watched the long cruel line of the red curving mouth, and again
she felt that sensation of panic pass over her.  Her usual
self-confidence deserted her. Vaguely she felt that deceiving
this woman would be very different to deceiving Whittington.  Mr.
Carter's warning recurred to her mind. Here, indeed, she might
expect no mercy.

Fighting down that instinct of panic which urged her to turn tail
and run without further delay, Tuppence returned the lady's gaze
firmly and respectfully.

As though that first scrutiny had been satisfactory, Mrs.
Vandemeyer motioned to a chair.

"You can sit down.  How did you hear I wanted a
house-parlourmaid?"


"Through a friend who knows the lift boy here.  He thought the
place might suit me."

Again that basilisk glance seemed to pierce her through.

"You speak like an educated girl?"

Glibly enough, Tuppence ran through her imaginary career on the
lines suggested by Mr. Carter.  It seemed to her, as she did so,
that the tension of Mrs. Vandemeyer's attitude relaxed.

"I see," she remarked at length.  "Is there anyone I can write to
for a reference?"

"I lived last with a Miss Dufferin, The Parsonage, Llanelly.  I
was with her two years."

"And then you thought you would get more money by coming to
London, I suppose?  Well, it doesn't matter to me. I will give
you L50--L60--whatever you want.  You can come in at once?"

"Yes, ma'am. To-day, if you like.  My box is at Paddington."

"Go and fetch it in a taxi, then.  It's an easy place.  I am out
a good deal. By the way, what's your name?"

"Prudence Cooper, ma'am."

"Very well, Prudence.  Go away and fetch your box.  I shall be
out to lunch. The cook will show you where everything is."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Tuppence withdrew.  The smart Annie was not in evidence.  In the
hall below a magnificent hall porter had relegated Albert to the
background. Tuppence did not even glance at him as she passed
meekly out.

The adventure had begun, but she felt less elated than she had
done earlier in the morning.  It crossed her mind that if the
unknown Jane Finn had fallen into the hands of Mrs. Vandemeyer,
it was likely to have gone hard with her.

CHAPTER X

ENTER SIR JAMES PEEL EDGERTON

TUPPENCE betrayed no awkwardness in her new duties. The daughters
of the archdeacon were well grounded in household tasks. They
were also experts in training a "raw girl," the inevitable result
being that the raw girl, once trained, departed elsewhere where
her newly acquired knowledge commanded a more substantial
remuneration than the archdeacon's meagre purse allowed.

Tuppence had therefore very little fear of proving inefficient.
Mrs. Vandemeyer's cook puzzled her.  She evidently went in deadly
terror of her mistress.  The girl thought it probable that the
other woman had some hold over her.  For the rest, she cooked
like a chef, as Tuppence had an opportunity of judging that
evening. Mrs. Vandemeyer was expecting a guest to dinner, and
Tuppence accordingly laid the beautifully polished table for two.
She was a little exercised in her own mind as to this visitor. It
was highly possible that it might prove to be Whittington.
Although she felt fairly confident that he would not recognize
her, yet she would have been better pleased had the guest proved
to be a total stranger. However, there was nothing for it but to
hope for the best.

At a few minutes past eight the front door bell rang, and
Tuppence went to answer it with some inward trepidation. She was
relieved to see that the visitor was the second of the two men
whom Tommy had taken upon himself to follow.

He gave his name as Count Stepanov.  Tuppence announced him, and
Mrs. Vandemeyer rose from her seat on a low divan with a quick
murmur of pleasure.

"It is delightful to see you, Boris Ivanovitch," she said.

"And you, madame!"  He bowed low over her hand.

Tuppence returned to the kitchen.

"Count Stepanov, or some such," she remarked, and affecting a
frank and unvarnished curiosity:  "Who's he?"

"A Russian gentleman, I believe."

"Come here much?"

"Once in a while.  What d'you want to know for?"

"Fancied he might be sweet on the missus, that's all," explained
the girl, adding with an appearance of sulkiness: "How you do
take one up!"

"I'm not quite easy in my mind about the souffle," explained the
other.

"You know something," thought Tuppence to herself, but aloud she
only said: "Going to dish up now?  Right-o."

Whilst waiting at table, Tuppence listened closely to all that
was said. She remembered that this was one of the men Tommy was
shadowing when she had last seen him.  Already, although she
would hardly admit it, she was becoming uneasy about her partner.
Where was he?  Why had no word of any kind come from him? She had
arranged before leaving the Ritz to have all letters or messages
sent on at once by special messenger to a small stationer's shop
near at hand where Albert was to call in frequently. True, it was
only yesterday morning that she had parted from Tommy, and she
told herself that any anxiety on his behalf would be absurd.
Still, it was strange that he had sent no word of any kind.

But, listen as she might, the conversation presented no clue.
Boris and Mrs. Vandemeyer talked on purely indifferent subjects:
plays they had seen, new dances, and the latest society gossip.
After dinner they repaired to the small boudoir where Mrs.
Vandemeyer, stretched on the divan, looked more wickedly
beautiful than ever. Tuppence brought in the coffee and liqueurs
and unwillingly retired. As she did so, she heard Boris say:

"New, isn't she?"

"She came in to-day. The other was a fiend.  This girl seems all
right. She waits well."

Tuppence lingered a moment longer by the door which she had
carefully neglected to close, and heard him say:

"Quite safe, I suppose?"

"Really, Boris, you are absurdly suspicious.  I believe she's the
cousin of the hall porter, or something of the kind. And nobody
even dreams that I have any connection with our--mutual friend,
Mr. Brown."

"For heaven's sake, be careful, Rita.  That door isn't shut."

"Well, shut it then," laughed the woman.

Tuppence removed herself speedily.

She dared not absent herself longer from the back premises, but
she cleared away and washed up with a breathless speed acquired
in hospital.  Then she slipped quietly back to the boudoir door.
The cook, more leisurely, was still busy in the kitchen and, if
she missed the other, would only suppose her to be turning down
the beds.

Alas!  The conversation inside was being carried on in too low a
tone to permit of her hearing anything of it.  She dared not
reopen the door, however gently.  Mrs. Vandemeyer was sitting
almost facing it, and Tuppence respected her mistress's lynx-eyed
powers of observation.

Nevertheless, she felt she would give a good deal to overhear
what was going on.  Possibly, if anything unforeseen had
happened, she might get news of Tommy.  For some moments she
reflected desperately, then her face brightened. She went quickly
along the passage to Mrs. Vandemeyer's bedroom, which had long
French windows leading on to a balcony that ran the length of the
flat.  Slipping quickly through the window, Tuppence crept
noiselessly along till she reached the boudoir window. As she had
thought it stood a little ajar, and the voices within were
plainly audible.

Tuppence listened attentively, but there was no mention of
anything that could be twisted to apply to Tommy.  Mrs.
Vandemeyer and the Russian seemed to be at variance over some
matter, and finally the latter exclaimed bitterly:

"With your persistent recklessness, you will end by ruining us!"

"Bah!" laughed the woman.  "Notoriety of the right kind is the
best way of disarming suspicion.  You will realize that one of
these days--perhaps sooner than you think!"

"In the meantime, you are going about everywhere with Peel
Edgerton.  Not only is he, perhaps, the most celebrated K.C. in
England, but his special hobby is criminology! It is madness!"

"I know that his eloquence has saved untold men from the
gallows," said Mrs. Vandemeyer calmly.  "What of it? I may need
his assistance in that line myself some day. If so, how fortunate
to have such a friend at court--or perhaps it would be more to
the point to say IN court."

Boris got up and began striding up and down.  He was very
excited.

"You are a clever woman, Rita; but you are also a fool! Be guided
by me, and give up Peel Edgerton."

Mrs. Vandemeyer shook her head gently.

"I think not."

"You refuse?"  There was an ugly ring in the Russian's voice.

"I do."

"Then, by Heaven," snarled the Russian, "we will see----" But
Mrs. Vandemeyer also rose to her feet, her eyes flashing.

"You forget, Boris," she said.  "I am accountable to no one. I
take my orders only from--Mr. Brown."

The other threw up his hands in despair.

"You are impossible," he muttered.  "Impossible!  Already it may
be too late.  They say Peel Edgerton can SMELL a criminal! How do
we know what is at the bottom of his sudden interest in you?
Perhaps even now his suspicions are aroused.  He guesses----"

Mrs. Vandemeyer eyed him scornfully.

"Reassure yourself, my dear Boris.  He suspects nothing. With
less than your usual chivalry, you seem to forget that I am
commonly accounted a beautiful woman.  I assure you that is all
that interests Peel Edgerton."

Boris shook his head doubtfully.

"He has studied crime as no other man in this kingdom has studied
it. Do you fancy that you can deceive him?"

Mrs. Vandemeyer's eyes narrowed.

"If he is all that you say--it would amuse me to try!"

"Good heavens, Rita----"

"Besides," added Mrs. Vandemeyer, "he is extremely rich. I am not
one who despises money.  The 'sinews of war,' you know, Boris!"

"Money--money!  That is always the danger with you, Rita.  I
believe you would sell your soul for money.  I believe----" He
paused, then in a low, sinister voice he said slowly: "Sometimes
I believe that you would sell--us!"

Mrs. Vandemeyer smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

"The price, at any rate, would have to be enormous," she said
lightly. "It would be beyond the power of anyone but a
millionaire to pay."

"Ah!" snarled the Russian.  "You see, I was right!"

"My dear Boris, can you not take a joke?"

"Was it a joke?"

"Of course."

"Then all I can say is that your ideas of humour are peculiar, my
dear Rita."

Mrs. Vandemeyer smiled.

"Let us not quarrel, Boris.  Touch the bell.  We will have some
drinks."

Tuppence beat a hasty retreat.  She paused a moment to survey
herself in Mrs. Vandemeyer's long glass, and be sure that nothing
was amiss with her appearance.  Then she answered the bell
demurely.

The conversation that she had overheard, although interesting in
that it proved beyond doubt the complicity of both Rita and
Boris, threw very little light on the present preoccupations. The
name of Jane Finn had not even been mentioned.

The following morning a few brief words with Albert informed her
that nothing was waiting for her at the stationer's. It seemed
incredible that Tommy, if all was well with him, should not send
any word to her. A cold hand seemed to close round her heart....
Supposing ... She choked her fears down bravely.  It was no good
worrying. But she leapt at a chance offered her by Mrs.
Vandemeyer.

"What day do you usually go out, Prudence?"

"Friday's my usual day, ma'am."

Mrs. Vandemeyer lifted her eyebrows.

"And to-day is Friday!  But I suppose you hardly wish to go out
to-day, as you only came yesterday."

"I was thinking of asking you if I might, ma'am."

Mrs. Vandemeyer looked at her a minute longer, and then smiled.

"I wish Count Stepanov could hear you.  He made a suggestion
about you last night."  Her smile broadened, catlike.  "Your
request is very--typical.  I am satisfied.  You do not understand
all this--but you can go out to-day. It makes no difference to
me, as I shall not be dining at home."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Tuppence felt a sensation of relief once she was out of the
other's presence. Once again she admitted to herself that she was
afraid, horribly afraid, of the beautiful woman with the cruel
eyes.

In the midst of a final desultory polishing of her silver,
Tuppence was disturbed by the ringing of the front door bell, and
went to answer it. This time the visitor was neither Whittington
nor Boris, but a man of striking appearance.

Just a shade over average height, he nevertheless conveyed the
impression of a big man.  His face, clean-shaven and exquisitely
mobile, was stamped with an expression of power and force far
beyond the ordinary. Magnetism seemed to radiate from him.

Tuppence was undecided for the moment whether to put him down as
an actor or a lawyer, but her doubts were soon solved as he gave
her his name: Sir James Peel Edgerton.

She looked at him with renewed interest.  This, then, was the
famous K.C. whose name was familiar all over England.  She had
heard it said that he might one day be Prime Minister.  He was
known to have refused office in the interests of his profession,
preferring to remain a simple Member for a Scotch constituency.

Tuppence went back to her pantry thoughtfully.  The great man had
impressed her.  She understood Boris's agitation. Peel Edgerton
would not be an easy man to deceive.

In about a quarter of an hour the bell rang, and Tuppence
repaired to the hall to show the visitor out.  He had given her a
piercing glance before.  Now, as she handed him his hat and
stick, she was conscious of his eyes raking her through. As she
opened the door and stood aside to let him pass out, he stopped
in the doorway.

"Not been doing this long, eh?"

Tuppence raised her eyes, astonished.  She read in his glance
kindliness, and something else more difficult to fathom.

He nodded as though she had answered.

"V.A.D. and hard up, I suppose?"

"Did Mrs. Vandemeyer tell you that?" asked Tuppence suspiciously.

"No, child.  The look of you told me.  Good place here?"

"Very good, thank you, sir."

"Ah, but there are plenty of good places nowadays. And a change
does no harm sometimes."

"Do you mean----?" began Tuppence.

But Sir James was already on the topmost stair.  He looked back
with his kindly, shrewd glance.

"Just a hint," he said.  "That's all."

Tuppence went back to the pantry more thoughtful than ever.

CHAPTER XI

JULIUS TELLS A STORY

DRESSED appropriately, Tuppence duly sallied forth for her
"afternoon out." Albert was in temporary abeyance, but Tuppence
went herself to the stationer's to make quite sure that nothing
had come for her. Satisfied on this point, she made her way to
the Ritz.  On inquiry she learnt that Tommy had not yet returned.
It was the answer she had expected, but it was another nail in
the coffin of her hopes. She resolved to appeal to Mr. Carter,
telling him when and where Tommy had started on his quest, and
asking him to do something to trace him. The prospect of his aid
revived her mercurial spirits, and she next inquired for Julius
Hersheimmer.  The reply she got was to the effect that he had
returned about half an hour ago, but had gone out immediately.

Tuppence's spirits revived still more.  It would be something to
see Julius.  Perhaps he could devise some plan for finding out
what had become of Tommy.  She wrote her note to Mr. Carter in
Julius's sitting-room, and was just addressing the envelope when
the door burst open.

"What the hell----" began Julius, but checked himself abruptly.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Tuppence.  Those fools down at the
office would have it that Beresford wasn't here any
longer--hadn't been here since Wednesday.  Is that so?"

Tuppence nodded.

"You don't know where he is?" she asked faintly.

"I?  How should I know?  I haven't had one darned word from him,
though I wired him yesterday morning."

"I expect your wire's at the office unopened."

"But where is he?"

"I don't know.  I hoped you might."

"I tell you I haven't had one darned word from him since we
parted at the depot on Wednesday."

"What depot?"

"Waterloo.  Your London and South Western road."

"Waterloo?" frowned Tuppence.

"Why, yes.  Didn't he tell you?"

"I haven't seen him either," replied Tuppence impatiently. "Go on
about Waterloo.  What were you doing there?"

"He gave me a call.  Over the phone.  Told me to get a move on,
and hustle. Said he was trailing two crooks."

"Oh!" said Tuppence, her eyes opening.  "I see.  Go on."

"I hurried along right away.  Beresford was there.  He pointed
out the crooks.  The big one was mine, the guy you bluffed. Tommy
shoved a ticket into my hand and told me to get aboard the cars.
He was going to sleuth the other crook."  Julius paused. "I
thought for sure you'd know all this."

"Julius," said Tuppence firmly, "stop walking up and down. It
makes me giddy.  Sit down in that armchair, and tell me the whole
story with as few fancy turns of speech as possible."

Mr. Hersheimmer obeyed.

"Sure," he said.  "Where shall I begin?"

"Where you left off.  At Waterloo."

"Well," began Julius, "I got into one of your dear old-fashioned
first-class British compartments.  The train was just off. First
thing I knew a guard came along and informed me mighty politely
that I wasn't in a smoking-carriage. I handed him out half a
dollar, and that settled that. I did a bit of prospecting along
the corridor to the next coach. Whittington was there right
enough.  When I saw the skunk, with his big sleek fat face, and
thought of poor little Jane in his clutches, I felt real mad that
I hadn't got a gun with me. I'd have tickled him up some.

"We got to Bournemouth all right.  Whittington took a cab and
gave the name of an hotel.  I did likewise, and we drove up
within three minutes of each other.  He hired a room, and I hired
one too. So far it was all plain sailing.  He hadn't the remotest
notion that anyone was on to him.  Well, he just sat around in
the hotel lounge, reading the papers and so on, till it was time
for dinner. He didn't hurry any over that either.

"I began to think that there was nothing doing, that he'd just
come on the trip for his health, but I remembered that he hadn't
changed for dinner, though it was by way of being a slap-up
hotel, so it seemed likely enough that he'd be going out on his
real business afterwards.

"Sure enough, about nine o'clock, so he did.  Took a car across
the town--mighty pretty place by the way, I guess I'll take Jane
there for a spell when I find her--and then paid it off and
struck out along those pine-woods on the top of the cliff. I was
there too, you understand.  We walked, maybe, for half an hour.
There's a lot of villas all the way along, but by degrees they
seemed to get more and more thinned out, and in the end we got to
one that seemed the last of the bunch. Big house it was, with a
lot of piny grounds around it.

"It was a pretty black night, and the carriage drive up to the
house was dark as pitch.  I could hear him ahead, though I
couldn't see him. I had to walk carefully in case he might get on
to it that he was being followed.  I turned a curve and I was
just in time to see him ring the bell and get admitted to the
house.  I just stopped where I was. It was beginning to rain, and
I was soon pretty near soaked through. Also, it was almighty
cold.

"Whittington didn't come out again, and by and by I got kind of
restive, and began to mouch around.  All the ground floor windows
were shuttered tight, but upstairs, on the first floor (it was a
two-storied house) I noticed a window with a light burning and
the curtains not drawn.

"Now, just opposite to that window, there was a tree growing. It
was about thirty foot away from the house, maybe, and I sort of
got it into my head that, if I climbed up that tree, I'd very
likely be able to see into that room.  Of course, I knew there
was no reason why Whittington should be in that room rather than
in any other--less reason, in fact, for the betting would be on
his being in one of the reception-rooms downstairs. But I guess
I'd got the hump from standing so long in the rain, and anything
seemed better than going on doing nothing. So I started up.

"It wasn't so easy, by a long chalk!  The rain had made the
boughs mighty slippery, and it was all I could do to keep a
foothold, but bit by bit I managed it, until at last there I was
level with the window.

"But then I was disappointed.  I was too far to the left. I could
only see sideways into the room.  A bit of curtain, and a yard of
wallpaper was all I could command.  Well, that wasn't any manner
of good to me, but just as I was going to give it up, and climb
down ignominiously, some one inside moved and threw his shadow on
my little bit of wall--and, by gum, it was Whittington!

"After that, my blood was up.  I'd just got to get a look into
that room. It was up to me to figure out how.  I noticed that
there was a long branch running out from the tree in the right
direction.  If I could only swarm about half-way along it, the
proposition would be solved. But it was mighty uncertain whether
it would bear my weight. I decided I'd just got to risk that, and
I started.  Very cautiously, inch by inch, I crawled along.  The
bough creaked and swayed in a nasty fashion, and it didn't do to
think of the drop below, but at last I got safely to where I
wanted to be.

"The room was medium-sized, furnished in a kind of bare hygienic
way. There was a table with a lamp on it in the middle of the
room, and sitting at that table, facing towards me, was
Whittington right enough.  He was talking to a woman dressed as a
hospital nurse. She was sitting with her back to me, so I
couldn't see her face. Although the blinds were up, the window
itself was shut, so I couldn't catch a word of what they said.
Whittington seemed to be doing all the talking, and the nurse
just listened. Now and then she nodded, and sometimes she'd shake
her head, as though she were answering questions.  He seemed very
emphatic--once or twice he beat with his fist on the table. The
rain had stopped now, and the sky was clearing in that sudden way
it does.

"Presently, he seemed to get to the end of what he was saying.
He got up, and so did she.  He looked towards the window and
asked something--I guess it was whether it was raining.  Anyway,
she came right across and looked out. Just then the moon came out
from behind the clouds.  I was scared the woman would catch sight
of me, for I was full in the moonlight.  I tried to move back a
bit.  The jerk I gave was too much for that rotten old branch.
With an almighty crash, down it came, and Julius P. Hersheimmer
with it!"

"Oh, Julius," breathed Tuppence, "how exciting!  Go on."

"Well, luckily for me, I pitched down into a good soft bed of
earth--but it put me out of action for the time, sure enough. The
next thing I knew, I was lying in bed with a hospital nurse (not
Whittington's one) on one side of me, and a little black-bearded
man with gold glasses, and medical man written all over him, on
the other.  He rubbed his hands together, and raised his eyebrows
as I stared at him.  'Ah!' he said. 'So our young friend is
coming round again.  Capital.  Capital.'

"I did the usual stunt.  Said:  'What's happened?' And 'Where am
I?'  But I knew the answer to the last well enough. There's no
moss growing on my brain.  'I think that'll do for the present,
sister,' said the little man, and the nurse left the room in a
sort of brisk well-trained way. But I caught her handing me out a
look of deep curiosity as she passed through the door.

"That look of hers gave me an idea.  'Now then, doc,' I said, and
tried to sit up in bed, but my right foot gave me a nasty twinge
as I did so. 'A slight sprain,' explained the doctor.  'Nothing
serious. You'll be about again in a couple of days.'  "

"I noticed you walked lame," interpolated Tuppence.

Julius nodded, and continued:

" 'How did it happen?'  I asked again.  He replied dryly. 'You
fell, with a considerable portion of one of my trees, into one of
my newly planted flower-beds.'

"I liked the man.  He seemed to have a sense of humour. I felt
sure that he, at least, was plumb straight.  'Sure, doc,' I said,
'I'm sorry about the tree, and I guess the new bulbs will be on
me. But perhaps you'd like to know what I was doing in your
garden?' 'I think the facts do call for an explanation,' he
replied. 'Well, to begin with, I wasn't after the spoons.'

"He smiled.  'My first theory.  But I soon altered my mind. By
the way, you are an American, are you not?'  I told him my name.
'And you?'  'I am Dr. Hall, and this, as you doubtless know, is
my private nursing home.'

"I didn't know, but I wasn't going to put him wise. I was just
thankful for the information.  I liked the man, and I felt he was
straight, but I wasn't going to give him the whole story. For one
thing he probably wouldn't have believed it.

"I made up my mind in a flash.  'Why, doctor,' I said, 'I guess I
feel an almighty fool, but I owe it to you to let you know that
it wasn't the Bill Sikes business I was up to.' Then I went on
and mumbled out something about a girl. I trotted out the stern
guardian business, and a nervous breakdown, and finally explained
that I had fancied I recognized her among the patients at the
home, hence my nocturnal adventures. I guess it was just the
kind of story he was expecting. 'Quite a romance,' he said
genially, when I'd finished. 'Now, doc,' I went on, 'will you be
frank with me? Have you here now, or have you had here at any
time, a young girl called Jane Finn?'  He repeated the name
thoughtfully. 'Jane Finn?' he said.  'No.'

"I was chagrined, and I guess I showed it.  'You are sure?'
'Quite sure, Mr. Hersheimmer.  It is an uncommon name, and I
should not have been likely to forget it.'

"Well, that was flat.  It laid me out for a space.  I'd kind of
hoped my search was at an end.  'That's that,' I said at last.
'Now, there's another matter.  When I was hugging that darned
branch I thought I recognized an old friend of mine talking to
one of your nurses.'  I purposely didn't mention any name
because, of course, Whittington might be calling himself
something quite different down here, but the doctor answered at
once. 'Mr. Whittington, perhaps?'  'That's the fellow,' I
replied. 'What's he doing down here?  Don't tell me HIS nerves
are out of order?'

"Dr. Hall laughed.  'No. He came down to see one of my nurses,
Nurse Edith, who is a niece of his.'  'Why, fancy that!'  I
exclaimed. 'Is he still here?'  'No, he went back to town almost
immediately.' 'What a pity!'  I ejaculated.  'But perhaps I could
speak to his niece--Nurse Edith, did you say her name was?'

"But the doctor shook his head.  'I'm afraid that, too, is
impossible. Nurse Edith left with a patient to-night also.'  'I
seem to be real unlucky,' I remarked.  'Have you Mr.
Whittington's address in town?  I guess I'd like to look him up
when I get back.'  'I don't know his address. I can write to
Nurse Edith for it if you like.'  I thanked him. 'Don't say who
it is wants it.  I'd like to give him a little surprise.'

"That was about all I could do for the moment.  Of course, if the
girl was really Whittington's niece, she might be too cute to
fall into the trap, but it was worth trying.  Next thing I did
was to write out a wire to Beresford saying where I was, and that
I was laid up with a sprained foot, and telling him to come down
if he wasn't busy.  I had to be guarded in what I said. However,
I didn't hear from him, and my foot soon got all right. It was
only ricked, not really sprained, so to-day I said good-bye to
the little doctor chap, asked him to send me word if he heard
from Nurse Edith, and came right away back to town. Say, Miss
Tuppence, you're looking mighty pale!"

"It's Tommy," said Tuppence.  "What can have happened to him?"

"Buck up, I guess he's all right really.  Why shouldn't he be?
See here, it was a foreign-looking guy he went off after. Maybe
they've gone abroad--to Poland, or something like that?"

Tuppence shook her head.

"He couldn't without passports and things.  Besides I've seen
that man, Boris Something, since.  He dined with Mrs. Vandemeyer
last night."

"Mrs. Who?"

"I forgot.  Of course you don't know all that."

"I'm listening," said Julius, and gave vent to his favourite
expression. "Put me wise."

Tuppence thereupon related the events of the last two days.
Julius's astonishment and admiration were unbounded.

"Bully for you!  Fancy you a menial.  It just tickles me to
death!" Then he added seriously:  "But say now, I don't like it,
Miss Tuppence, I sure don't. You're just as plucky as they make
'em, but I wish you'd keep right out of this. These crooks we're
up against would as soon croak a girl as a man any day."

"Do you think I'm afraid?" said Tuppence indignantly, valiantly
repressing memories of the steely glitter in Mrs. Vandemeyer's
eyes.

"I said before you were darned plucky.  But that doesn't alter
facts."

"Oh, bother ME!" said Tuppence impatiently.  "Let's think about
what can have happened to Tommy.  I've written to Mr. Carter
about it," she added, and told him the gist of her letter.

Julius nodded gravely.

"I guess that's good as far as it goes.  But it's for us to get
busy and do something."

"What can we do?" asked Tuppence, her spirits rising.

"I guess we'd better get on the track of Boris.  You say he's
been to your place.  Is he likely to come again?"

"He might.  I really don't know."

"I see.  Well, I guess I'd better buy a car, a slap-up one, dress
as a chauffeur and hang about outside.  Then if Boris comes, you
could make some kind of signal, and I'd trail him.  How's that?"

"Splendid, but he mightn't come for weeks."

"We'll have to chance that.  I'm glad you like the plan."  He
rose.

"Where are you going?"

"To buy the car, of course," replied Julius, surprised. "What
make do you like?  I guess you'll do some riding in it before
we've finished."

"Oh," said Tuppence faintly, "I LIKE Rolls-Royces, but----"

"Sure," agreed Julius.  "What you say goes.  I'll get one."

"But you can't at once," cried Tuppence.  "People wait ages
sometimes."

"Little Julius doesn't," affirmed Mr. Hersheimmer.  "Don't you
worry any. I'll be round in the car in half an hour."

Tuppence got up.

"You're awfully good, Julius.  But I can't help feeling that it's
rather a forlorn hope.  I'm really pinning my faith to Mr.
Carter."

"Then I shouldn't."

"Why?"

"Just an idea of mine."

"Oh; but he must do something.  There's no one else.  By the way,
I forgot to tell you of a queer thing that happened this
morning."

And she narrated her encounter with Sir James Peel Edgerton.
Julius was interested.

"What did the guy mean, do you think?" he asked.

"I don't quite know," said Tuppence meditatively.  "But I think
that, in an ambiguous, legal, without prejudishish lawyer's way,
he was trying to warn me."

"Why should he?"

"I don't know," confessed Tuppence.  "But he looked kind, and
simply awfully clever.  I wouldn't mind going to him and telling
him everything."

Somewhat to her surprise, Julius negatived the idea sharply.

"See here," he said, "we don't want any lawyers mixed up in this.
That guy couldn't help us any."

"Well, I believe he could," reiterated Tuppence obstinately.

"Don't you think it.  So long.  I'll be back in half an hour."

Thirty-five minutes had elapsed when Julius returned. He took
Tuppence by the arm, and walked her to the window.

"There she is."

"Oh!" said Tuppence with a note of reverence in her voice, as she
gazed down at the enormous car.

"She's some pace-maker, I can tell you," said Julius
complacently.

"How did you get it?" gasped Tuppence.

"She was just being sent home to some bigwig."

"Well?"

"I went round to his house," said Julius.  "I said that I
reckoned a car like that was worth every penny of twenty thousand
dollars. Then I told him that it was worth just about fifty
thousand dollars to me if he'd get out."

"Well?" said Tuppence, intoxicated.

"Well," returned Julius, "he got out, that's all."

CHAPTER XII

A FRIEND IN NEED

FRIDAY and Saturday passed uneventfully.  Tuppence had received a
brief answer to her appeal from Mr. Carter.  In it he pointed out
that the Young Adventurers had undertaken the work at their own
risk, and had been fully warned of the dangers. If anything had
happened to Tommy he regretted it deeply, but he could do
nothing.

This was cold comfort.  Somehow, without Tommy, all the savour
went out of the adventure, and, for the first time, Tuppence felt
doubtful of success.  While they had been together she had never
questioned it for a minute.  Although she was accustomed to take
the lead, and to pride herself on her quick-wittedness, in
reality she had relied upon Tommy more than she realized at the
time. There was something so eminently sober and clear-headed
about him, his common sense and soundness of vision were so
unvarying, that without him Tuppence felt much like a rudderless
ship. It was curious that Julius, who was undoubtedly much
cleverer than Tommy, did not give her the same feeling of
support. She had accused Tommy of being a pessimist, and it is
certain that he always saw the disadvantages and difficulties
which she herself was optimistically given to overlooking, but
nevertheless she had really relied a good deal on his judgment.
He might be slow, but he was very sure.

It seemed to the girl that, for the first time, she realized the
sinister character of the mission they had undertaken so
lightheartedly. It had begun like a page of romance.  Now, shorn
of its glamour, it seemed to be turning to grim reality.
Tommy--that was all that mattered. Many times in the day Tuppence
blinked the tears out of her eyes resolutely. "Little fool," she
would apostrophize herself, "don't snivel. Of course you're fond
of him.  You've known him all your life. But there's no need to
be sentimental about it."

In the meantime, nothing more was seen of Boris.  He did not come
to the flat, and Julius and the car waited in vain.  Tuppence
gave herself over to new meditations.  Whilst admitting the truth
of Julius's objections, she had nevertheless not entirely
relinquished the idea of appealing to Sir James Peel Edgerton.
Indeed, she had gone so far as to look up his address in the Red
Book.  Had he meant to warn her that day? If so, why?  Surely she
was at least entitled to demand an explanation. He had looked at
her so kindly.  Perhaps he might tell them something concerning
Mrs. Vandemeyer which might lead to a clue to Tommy's
whereabouts.

Anyway, Tuppence decided, with her usual shake of the shoulders,
it was worth trying, and try it she would.  Sunday was her
afternoon out. She would meet Julius, persuade him to her point
of view, and they would beard the lion in his den.

When the day arrived Julius needed a considerable amount of
persuading, but Tuppence held firm.  "It can do no harm," was
what she always came back to.  In the end Julius gave in, and
they proceeded in the car to Carlton House Terrace.

The door was opened by an irreproachable butler.  Tuppence felt a
little nervous.  After all, perhaps it WAS colossal cheek on her
part. She had decided not to ask if Sir James was "at home," but
to adopt a more personal attitude.

"Will you ask Sir James if I can see him for a few minutes? I
have an important message for him."

The butler retired, returning a moment or two later.

"Sir James will see you.  Will you step this way?"

He ushered them into a room at the back of the house, furnished
as a library. The collection of books was a magnificent one, and
Tuppence noticed that all one wall was devoted to works on crime
and criminology.  There were several deep-padded leather
arm-chairs, and an old-fashioned open hearth. In the window was a
big roll-top desk strewn with papers at which the master of the
house was sitting.

He rose as they entered.

"You have a message for me?  Ah"--he recognized Tuppence with a
smile--"it's you, is it?  Brought a message from Mrs. Vandemeyer,
I suppose?"

"Not exactly," said Tuppence.  "In fact, I'm afraid I only said
that to be quite sure of getting in.  Oh, by the way, this is Mr.
Hersheimmer, Sir James Peel Edgerton."

"Pleased to meet you," said the American, shooting out a hand.

"Won't you both sit down?" asked Sir James.  He drew forward two
chairs.

"Sir James," said Tuppence, plunging boldly, "I dare say you will
think it is most awful cheek of me coming here like this.
Because, of course, it's nothing whatever to do with you, and
then you're a very important person, and of course Tommy and I
are very unimportant."  She paused for breath.

"Tommy?" queried Sir James, looking across at the American.

"No, that's Julius," explained Tuppence.  "I'm rather nervous,
and that makes me tell it badly.  What I really want to know is
what you meant by what you said to me the other day? Did you mean
to warn me against Mrs. Vandemeyer?  You did, didn't you?"

"My dear young lady, as far as I recollect I only mentioned that
there were equally good situations to be obtained elsewhere."

"Yes, I know.  But it was a hint, wasn't it?"

"Well, perhaps it was," admitted Sir James gravely.

"Well, I want to know more.  I want to know just WHY you gave me
a hint."

Sir James smiled at her earnestness.

"Suppose the lady brings a libel action against me for defamation
of character?"

"Of course," said Tuppence.  "I know lawyers are always
dreadfully careful. But can't we say 'without prejudice' first,
and then say just what we want to."

"Well," said Sir James, still smiling, "without prejudice, then,
if I had a young sister forced to earn her living, I should not
like to see her in Mrs. Vandemeyer's service. I felt it incumbent
on me just to give you a hint. It is no place for a young and
inexperienced girl. That is all I can tell you."

"I see," said Tuppence thoughtfully.  "Thank you very much. But
I'm not REALLY inexperienced, you know.  I knew perfectly that
she was a bad lot when I went there--as a matter of fact that's
WHY I went----" She broke off, seeing some bewilderment on the
lawyer's face, and went on: "I think perhaps I'd better tell you
the whole story, Sir James.  I've a sort of feeling that you'd
know in a minute if I didn't tell the truth, and so you might as
well know all about it from the beginning. What do you think,
Julius?"

"As you're bent on it, I'd go right ahead with the facts,"
replied the American, who had so far sat in silence.

"Yes, tell me all about it," said Sir James.  "I want to know who
Tommy is."

Thus encouraged Tuppence plunged into her tale, and the lawyer
listened with close attention.

"Very interesting," he said, when she finished.  "A great deal of
what you tell me, child, is already known to me.  I've had
certain theories of my own about this Jane Finn.  You've done
extraordinarily well so far, but it's rather too bad of--what do
you know him as?--Mr. Carter to pitchfork you two young things
into an affair of this kind. By the way, where did Mr.
Hersheimmer come in originally? You didn't make that clear?"

Julius answered for himself.

"I'm Jane's first cousin," he explained, returning the lawyer's
keen gaze.

"Ah!"

"Oh, Sir James," broke out Tuppence, "what do you think has
become of Tommy?"

"H'm." The lawyer rose, and paced slowly up and down. "When you
arrived, young lady, I was just packing up my traps. Going to
Scotland by the night train for a few days' fishing. But there
are different kinds of fishing.  I've a good mind to stay, and
see if we can't get on the track of that young chap."

"Oh!"  Tuppence clasped her hands ecstatically.

"All the same, as I said before, it's too bad of--of Carter to
set you two babies on a job like this.  Now, don't get offended,
Miss--er----"

"Cowley.  Prudence Cowley.  But my friends call me Tuppence."

"Well, Miss Tuppence, then, as I'm certainly going to be a
friend. Don't be offended because I think you're young.  Youth is
a failing only too easily outgrown.  Now, about this young Tommy
of yours----"

"Yes."  Tuppence clasped her hands.

"Frankly, things look bad for him.  He's been butting in
somewhere where he wasn't wanted.  Not a doubt of it. But don't
give up hope."

"And you really will help us?  There, Julius!  He didn't want me
to come," she added by way of explanation.

"H'm," said the lawyer, favouring Julius with another keen
glance. "And why was that?"

"I reckoned it would be no good worrying you with a petty little
business like this."

"I see."  He paused a moment.  "This petty little business, as
you call it, bears directly on a very big business, bigger
perhaps than either you or Miss Tuppence know. If this boy is
alive, he may have very valuable information to give us.
Therefore, we must find him."

"Yes, but how?" cried Tuppence.  "I've tried to think of
everything."

Sir James smiled.

"And yet there's one person quite near at hand who in all
probability knows where he is, or at all events where he is
likely to be."

"Who is that?" asked Tuppence, puzzled.

"Mrs. Vandemeyer."

"Yes, but she'd never tell us."

"Ah, that is where I come in.  I think it quite likely that I
shall be able to make Mrs. Vandemeyer tell me what I want to
know."

"How?" demanded Tuppence, opening her eyes very wide.

"Oh, just by asking her questions," replied Sir James easily.
"That's the way we do it, you know."

He tapped with his finger on the table, and Tuppence felt again
the intense power that radiated from the man.

"And if she won't tell?" asked Julius suddenly.

"I think she will.  I have one or two powerful levers.  Still, in
that unlikely event, there is always the possibility of bribery."

"Sure.  And that's where I come in!" cried Julius, bringing his
fist down on the table with a bang.  "You can count on me, if
necessary, for one million dollars.  Yes, sir, one million
dollars!"

Sir James sat down and subjected Julius to a long scrutiny.

"Mr. Hersheimmer," he said at last, "that is a very large sum."

"I guess it'll have to be.  These aren't the kind of folk to
offer sixpence to."

"At the present rate of exchange it amounts to considerably over
two hundred and fifty thousand pounds."

"That's so.  Maybe you think I'm talking through my hat, but I
can deliver the goods all right, with enough over to spare for
your fee."

Sir James flushed slightly.

"There is no question of a fee, Mr. Hersheimmer.  I am not a
private detective."

"Sorry.  I guess I was just a mite hasty, but I've been feeling
bad about this money question.  I wanted to offer a big reward
for news of Jane some days ago, but your crusted institution of
Scotland Yard advised me against it. Said it was undesirable."

"They were probably right," said Sir James dryly.

"But it's all O.K. about Julius," put in Tuppence.  "He's not
pulling your leg.  He's got simply pots of money."

"The old man piled it up in style," explained Julius.  "Now,
let's get down to it.  What's your idea?"

Sir James considered for a moment or two.

"There is no time to be lost.  The sooner we strike the better."
He turned to Tuppence.  "Is Mrs. Vandemeyer dining out to-night,
do you know?"

"Yes, I think so, but she will not be out late.  Otherwise, she
would have taken the latchkey."

"Good.  I will call upon her about ten o'clock. What time are you
supposed to return?"

"About nine-thirty or ten, but I could go back earlier."

"You must not do that on any account.  It might arouse suspicion
if you did not stay out till the usual time. Be back by
nine-thirty. I will arrive at ten.  Mr. Hersheimmer will wait
below in a taxi perhaps."

"He's got a new Rolls-Royce car," said Tuppence with vicarious
pride.

"Even better.  If I succeed in obtaining the address from her, we
can go there at once, taking Mrs. Vandemeyer with us if
necessary. You understand?"

"Yes."  Tuppence rose to her feet with a skip of delight. "Oh, I
feel so much better!"

"Don't build on it too much, Miss Tuppence.  Go easy."

Julius turned to the lawyer.

"Say, then.  I'll call for you in the car round about
nine-thirty. Is that right?"

"Perhaps that will be the best plan.  It would be unnecessary to
have two cars waiting about.  Now, Miss Tuppence, my advice to
you is to go and have a good dinner, a REALLY good one, mind. And
don't think ahead more than you can help."

He shook hands with them both, and a moment later they were
outside.

"Isn't he a duck?" inquired Tuppence ecstatically, as she skipped
down the steps.  "Oh, Julius, isn't he just a duck?"

"Well, I allow he seems to be the goods all right. And I was
wrong about its being useless to go to him. Say, shall we go
right away back to the Ritz?"

"I must walk a bit, I think.  I feel so excited.  Drop me in the
park, will you?  Unless you'd like to come too?"

"I want to get some petrol," he explained.  "And send off a cable
or two."

"All right.  I'll meet you at the Ritz at seven.  We'll have to
dine upstairs.  I can't show myself in these glad rags."

"Sure.  I'll get Felix help me choose the menu.  He's some head
waiter, that.  So long."

Tuppence walked briskly along towards the Serpentine, first
glancing at her watch.  It was nearly six o'clock. She remembered
that she had had no tea, but felt too excited to be conscious of
hunger. She walked as far as Kensington Gardens and then slowly
retraced her steps, feeling infinitely better for the fresh air
and exercise. It was not so easy to follow Sir James's advice,
and put the possible events of the evening out of her head.  As
she drew nearer and nearer to Hyde Park corner, the temptation to
return to South Audley Mansions was almost irresistible.

At any rate, she decided, it would do no harm just to go and LOOK
at the building.  Perhaps, then, she could resign herself to
waiting patiently for ten o'clock.

South Audley Mansions looked exactly the same as usual. What
Tuppence had expected she hardly knew, but the sight of its red
brick stolidity slightly assuaged the growing and entirely
unreasonable uneasiness that possessed her. She was just turning
away when she heard a piercing whistle, and the faithful Albert
came running from the building to join her.

Tuppence frowned.  It was no part of the programme to have
attention called to her presence in the neighbourhood, but Albert
was purple with suppressed excitement.

"I say, miss, she's a-going!"

"Who's going?" demanded Tuppence sharply.

"The crook.  Ready Rita.  Mrs. Vandemeyer.  She's a-packing up,
and she's just sent down word for me to get her a taxi."

"What?"  Tuppence clutched his arm.

"It's the truth, miss.  I thought maybe as you didn't know about
it."

"Albert," cried Tuppence, "you're a brick.  If it hadn't been for
you we'd have lost her."

Albert flushed with pleasure at this tribute.

"There's no time to lose," said Tuppence, crossing the road.
"I've got to stop her.  At all costs I must keep her here
until----" She broke off.  "Albert, there's a telephone here,
isn't there?"

The boy shook his head.

"The flats mostly have their own, miss.  But there's a box just
round the corner."

"Go to it then, at once, and ring up the Ritz Hotel.  Ask for Mr.
Hersheimmer, and when you get him tell him to get Sir James and
come on at once, as Mrs. Vandemeyer is trying to hook it. If you
can't get him, ring up Sir James Peel Edgerton, you'll find his
number in the book, and tell him what's happening. You won't
forget the names, will you?"

Albert repeated them glibly.  "You trust to me, miss, it'll be
all right. But what about you?  Aren't you afraid to trust
yourself with her?"

"No, no, that's all right.  BUT GO AND TELEPHONE.  Be quick."

Drawing a long breath, Tuppence entered the Mansions and ran up
to the door of No. 20.  How she was to detain Mrs. Vandemeyer
until the two men arrived, she did not know, but somehow or other
it had to be done, and she must accomplish the task
single-handed. What had occasioned this precipitate departure?
Did Mrs. Vandemeyer suspect her?

Speculations were idle.  Tuppence pressed the bell firmly. She
might learn something from the cook.

Nothing happened and, after waiting some minutes, Tuppence
pressed the bell again, keeping her finger on the button for some
little while. At last she heard footsteps inside, and a moment
later Mrs. Vandemeyer herself opened the door.  She lifted her
eyebrows at the sight of the girl.

"You?"

"I had a touch of toothache, ma'am," said Tuppence glibly. "So
thought it better to come home and have a quiet evening."

Mrs. Vandemeyer said nothing, but she drew back and let Tuppence
pass into the hall.

"How unfortunate for you," she said coldly.  "You had better go
to bed."

"Oh, I shall be all right in the kitchen, ma'am. Cook will----"

"Cook is out," said Mrs. Vandemeyer, in a rather disagreeable
tone. "I sent her out.  So you see you had better go to bed."

Suddenly Tuppence felt afraid.  There was a ring in Mrs.
Vandemeyer's voice that she did not like at all. Also, the other
woman was slowly edging her up the passage. Tuppence turned at
bay.

"I don't want----"

Then, in a flash, a rim of cold steel touched her temple, and
Mrs. Vandemeyer's voice rose cold and menacing:

"You damned little fool!  Do you think I don't know?  No, don't
answer. If you struggle or cry out, I'll shoot you like a dog."

The rim of steel pressed a little harder against the girl's
temple.

"Now then, march," went on Mrs. Vandemeyer.  "This way--into my
room. In a minute, when I've done with you, you'll go to bed as I
told you to. And you'll sleep--oh yes, my little spy, you'll
sleep all right!"

There was a sort of hideous geniality in the last words which
Tuppence did not at all like.  For the moment there was nothing
to be done, and she walked obediently into Mrs. Vandemeyer's
bedroom.  The pistol never left her forehead.  The room was in a
state of wild disorder, clothes were flung about right and left,
a suit-case and a hat box, half-packed, stood in the middle of
the floor.

Tuppence pulled herself together with an effort.  Her voice shook
a little, but she spoke out bravely.

"Come now," she said.  "This is nonsense.  You can't shoot me.
Why, every one in the building would hear the report."

"I'd risk that," said Mrs. Vandemeyer cheerfully. "But, as long
as you don't sing out for help, you're all right--and I don't
think you will.  You're a clever girl. You deceived ME all right.
I hadn't a suspicion of you! So I've no doubt that you understand
perfectly well that this is where I'm on top and you're
underneath.  Now then--sit on the bed. Put your hands above your
head, and if you value your life don't move them."

Tuppence obeyed passively.  Her good sense told her that there
was nothing else to do but accept the situation.  If she shrieked
for help there was very little chance of anyone hearing her,
whereas there was probably quite a good chance of Mrs.
Vandemeyer's shooting her. In the meantime, every minute of delay
gained was valuable.

Mrs. Vandemeyer laid down the revolver on the edge of the
washstand within reach of her hand, and, still eyeing Tuppence
like a lynx in case the girl should attempt to move, she took a
little stoppered bottle from its place on the marble and poured
some of its contents into a glass which she filled up with water.

"What's that?" asked Tuppence sharply.

"Something to make you sleep soundly."

Tuppence paled a little.

"Are you going to poison me?" she asked in a whisper.

"Perhaps," said Mrs. Vandemeyer, smiling agreeably.

"Then I shan't drink it," said Tuppence firmly.  "I'd much rather
be shot. At any rate that would make a row, and some one might
hear it. But I won't be killed off quietly like a lamb."

Mrs. Vandemeyer stamped her foot.

"Don't be a little fool!  Do you really think I want a hue and
cry for murder out after me?  If you've any sense at all, you'll
realize that poisoning you wouldn't suit my book at all.  It's a
sleeping draught, that's all.  You'll wake up to-morrow morning
none the worse. I simply don't want the bother of tying you up
and gagging you. That's the alternative--and you won't like it, I
can tell you! I can be very rough if I choose.  So drink this
down like a good girl, and you'll be none the worse for it."

In her heart of hearts Tuppence believed her.  The arguments she
had adduced rang true.  It was a simple and effective method of
getting her out of the way for the time being. Nevertheless, the
girl did not take kindly to the idea of being tamely put to sleep
without as much as one bid for freedom. She felt that once Mrs.
Vandemeyer gave them the slip, the last hope of finding Tommy
would be gone.

Tuppence was quick in her mental processes.  All these
reflections passed through her mind in a flash, and she saw where
a chance, a very problematical chance, lay, and she determined to
risk all in one supreme effort.

Accordingly, she lurched suddenly off the bed and fell on her
knees before Mrs. Vandemeyer, clutching her skirts frantically.

"I don't believe it," she moaned.  "It's poison--I know it's
poison. Oh, don't make me drink it"--her voice rose to a
shriek--"don't make me drink it!"

Mrs. Vandemeyer, glass in hand, looked down with a curling lip at
this sudden collapse.

"Get up, you little idiot!  Don't go on drivelling there. How you
ever had the nerve to play your part as you did I can't think."
She stamped her foot.  "Get up, I say."

But Tuppence continued to cling and sob, interjecting her sobs
with incoherent appeals for mercy.  Every minute gained was to
the good. Moreover, as she grovelled, she moved imperceptibly
nearer to her objective.

Mrs. Vandemeyer gave a sharp impatient exclamation, and jerked
the girl to her knees.

"Drink it at once!"  Imperiously she pressed the glass to the
girl's lips.

Tuppence gave one last despairing moan.

"You swear it won't hurt me?" she temporized.

"Of course it won't hurt you.  Don't be a fool."

"Will you swear it?"

"Yes, yes," said the other impatiently.  "I swear it."

Tuppence raised a trembling left hand to the glass.

"Very well."  Her mouth opened meekly.

Mrs. Vandemeyer gave a sigh of relief, off her guard for the
moment. Then, quick as a flash, Tuppence jerked the glass upward
as hard as she could.  The fluid in it splashed into Mrs.
Vandemeyer's face, and during her momentary gasp, Tuppence's
right hand shot out and grasped the revolver where it lay on the
edge of the washstand. The next moment she had sprung back a
pace, and the revolver pointed straight at Mrs. Vandemeyer's
heart, with no unsteadiness in the hand that held it.

In the moment of victory, Tuppence betrayed a somewhat
unsportsmanlike triumph.

"Now who's on top and who's underneath?" she crowed.

The other's face was convulsed with rage.  For a minute Tuppence
thought she was going to spring upon her, which would have placed
the girl in an unpleasant dilemma, since she meant to draw the
line at actually letting off the revolver. However, with an
effort Mrs. Vandemeyer controlled herself, and at last a slow
evil smile crept over her face.

"Not a fool, then, after all!  You did that well, girl. But you
shall pay for it--oh, yes, you shall pay for it! I have a long
memory!"

"I'm surprised you should have been gulfed so easily," said
Tuppence scornfully.  "Did you really think I was the kind of
girl to roll about on the floor and whine for mercy?"

"You may do--some day!" said the other significantly.

The cold malignity of her manner sent an unpleasant chill down
Tuppence's spine, but she was not going to give in to it.

"Supposing we sit down," she said pleasantly.  "Our present
attitude is a little melodramatic.  No--not on the bed. Draw a
chair up to the table, that's right.  Now I'll sit opposite you
with the revolver in front of me--just in case of accidents.
Splendid.  Now, let's talk."

"What about?" said Mrs. Vandemeyer sullenly.

Tuppence eyed her thoughtfully for a minute.  She was remembering
several things.  Boris's words, "I believe you would sell--us!"
and her answer, "The price would have to be enormous," given
lightly, it was true, yet might not there be a substratum of
truth in it?  Long ago, had not Whittington asked: "Who's been
blabbing?  Rita?"  Would Rita Vandemeyer prove to be the weak
spot in the armour of Mr. Brown?

Keeping her eyes fixed steadily on the other's face, Tuppence
replied quietly:

"Money----"

Mrs. Vandemeyer started.  Clearly, the reply was unexpected.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you.  You said just now that you had a long memory. A
long memory isn't half as useful as a long purse!  I dare say it
relieves your feelings a good deal to plan out all sorts of
dreadful things to do to me, but is that PRACTICAL?  Revenge is
very unsatisfactory. Every one always says so.  But
money"--Tuppence warmed to her pet creed--"well, there's nothing
unsatisfactory about money, is there?"

"Do you think," said Mrs. Vandemeyer scornfully, "that I am the
kind of woman to sell my friends?"

"Yes," said Tuppence promptly.  "If the price was big enough."

"A paltry hundred pounds or so!"

"No," said Tuppence.  "I should suggest--a hundred thousand!"

Her economical spirit did not permit her to mention the whole
million dollars suggested by Julius.

A flush crept over Mrs. Vandemeyer's face.

"What did you say?" she asked, her fingers playing nervously with
a brooch on her breast.  In that moment Tuppence knew that the
fish was hooked, and for the first time she felt a horror of her
own money-loving spirit. It gave her a dreadful sense of kinship
to the woman fronting her.

"A hundred thousand pounds," repeated Tuppence.

The light died out of Mrs. Vandemeyer's eyes.  She leaned back in
her chair.

"Bah!" she said.  "You haven't got it."

"No," admitted Tuppence, "I haven't--but I know some one who
has."

"Who?"

"A friend of mine."

"Must be a millionaire," remarked Mrs. Vandemeyer unbelievingly.

"As a matter of fact he is.  He's an American.  He'll pay you
that without a murmur.  You can take it from me that it's a
perfectly genuine proposition."

Mrs. Vandemeyer sat up again.

"I'm inclined to believe you," she said slowly.

There was silence between them for some time, then Mrs.
Vandemeyer looked up.

"What does he want to know, this friend of yours?"

Tuppence went through a momentary struggle, but it was Julius's
money, and his interests must come first.

"He wants to know where Jane Finn is," she said boldly.

Mrs. Vandemeyer showed no surprise.

"I'm not sure where she is at the present moment," she replied.

"But you could find out?"

"Oh, yes," returned Mrs. Vandemeyer carelessly.  "There would be
no difficulty about that."

"Then"--Tuppence's voice shook a little--"there's a boy, a friend
of mine. I'm afraid something's happened to him, through your pal
Boris."

"What's his name?"

"Tommy Beresford."

"Never heard of him.  But I'll ask Boris.  He'll tell me anything
he knows."

"Thank you."  Tuppence felt a terrific rise in her spirits. It
impelled her to more audacious efforts.  "There's one thing
more."

"Well?"

Tuppence leaned forward and lowered her voice.

"WHO IS MR. BROWN?"

Her quick eyes saw the sudden paling of the beautiful face. With
an effort Mrs. Vandemeyer pulled herself together and tried to
resume her former manner.  But the attempt was a mere parody.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"You can't have learnt much about us if you don't know that
NOBODY KNOWS WHO MR. BROWN IS...."

"You do," said Tuppence quietly.

Again the colour deserted the other's face.

"What makes you think that?"

"I don't know," said the girl truthfully.  "But I'm sure."

Mrs. Vandemeyer stared in front of her for a long time.

"Yes," she said hoarsely, at last, "I know.  I was beautiful, you
see--very beautiful--"

"You are still," said Tuppence with admiration.

Mrs. Vandemeyer shook her head.  There was a strange gleam in her
electric-blue eyes.

"Not beautiful enough," she said in a soft dangerous voice.
"Not--beautiful--enough!  And sometimes, lately, I've been
afraid.... It's dangerous to know too much!"  She leaned forward
across the table.  "Swear that my name shan't be brought into
it--that no one shall ever know."

"I swear it.  And, once's he caught, you'll be out of danger."

A terrified look swept across Mrs. Vandemeyer's face.

"Shall I?  Shall I ever be?"  She clutched Tuppence's arm.
"You're sure about the money?"

"Quite sure."

"When shall I have it?  There must be no delay."

"This friend of mine will be here presently.  He may have to send
cables, or something like that.  But there won't be any
delay--he's a terrific hustler."

A resolute look settled on Mrs. Vandemeyer's face.

"I'll do it.  It's a great sum of money, and besides"--she gave a
curious smile--"it is not--wise to throw over a woman like me!"

For a moment or two, she remained smiling, and lightly tapping
her fingers on the table.  Suddenly she started, and her face
blanched.

"What was that?"

"I heard nothing."

Mrs. Vandemeyer gazed round her fearfully.

"If there should be some one listening----"

"Nonsense.  Who could there be?"

"Even the walls might have ears," whispered the other. "I tell
you I'm frightened.  You don't know him!"

"Think of the hundred thousand pounds," said Tuppence soothingly.

Mrs. Vandemeyer passed her tongue over her dried lips.

"You don't know him," she reiterated hoarsely.  "He's--ah!"

With a shriek of terror she sprang to her feet. Her outstretched
hand pointed over Tuppence's head. Then she swayed to the ground
in a dead faint.

Tuppence looked round to see what had startled her.

In the doorway were Sir James Peel Edgerton and Julius
Hersheimmer.

CHAPTER XIII

THE VIGIL

SIR James brushed past Julius and hurriedly bent over the fallen
woman.

"Heart," he said sharply.  "Seeing us so suddenly must have given
her a shock.  Brandy--and quickly, or she'll slip through our
fingers."

Julius hurried to the washstand.

"Not there," said Tuppence over her shoulder.  "In the tantalus
in the dining-room. Second door down the passage."

Between them Sir James and Tuppence lifted Mrs. Vandemeyer and
carried her to the bed.  There they dashed water on her face, but
with no result. The lawyer fingered her pulse.

"Touch and go," he muttered.  "I wish that young fellow would
hurry up with the brandy."

At that moment Julius re-entered the room, carrying a glass half
full of the spirit which he handed to Sir James.  While Tuppence
lifted her head the lawyer tried to force a little of the spirit
between her closed lips.  Finally the woman opened her eyes
feebly. Tuppence held the glass to her lips.

"Drink this."

Mrs. Vandemeyer complied.  The brandy brought the colour back to
her white cheeks, and revived her in a marvellous fashion. She
tried to sit up--then fell back with a groan, her hand to her
side.

"It's my heart," she whispered.  "I mustn't talk."

She lay back with closed eyes.

Sir James kept his finger on her wrist a minute longer, then
withdrew it with a nod.

"She'll do now."

All three moved away, and stood together talking in low voices.
One and all were conscious of a certain feeling of anticlimax.
Clearly any scheme for cross-questioning the lady was out of the
question for the moment.  For the time being they were baffled,
and could do nothing.

Tuppence related how Mrs. Vandemeyer had declared herself willing
to disclose the identity of Mr. Brown, and how she had consented
to discover and reveal to them the whereabouts of Jane Finn.
Julius was congratulatory.

"That's all right, Miss Tuppence.  Splendid!  I guess that
hundred thousand pounds will look just as good in the morning to
the lady as it did over night.  There's nothing to worry over.
She won't speak without the cash anyway, you bet!"

There was certainly a good deal of common sense in this, and
Tuppence felt a little comforted.

"What you say is true," said Sir James meditatively. "I must
confess, however, that I cannot help wishing we had not
interrupted at the minute we did.  Still, it cannot be helped, it
is only a matter of waiting until the morning."

He looked across at the inert figure on the bed. Mrs. Vandemeyer
lay perfectly passive with closed eyes. He shook his head.

"Well," said Tuppence, with an attempt at cheerfulness, "we must
wait until the morning, that's all.  But I don't think we ought
to leave the flat."

"What about leaving that bright boy of yours on guard?"

"Albert?  And suppose she came round again and hooked it. Albert
couldn't stop her."

"I guess she won't want to make tracks away from the dollars."

"She might.  She seemed very frightened of 'Mr. Brown.'  "

"What?  Real plumb scared of him?"

"Yes.  She looked round and said even walls had ears."

"Maybe she meant a dictaphone," said Julius with interest.

"Miss Tuppence is right," said Sir James quietly. "We must not
leave the flat--if only for Mrs. Vandemeyer's sake."

Julius stared at him.

"You think he'd get after her?  Between now and to-morrow
morning. How could he know, even?"

"You forget your own suggestion of a dictaphone," said Sir James
dryly. "We have a very formidable adversary.  I believe, if we
exercise all due care, that there is a very good chance of his
being delivered into our hands. But we must neglect no
precaution.  We have an important witness, but she must be
safeguarded.  I would suggest that Miss Tuppence should go to
bed, and that you and I, Mr. Hersheimmer, should share the
vigil."

Tuppence was about to protest, but happening to glance at the bed
she saw Mrs. Vandemeyer, her eyes half-open, with such an
expression of mingled fear and malevolence on her face that it
quite froze the words on her lips.

For a moment she wondered whether the faint and the heart attack
had been a gigantic sham, but remembering the deadly pallor she
could hardly credit the supposition. As she looked the expression
disappeared as by magic, and Mrs. Vandemeyer lay inert and
motionless as before. For a moment the girl fancied she must have
dreamt it. But she determined nevertheless to be on the alert.

"Well," said Julius, "I guess we'd better make a move out of here
any way."

The others fell in with his suggestion.  Sir James again felt
Mrs. Vandemeyer's pulse.

"Perfectly satisfactory," he said in a low voice to Tuppence.
"She'll be absolutely all right after a night's rest."

The girl hesitated a moment by the bed.  The intensity of the
expression she had surprised had impressed her powerfully. Mrs.
Vandemeyer lifted her lids.  She seemed to be struggling to
speak. Tuppence bent over her.

"Don't--leave----" she seemed unable to proceed, murmuring
something that sounded like "sleepy."  Then she tried again.

Tuppence bent lower still.  It was only a breath.

"Mr.--Brown----" The voice stopped.

But the half-closed eyes seemed still to send an agonized
message.

Moved by a sudden impulse, the girl said quickly:

"I shan't leave the flat.  I shall sit up all night."

A flash of relief showed before the lids descended once more.
Apparently Mrs. Vandemeyer slept.  But her words had awakened a
new uneasiness in Tuppence.  What had she meant by that low
murmur: "Mr. Brown?"  Tuppence caught herself nervously looking
over her shoulder. The big wardrobe loomed up in a sinister
fashion before her eyes. Plenty of room for a man to hide in
that.... Half-ashamed of herself, Tuppence pulled it open and
looked inside. No one--of course!  She stooped down and looked
under the bed. There was no other possible hiding-place.

Tuppence gave her familiar shake of the shoulders.  It was
absurd, this giving way to nerves!  Slowly she went out of the
room. Julius and Sir James were talking in a low voice. Sir James
turned to her.

"Lock the door on the outside, please, Miss Tuppence, and take
out the key. There must be no chance of anyone entering that
room."

The gravity of his manner impressed them, and Tuppence felt less
ashamed of her attack of "nerves."

"Say," remarked Julius suddenly, "there's Tuppence's bright boy.
I guess I'd better go down and ease his young mind. That's some
lad, Tuppence."

"How did you get in, by the way?" asked Tuppence suddenly. "I
forgot to ask."

"Well, Albert got me on the phone all right.  I ran round for Sir
James here, and we came right on.  The boy was on the look out
for us, and was just a mite worried about what might have
happened to you.  He'd been listening outside the door of the
flat, but couldn't hear anything.  Anyhow he suggested sending us
up in the coal lift instead of ringing the bell. And sure enough
we landed in the scullery and came right along to find you.
Albert's still below, and must be just hopping mad by this time."
With which Julius departed abruptly.

"Now then, Miss Tuppence," said Sir James, "you know this place
better than I do.  Where do you suggest we should take up our
quarters?"

Tuppence considered for a moment or two.

"I think Mrs. Vandemeyer's boudoir would be the most
comfortable," she said at last, and led the way there.

Sir James looked round approvingly.

"This will do very well, and now, my dear young lady, do go to
bed and get some sleep."

Tuppence shook her head resolutely.

"I couldn't, thank you, Sir James.  I should dream of Mr. Brown
all night!"

"But you'll be so tired, child."

"No, I shan't. I'd rather stay up--really."

The lawyer gave in.

Julius reappeared some minutes later, having reassured Albert and
rewarded him lavishly for his services. Having in his turn failed
to persuade Tuppence to go to bed, he said decisively:

"At any rate, you've got to have something to eat right away.
Where's the larder?"

Tuppence directed him, and he returned in a few minutes with a
cold pie and three plates.

After a hearty meal, the girl felt inclined to pooh-pooh her
fancies of half an hour before.  The power of the money bribe
could not fail.

"And now, Miss Tuppence," said Sir James, "we want to hear your
adventures."

"That's so," agreed Julius.

Tuppence narrated her adventures with some complacence. Julius
occasionally interjected an admiring "Bully."  Sir James said
nothing until she had finished, when his quiet "well done, Miss
Tuppence," made her flush with pleasure.

"There's one thing I don't get clearly," said Julius.  "What put
her up to clearing out?"

"I don't know," confessed Tuppence.

Sir James stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"The room was in great disorder.  That looks as though her flight
was unpremeditated.  Almost as though she got a sudden warning to
go from some one."

"Mr. Brown, I suppose," said Julius scoffingly.

The lawyer looked at him deliberately for a minute or two.

"Why not?" he said.  "Remember, you yourself have once been
worsted by him."

Julius flushed with vexation.

"I feel just mad when I think of how I handed out Jane's
photograph to him like a lamb.  Gee, if I ever lay hands on it
again, I'll freeze on to it like--like hell!"

"That contingency is likely to be a remote one," said the other
dryly.

"I guess you're right," said Julius frankly.  "And, in any case,
it's the original I'm out after.  Where do you think she can be,
Sir James?"

The lawyer shook his head.

"Impossible to say.  But I've a very good idea where she has
been."

"You have?  Where?"

Sir James smiled.

"At the scene of your nocturnal adventures, the Bournemouth
nursing home."

"There?  Impossible.  I asked."

"No, my dear sir, you asked if anyone of the name of Jane Finn
had been there.  Now, if the girl had been placed there it would
almost certainly be under an assumed name."

"Bully for you," cried Julius.  "I never thought of that!"

"It was fairly obvious," said the other.

"Perhaps the doctor's in it too," suggested Tuppence.

Julius shook his head.

"I don't think so.  I took to him at once.  No, I'm pretty sure
Dr. Hall's all right."

"Hall, did you say?" asked Sir James.  "That is curious--really
very curious."

"Why?" demanded Tuppence.

"Because I happened to meet him this morning.  I've known him
slightly on and off for some years, and this morning I ran across
him in the street.  Staying at the Metropole, he told me." He
turned to Julius.  "Didn't he tell you he was coming up to town?"

Julius shook his head.

"Curious," mused Sir James.  "You did not mention his name this
afternoon, or I would have suggested your going to him for
further information with my card as introduction."

"I guess I'm a mutt," said Julius with unusual humility. "I ought
to have thought of the false name stunt."

"How could you think of anything after falling out of that tree?"
cried Tuppence.  "I'm sure anyone else would have been killed
right off."

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter now, anyway," said Julius.
"We've got Mrs. Vandemeyer on a string, and that's all we need."

"Yes," said Tuppence, but there was a lack of assurance in her
voice.

A silence settled down over the party.  Little by little the
magic of the night began to gain a hold on them.  There were
sudden creaks of the furniture, imperceptible rustlings in the
curtains. Suddenly Tuppence sprang up with a cry.

"I can't help it.  I know Mr. Brown's somewhere in the flat! I
can FEEL him."

"Sure, Tuppence, how could he be?  This door's open into the
hall. No one could have come in by the front door without our
seeing and hearing him."

"I can't help it.  I FEEL he's here!"

She looked appealingly at Sir James, who replied gravely:

"With due deference to your feelings, Miss Tuppence (and mine as
well for that matter), I do not see how it is humanly possible
for anyone to be in the flat without our knowledge."

The girl was a little comforted by his wards.

"Sitting up at night is always rather jumpy," she confessed.

"Yes," said Sir James.  "We are in the condition of people
holding a seance. Perhaps if a medium were present we might get
some marvellous results."

"Do you believe in spiritualism?" asked Tuppence, opening her
eyes wide.

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders.

"There is some truth in it, without a doubt.  But most of the
testimony would not pass muster in the witness-box."

The hours drew on.  With the first faint glimmerings of dawn, Sir
James drew aside the curtains.  They beheld, what few Londoners
see, the slow rising of the sun over the sleeping city.  Somehow,
with the coming of the light, the dreads and fancies of the past
night seemed absurd. Tuppence's spirits revived to the normal.

"Hooray!" she said.  "It's going to be a gorgeous day.  And we
shall find Tommy.  And Jane Finn.  And everything will be lovely.
I shall ask Mr. Carter if I can't be made a Dame!"

At seven o'clock Tuppence volunteered to go and make some tea.
She returned with a tray, containing the teapot and four cups.

"Who's the other cup for?" inquired Julius.

"The prisoner, of course.  I suppose we might call her that?"

"Taking her tea seems a kind of anticlimax to last night," said
Julius thoughtfully.

"Yes, it does," admitted Tuppence.  "But, anyway, here goes.
Perhaps you'd both come, too, in case she springs on me, or
anything. You see, we don't know what mood she'll wake up in."

Sir James and Julius accompanied her to the door.

"Where's the key?  Oh, of course, I've got it myself."

She put it in the lock, and turned it, then paused.

"Supposing, after all, she's escaped?" she murmured in a whisper.

"Plumb impossible," replied Julius reassuringly.

But Sir James said nothing.

Tuppence drew a long breath and entered.  She heaved a sigh of
relief as she saw that Mrs. Vandemeyer was lying on the bed.

"Good morning," she remarked cheerfully.  "I've brought you some
tea."

Mrs. Vandemeyer did not reply.  Tuppence put down the cup on the
table by the bed and went across to draw up the blinds. When she
turned, Mrs. Vandemeyer still lay without a movement. With a
sudden fear clutching at her heart, Tuppence ran to the bed. The
hand she lifted was cold as ice.... Mrs. Vandemeyer would never
speak now....

Her cry brought the others.  A very few minutes sufficed. Mrs.
Vandemeyer was dead--must have been dead some hours. She had
evidently died in her sleep.

"If that isn't the cruellest luck," cried Julius in despair.

The lawyer was calmer, but there was a curious gleam in his eyes.

"If it is luck," he replied.

"You don't think--but, say, that's plumb impossible--no one could
have got in."

"No," admitted the lawyer.  "I don't see how they could. And
yet--she is on the point of betraying Mr. Brown, and--she dies.
Is it only chance?"

"But how----"

"Yes, HOW!  That is what we must find out."  He stood there
silently, gently stroking his chin.  "We must find out," he said
quietly, and Tuppence felt that if she was Mr. Brown she would
not like the tone of those simple words.

Julius's glance went to the window.

"The window's open," he remarked.  "Do you think----"

Tuppence shook her head.

"The balcony only goes along as far as the boudoir. We were
there."

"He might have slipped out----" suggested Julius.

But Sir James interrupted him.

"Mr. Brown's methods are not so crude.  In the meantime we must
send for a doctor, but before we do so, is there anything in this
room that might be of value to us?"

Hastily, the three searched.  A charred mass in the grate
indicated that Mrs. Vandemeyer had been burning papers on the eve
of her flight. Nothing of importance remained, though they
searched the other rooms as well.

"There's that," said Tuppence suddenly, pointing to a small,
old-fashioned safe let into the wall.  "It's for jewellery, I
believe, but there might be something else in it."

The key was in the lock, and Julius swung open the door, and
searched inside. He was some time over the task.

"Well," said Tuppence impatiently.

There was a pause before Julius answered, then he withdrew his
head and shut to the door.

"Nothing," he said.

In five minutes a brisk young doctor arrived, hastily summoned.
He was deferential to Sir James, whom he recognized.

"Heart failure, or possibly an overdose of some
sleeping-draught." He sniffed.  "Rather an odour of chloral in
the air."

Tuppence remembered the glass she had upset.  A new thought drove
her to the washstand.  She found the little bottle from which
Mrs. Vandemeyer had poured a few drops.

It had been three parts full.  Now--IT WAS EMPTY.

CHAPTER XIV

A CONSULTATION

NOTHING was more surprising and bewildering to Tuppence than the
ease and simplicity with which everything was arranged, owing to
Sir James's skilful handling.  The doctor accepted quite readily
the theory that Mrs. Vandemeyer had accidentally taken an
overdose of chloral. He doubted whether an inquest would be
necessary.  If so, he would let Sir James know.  He understood
that Mrs. Vandemeyer was on the eve of departure for abroad, and
that the servants had already left? Sir James and his young
friends had been paying a call upon her, when she was suddenly
stricken down and they had spent the night in the flat, not
liking to leave her alone.  Did they know of any relatives? They
did not, but Sir James referred him to Mrs. Vandemeyer's
solicitor.

Shortly afterwards a nurse arrived to take charge, and the other
left the ill-omened building.

"And what now?" asked Julius, with a gesture of despair. "I guess
we're down and out for good."

Sir James stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"No," he said quietly.  "There is still the chance that Dr. Hall
may be able to tell us something."

"Gee!  I'd forgotten him."

"The chance is slight, but it must not be neglected. I think I
told you that he is staying at the Metropole.  I should suggest
that we call upon him there as soon as possible. Shall we say
after a bath and breakfast?"

It was arranged that Tuppence and Julius should return to the
Ritz, and call for Sir James in the car.  This programme was
faithfully carried out, and a little after eleven they drew up
before the Metropole.  They asked for Dr. Hall, and a page-boy
went in search of him.  In a few minutes the little doctor came
hurrying towards them.

"Can you spare us a few minutes, Dr. Hall?" said Sir James
pleasantly. "Let me introduce you to Miss Cowley.  Mr.
Hersheimmer, I think, you already know."

A quizzical gleam came into the doctor's eye as he shook hands
with Julius.

"Ah, yes, my young friend of the tree episode!  Ankle all right,
eh?"

"I guess it's cured owing to your skilful treatment, doc."

"And the heart trouble?  Ha ha!"

"Still searching," said Julius briefly.

"To come to the point, can we have a word with you in private?"
asked Sir James.

"Certainly.  I think there is a room here where we shall be quite
undisturbed."

He led the way, and the others followed him.  They sat down, and
the doctor looked inquiringly at Sir James.

"Dr. Hall, I am very anxious to find a certain young lady for the
purpose of obtaining a statement from her. I have reason to
believe that she has been at one time or another in your
establishment at Bournemouth.  I hope I am transgressing no
professional etiquette in questioning you on the subject?"

"I suppose it is a matter of testimony?"

Sir James hesitated a moment, then he replied:

"Yes."

"I shall be pleased to give you any information in my power. What
is the young lady's name?  Mr. Hersheimmer asked me, I
remember----" He half turned to Julius.

"The name," said Sir James bluntly, "is really immaterial. She
would be almost certainly sent to you under an assumed one. But I
should like to know if you are acquainted with a Mrs.
Vandemeyer?"

"Mrs. Vandemeyer, of 20 South Audley Mansions?  I know her
slightly."

"You are not aware of what has happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"You do not know that Mrs. Vandemeyer is dead?"

"Dear, dear, I had no idea of it!  When did it happen?"

"She took an overdose of chloral last night."

"Purposely?"

"Accidentally, it is believed.  I should not like to say myself.
Anyway, she was found dead this morning."

"Very sad.  A singularly handsome woman.  I presume she was a
friend of yours, since you are acquainted with all these
details."

"I am acquainted with the details because--well, it was I who
found her dead."

"Indeed," said the doctor, starting.

"Yes," said Sir James, and stroked his chin reflectively.

"This is very sad news, but you will excuse me if I say that I do
not see how it bears on the subject of your inquiry?"

"It bears on it in this way, is it not a fact that Mrs.
Vandemeyer committed a young relative of hers to your charge?"

Julius leaned forward eagerly.

"That is the case," said the doctor quietly.

"Under the name of----?"

"Janet Vandemeyer.  I understood her to be a niece of Mrs.
Vandemeyer's."

"And she came to you?"

"As far as I can remember in June or July of 1915."

"Was she a mental case?"

"She is perfectly sane, if that is what you mean. I understood
from Mrs. Vandemeyer that the girl had been with her on the
Lusitania when that ill-fated ship was sunk, and had suffered a
severe shock in consequence."

"We're on the right track, I think?"  Sir James looked round.

"As I said before, I'm a mutt!" returned Julius.

The doctor looked at them all curiously.

"You spoke of wanting a statement from her," he said. "Supposing
she is not able to give one?"

"What?  You have just said that she is perfectly sane."

"So she is.  Nevertheless, if you want a statement from her
concerning any events prior to May 7, 1915, she will not be able
to give it to you."

They looked at the little man, stupefied.  He nodded cheerfully.

"It's a pity," he said.  "A great pity, especially as I gather,
Sir James, that the matter is important.  But there it is, she
can tell you nothing."

"But why, man?  Darn it all, why?"

The little man shifted his benevolent glance to the excited young
American.

"Because Janet Vandemeyer is suffering from a complete loss of
memory."

"WHAT?"

"Quite so.  An interesting case, a very interesting case. Not so
uncommon, really, as you would think.  There are several very
well known parallels.  It's the first case of the kind that I've
had under my own personal observation, and I must admit that I've
found it of absorbing interest." There was something rather
ghoulish in the little man's satisfaction.

"And she remembers nothing," said Sir James slowly.

"Nothing prior to May 7, 1915.  After that date her memory is as
good as yours or mine."

"Then the first thing she remembers?"

"Is landing with the survivors.  Everything before that is a
blank. She did not know her own name, or where she had come from,
or where she was. She couldn't even speak her own tongue."

"But surely all this is most unusual?" put in Julius.

"No, my dear sir.  Quite normal under the circumstances. Severe
shock to the nervous system.  Loss of memory proceeds nearly
always on the same lines.  I suggested a specialist, of course.
There's a very good man in Paris--makes a study of these
cases--but Mrs. Vandemeyer opposed the idea of publicity that
might result from such a course."

"I can imagine she would," said Sir James grimly.

"I fell in with her views.  There is a certain notoriety given to
these cases.  And the girl was very young--nineteen, I believe.
It seemed a pity that her infirmity should be talked about--might
damage her prospects.  Besides, there is no special treatment to
pursue in such cases.  It is really a matter of waiting."

"Waiting?"

"Yes, sooner or later, the memory will return--as suddenly as it
went. But in all probability the girl will have entirely
forgotten the intervening period, and will take up life where she
left off--at the sinking of the Lusitania."

"And when do you expect this to happen?"

The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

"Ah, that I cannot say.  Sometimes it is a matter of months,
sometimes it has been known to be as long as twenty years!
Sometimes another shock does the trick.  One restores what the
other took away."

"Another shock, eh?" said Julius thoughtfully.

"Exactly.  There was a case in Colorado----" The little man's
voice trailed on, voluble, mildly enthusiastic.

Julius did not seem to be listening.  He had relapsed into his
own thoughts and was frowning.  Suddenly he came out of his brown
study, and hit the table such a resounding bang with his fist
that every one jumped, the doctor most of all.

"I've got it!  I guess, doc, I'd like your medical opinion on the
plan I'm about to outline.  Say Jane was to cross the herring
pond again, and the same thing was to happen.  The submarine, the
sinking ship, every one to take to the boats--and so on.
Wouldn't that do the trick? Wouldn't it give a mighty big bump to
her subconscious self, or whatever the jargon is, and start it
functioning again right away?"

"A very interesting speculation, Mr. Hersheimmer.  In my own
opinion, it would be successful.  It is unfortunate that there is
no chance of the conditions repeating themselves as you suggest."

"Not by nature, perhaps, doc.  But I'm talking about art."

"Art?"

"Why, yes.  What's the difficulty?  Hire a liner----"

"A liner!" murmured Dr. Hall faintly.

"Hire some passengers, hire a submarine--that's the only
difficulty, I guess. Governments are apt to be a bit hidebound
over their engines of war. They won't sell to the firstcomer.
Still, I guess that can be got over. Ever heard of the word
'graft,' sir?  Well, graft gets there every time! I reckon that
we shan't really need to fire a torpedo.  If every one hustles
round and screams loud enough that the ship is sinking, it ought
to be enough for an innocent young girl like Jane.  By the time
she's got a life-belt on her, and is being hustled into a boat,
with a well-drilled lot of artistes doing the hysterical stunt on
deck, why--she ought to be right back where she was in May, 1915.
How's that for the bare outline?"

Dr. Hall looked at Julius.  Everything that he was for the moment
incapable of saying was eloquent in that look.

"No," said Julius, in answer to it, "I'm not crazy. The thing's
perfectly possible.  It's done every day in the States for the
movies.  Haven't you seen trains in collision on the screen?
What's the difference between buying up a train and buying up a
liner? Get the properties and you can go right ahead!"

Dr. Hall found his voice.

"But the expense, my dear sir."  His voice rose.  "The expense!
It will be COLOSSAL!"

"Money doesn't worry me any," explained Julius simply.

Dr. Hall turned an appealing face to Sir James, who smiled
slightly.

"Mr. Hersheimmer is very well off--very well off indeed."

The doctor's glance came back to Julius with a new and subtle
quality in it. This was no longer an eccentric young fellow with
a habit of falling off trees.  The doctor's eyes held the
deference accorded to a really rich man.

"Very remarkable plan.  Very remarkable," he murmured.  "The
movies--of course!  Your American word for the kinema.  Very
interesting. I fear we are perhaps a little behind the times over
here in our methods. And you really mean to carry out this
remarkable plan of yours."

"You bet your bottom dollar I do."

The doctor believed him--which was a tribute to his nationality.
If an Englishman had suggested such a thing, he would have had
grave doubts as to his sanity.

"I cannot guarantee a cure," he pointed out.  "Perhaps I ought to
make that quite clear."

"Sure, that's all right," said Julius.  "You just trot out Jane,
and leave the rest to me."

"Jane?"

"Miss Janet Vandemeyer, then.  Can we get on the long distance to
your place right away, and ask them to send her up; or shall I
run down and fetch her in my car?"

The doctor stared.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Hersheimmer.  I thought you understood."

"Understood what?"

"That Miss Vandemeyer is no longer under my care."