CHAPTER IV. WHO IS JANE FINN?
THE next day passed slowly. It was necessary to curtail expenditure.Carefully husbanded, forty pounds will last a long time. Luckily theweather was fine, and “walking is cheap,” dictated Tuppence. An outlyingpicture house provided them with recreation for the evening.
The day of disillusionment had been a Wednesday. On Thursday theadvertisement had duly appeared. On Friday letters might be expected toarrive at Tommy’s rooms.
He had been bound by an honourable promise not to open any such lettersif they did arrive, but to repair to the National Gallery, where hiscolleague would meet him at ten o’clock.
Tuppence was first at the rendezvous. She ensconced herself on a redvelvet seat, and gazed at the Turners with unseeing eyes until she sawthe familiar figure enter the room.
“Well?”
“Well,” returned Mr. Beresford provokingly. “Which is your favouritepicture?”
“Don’t be a wretch. Aren’t there _any_ answers?”
Tommy shook his head with a deep and somewhat overacted melancholy.
“I didn’t want to disappoint you, old thing, by telling you right off.It’s too bad. Good money wasted.” He sighed. “Still, there it is. Theadvertisement has appeared, and--there are only two answers!”
“Tommy, you devil!” almost screamed Tuppence. “Give them to me. Howcould you be so mean!”
“Your language, Tuppence, your language! They’re very particular at theNational Gallery. Government show, you know. And do remember, as I havepointed out to you before, that as a clergyman’s daughter----”
“I ought to be on the stage!” finished Tuppence with a snap.
“That is not what I intended to say. But if you are sure that you haveenjoyed to the full the reaction of joy after despair with which I havekindly provided you free of charge, let us get down to our mail, as thesaying goes.”
Tuppence snatched the two precious envelopes from him unceremoniously,and scrutinized them carefully.
“Thick paper, this one. It looks rich. We’ll keep it to the last andopen the other first.”
“Right you are. One, two, three, go!”
Tuppence’s little thumb ripped open the envelope, and she extracted thecontents.
“DEAR SIR,
“Referring to your advertisement in this morning’s paper, I may be ableto be of some use to you. Perhaps you could call and see me at the aboveaddress at eleven o’clock to-morrow morning.
“Yours truly,
“A. CARTER.”
“27 Carshalton Gardens,” said Tuppence, referring to the address.“That’s Gloucester Road way. Plenty of time to get there if we tube.”
“The following,” said Tommy, “is the plan of campaign. It is my turn toassume the offensive. Ushered into the presence of Mr. Carter, he and Iwish each other good morning as is customary. He then says: ‘Please takea seat, Mr.--er?’ To which I reply promptly and significantly: ‘EdwardWhittington!’ whereupon Mr. Carter turns purple in the face and gaspsout: ‘How much?’ Pocketing the usual fee of fifty pounds, I rejoin youin the road outside, and we proceed to the next address and repeat theperformance.”
“Don’t be absurd, Tommy. Now for the other letter. Oh, this is from the_Ritz!_”
“A hundred pounds instead of fifty!”
“I’ll read it:
“DEAR SIR,
“Re your advertisement, I should be glad if you would call roundsomewhere about lunch-time.
“Yours truly,
“JULIUS P. HERSHEIMMER.”
“Ha!” said Tommy. “Do I smell a Boche? Or only an American millionaireof unfortunate ancestry? At all events we’ll call at lunch-time. It’s agood time--frequently leads to free food for two.”
Tuppence nodded assent.
“Now for Carter. We’ll have to hurry.”
Carshalton Terrace proved to be an unimpeachable row of what Tuppencecalled “ladylike looking houses.” They rang the bell at No. 27, and aneat maid answered the door. She looked so respectable that Tuppence’sheart sank. Upon Tommy’s request for Mr. Carter, she showed them intoa small study on the ground floor where she left them. Hardly a minuteelapsed, however, before the door opened, and a tall man with a leanhawklike face and a tired manner entered the room.
“Mr. Y. A.?” he said, and smiled. His smile was distinctly attractive.“Do sit down, both of you.”
They obeyed. He himself took a chair opposite to Tuppence and smiled ather encouragingly. There was something in the quality of his smile thatmade the girl’s usual readiness desert her.
As he did not seem inclined to open the conversation, Tuppence wasforced to begin.
“We wanted to know--that is, would you be so kind as to tell us anythingyou know about Jane Finn?”
“Jane Finn? Ah!” Mr. Carter appeared to reflect. “Well, the question is,what do _you_ know about her?”
Tuppence drew herself up.
“I don’t see that that’s got anything to do with it.”
“No? But it has, you know, really it has.” He smiled again in his tiredway, and continued reflectively. “So that brings us down to it again.What do _you_ know about Jane Finn?
“Come now,” he continued, as Tuppence remained silent. “You must know_something_ to have advertised as you did?” He leaned forward a little,his weary voice held a hint of persuasiveness. “Suppose you tell me....”
There was something very magnetic about Mr. Carter’s personality.Tuppence seemed to shake herself free of it with an effort, as she said:
“We couldn’t do that, could we, Tommy?”
But to her surprise, her companion did not back her up. His eyes werefixed on Mr. Carter, and his tone when he spoke held an unusual note ofdeference.
“I dare say the little we know won’t be any good to you, sir. But suchas it is, you’re welcome to it.”
“Tommy!” cried out Tuppence in surprise.
Mr. Carter slewed round in his chair. His eyes asked a question.
Tommy nodded.
“Yes, sir, I recognized you at once. Saw you in France when I was withthe Intelligence. As soon as you came into the room, I knew----”
Mr. Carter held up his hand.
“No names, please. I’m known as Mr. Carter here. It’s my cousin’s house,by the way. She’s willing to lend it to me sometimes when it’s a case ofworking on strictly unofficial lines. Well, now”--he looked from one tothe other--“who’s going to tell me the story?”
“Fire ahead, Tuppence,” directed Tommy. “It’s your yarn.”
“Yes, little lady, out with it.”
And obediently Tuppence did out with it, telling the whole story fromthe forming of the Young Adventurers, Ltd., downwards.
Mr. Carter listened in silence with a resumption of his tired manner.Now and then he passed his hand across his lips as though to hide asmile. When she had finished he nodded gravely.
“Not much. But suggestive. Quite suggestive. If you’ll excuse my sayingso, you’re a curious young couple. I don’t know--you might succeed whereothers have failed ... I believe in luck, you know--always have....”
He paused a moment, and then went on.
“Well, how about it? You’re out for adventure. How would you liketo work for me? All quite unofficial, you know. Expenses paid, and amoderate screw?”
Tuppence gazed at him, her lips parted, her eyes growing wider andwider.
“What should we have to do?” she breathed.
Mr. Carter smiled.
“Just go on with what you’re doing now. _Find Jane Finn_.”
“Yes, but--who _is_ Jane Finn?”
Mr. Carter nodded gravely.
“Yes, you’re entitled to know that, I think.”
He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, brought the tips of hisfingers together, and began in a low monotone:
“Secret diplomacy (which, by the way, is nearly always bad policy!) doesnot concern you. It will be sufficient to say that in the early days of1915 a
certain document came into being. It was the draft of a secretagreement--treaty--call it what you like. It was drawn up ready forsignature by the various representatives, and drawn up in America--atthat time a neutral country. It was dispatched to England by a specialmessenger selected for that purpose, a young fellow called Danvers. Itwas hoped that the whole affair had been kept so secret that nothingwould have leaked out. That kind of hope is usually disappointed.Somebody always talks!
“Danvers sailed for England on the _Lusitania_. He carried the preciouspapers in an oilskin packet which he wore next his skin. It was on thatparticular voyage that the _Lusitania_ was torpedoed and sunk. Danverswas among the list of those missing. Eventually his body was washedashore, and identified beyond any possible doubt. But the oilskin packetwas missing!
“The question was, had it been taken from him, or had he himselfpassed it on into another’s keeping? There were a few incidents thatstrengthened the possibility of the latter theory. After the torpedostruck the ship, in the few moments during the launching of the boats,Danvers was seen speaking to a young American girl. No one actuallysaw him pass anything to her, but he might have done so. It seems to mequite likely that he entrusted the papers to this girl, believing thatshe, as a woman, had a greater chance of bringing them safely to shore.
“But if so, where was the girl, and what had she done with the papers?By later advice from America it seemed likely that Danvers had beenclosely shadowed on the way over. Was this girl in league with hisenemies? Or had she, in her turn, been shadowed and either tricked orforced into handing over the precious packet?
“We set to work to trace her out. It proved unexpectedly difficult.Her name was Jane Finn, and it duly appeared among the list of thesurvivors, but the girl herself seemed to have vanished completely.Inquiries into her antecedents did little to help us. She was an orphan,and had been what we should call over here a pupil teacher in a smallschool out West. Her passport had been made out for Paris, where shewas going to join the staff of a hospital. She had offered her servicesvoluntarily, and after some correspondence they had been accepted.Having seen her name in the list of the saved from the _Lusitania_, thestaff of the hospital were naturally very surprised at her not arrivingto take up her billet, and at not hearing from her in any way.
“Well, every effort was made to trace the young lady--but all in vain.We tracked her across Ireland, but nothing could be heard of her aftershe set foot in England. No use was made of the draft treaty--as mightvery easily have been done--and we therefore came to the conclusion thatDanvers had, after all, destroyed it. The war entered on another phase,the diplomatic aspect changed accordingly, and the treaty was neverredrafted. Rumours as to its existence were emphatically denied. Thedisappearance of Jane Finn was forgotten and the whole affair was lostin oblivion.”
Mr. Carter paused, and Tuppence broke in impatiently:
“But why has it all cropped up again? The war’s over.”
A hint of alertness came into Mr. Carter’s manner.
“Because it seems that the papers were not destroyed after all, and thatthey might be resurrected to-day with a new and deadly significance.”
Tuppence stared. Mr. Carter nodded.
“Yes, five years ago, that draft treaty was a weapon in our hands;to-day it is a weapon against us. It was a gigantic blunder. If itsterms were made public, it would mean disaster.... It might possiblybring about another war--not with Germany this time! That is an extremepossibility, and I do not believe in its likelihood myself, but thatdocument undoubtedly implicates a number of our statesmen whom we cannotafford to have discredited in any way at the present moment. As a partycry for Labour it would be irresistible, and a Labour Government at thisjuncture would, in my opinion, be a grave disability for British trade,but that is a mere nothing to the _real_ danger.”
He paused, and then said quietly:
“You may perhaps have heard or read that there is Bolshevist influenceat work behind the present Labour unrest?”
Tuppence nodded.
“That is the truth. Bolshevist gold is pouring into this country for thespecific purpose of procuring a Revolution. And there is a certain man,a man whose real name is unknown to us, who is working in the dark forhis own ends. The Bolshevists are behind the Labour unrest--but thisman is _behind the Bolshevists_. Who is he? We do not know. He is alwaysspoken of by the unassuming title of ‘Mr. Brown.’ But one thing iscertain, he is the master criminal of this age. He controls a marvellousorganization. Most of the Peace propaganda during the war was originatedand financed by him. His spies are everywhere.”
“A naturalized German?” asked Tommy.
“On the contrary, I have every reason to believe he is an Englishman. Hewas pro-German, as he would have been pro-Boer. What he seeks to attainwe do not know--probably supreme power for himself, of a kind unique inhistory. We have no clue as to his real personality. It is reported thateven his own followers are ignorant of it. Where we have come across histracks, he has always played a secondary part. Somebody else assumesthe chief rôle. But afterwards we always find that there has been somenonentity, a servant or a clerk, who has remained in the backgroundunnoticed, and that the elusive Mr. Brown has escaped us once more.”
“Oh!” Tuppence jumped. “I wonder----”
“Yes?”
“I remember in Mr. Whittington’s office. The clerk--he called him Brown.You don’t think----”
Carter nodded thoughtfully.
“Very likely. A curious point is that the name is usually mentioned. Anidiosyncrasy of genius. Can you describe him at all?”
“I really didn’t notice. He was quite ordinary--just like anyone else.”
Mr. Carter sighed in his tired manner.
“That is the invariable description of Mr. Brown! Brought a telephonemessage to the man Whittington, did he? Notice a telephone in the outeroffice?”
Tuppence thought.
“No, I don’t think I did.”
“Exactly. That ‘message’ was Mr. Brown’s way of giving an order to hissubordinate. He overheard the whole conversation of course. Was it afterthat that Whittington handed you over the money, and told you to comethe following day?”
Tuppence nodded.
“Yes, undoubtedly the hand of Mr. Brown!” Mr. Carter paused. “Well,there it is, you see what you are pitting yourselves against? Possiblythe finest criminal brain of the age. I don’t quite like it, you know.You’re such young things, both of you. I shouldn’t like anything tohappen to you.”
“It won’t,” Tuppence assured him positively.
“I’ll look after her, sir,” said Tommy.
“And _I_‘ll look after _you_,” retorted Tuppence, resenting the manlyassertion.
“Well, then, look after each other,” said Mr. Carter, smiling. “Nowlet’s get back to business. There’s something mysterious about thisdraft treaty that we haven’t fathomed yet. We’ve been threatened withit--in plain and unmistakable terms. The Revolutionary element as goodas declare that it’s in their hands, and that they intend to produce itat a given moment. On the other hand, they are clearly at fault aboutmany of its provisions. The Government consider it as mere bluffon their part, and, rightly or wrongly, have stuck to the policy ofabsolute denial. I’m not so sure. There have been hints, indiscreetallusions, that seem to indicate that the menace is a real one. Theposition is much as though they had got hold of an incriminatingdocument, but couldn’t read it because it was in cipher--but we knowthat the draft treaty wasn’t in cipher--couldn’t be in the nature ofthings--so that won’t wash. But there’s _something_. Of course, JaneFinn may be dead for all we know--but I don’t think so. The curiousthing is that _they’re trying to get information about the girl fromus_.”
“What?”
“Yes. One or two little things have cropped up. And your story, littlelady, confirms my idea. They know we’re looking for Jane Finn. Well,they’ll produce a Jane Finn of their own--say at a _pensionnat_ inParis.” Tuppence gasped, and Mr.
Carter smiled. “No one knows in theleast what she looks like, so that’s all right. She’s primed with atrumped-up tale, and her real business is to get as much information aspossible out of us. See the idea?”
“Then you think”--Tuppence paused to grasp the supposition fully--“thatit _was_ as Jane Finn that they wanted me to go to Paris?”
Mr. Carter smiled more wearily than ever.
“I believe in coincidences, you know,” he said.
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