“Is this a new brand of humour? Or is your brain really unhinged?” inquired Tommy.
“Your last supposition is the correct one. I have come into money, and the shock has been too much for me! For that particular form of mental trouble an eminent physician recommends unlimited Hors d’œuvres, Lobster à l’américaine, Chicken Newberg, and Pêche Melba! Let’s go and get them!”
“Tuppence, old girl, what has really come over you?”
“Oh, unbelieving one!” Tuppence wrenched open her bag. “Look here, and here, and here!”
“Great Jehosaphat! My dear girl, don’t wave Fishers aloft like that!”
“They’re not Fishers. They’re five times better than Fishers and this one’s ten times better!”
Tommy groaned.
“I must have been drinking unawares! Am I dreaming, Tuppence, or do I really behold a large quantity of five-pound notes being waved about in a dangerous fashion?”
“Even so, O King! Now, will you come and have lunch?”
“I’ll come anywhere. But what have you been doing? Holding up a bank?”
“All in good time. What an awful place Piccadilly Circus is. There’s a huge bus bearing down on us. It would be too terrible if they killed the five-pound notes!”
“Grill room?” inquired Tommy, as they reached the opposite pavement in safety.
“The other’s more expensive,” demurred Tuppence.
“That’s mere wicked wanton extravagance. Come on below.”
“Are you sure I can get all the things I want there?”
“That extremely unwholesome menu you were outlining just now? Of course you can—or as much as is good for you, anyway.”
“And now tell me,” said Tommy, unable to restrain his pent-up curiosity any longer, as they sat in state surrounded by the many hors d’œuvres of Tuppence’s dreams.
Miss Cowley told him.
“And the curious part of it is,” she ended, “that I really did invent the name of Jane Finn! I didn’t want to give my own because of poor father—in case I should get mixed up in anything shady.”
“Perhaps that’s so,” said Tommy slowly. “But you didn’t invent it.”
“What?”
“No. I told it to you. Don’t you remember, I said yesterday I’d overheard two people talking about a female called Jane Finn? That’s what brought the name into your mind so pat.”
“So you did. I remember now. How extraordinary——” Tuppence tailed off into silence. Suddenly she aroused herself. “Tommy!”
“Yes?”
“What were they like, the two men you passed?”
Tommy frowned in an effort at remembrance.
“One was a big fat sort of chap. Clean shaven, I think—and dark.”
“That’s him,” cried Tuppence, in an ungrammatical squeal. “That’s Whittington! What was the other man like?”
“I can’t remember. I didn’t notice him particularly. It was really the outlandish name that caught my attention.”
“And people say that coincidences don’t happen!” Tuppence tackled her Pêche Melba happily.
But Tommy had become serious.
“Look here, Tuppence, old girl, what is this going to lead to?”
“More money,” replied his companion.
“I know that. You’ve only got one idea in your head. What I mean is, what about the next step? How are you going to keep the game up?”
“Oh!” Tuppence laid down her spoon. “You’re right, Tommy, it is a bit of a poser.”
“After all, you know, you can’t bluff him forever. You’re sure to slip up sooner or later. And, anyway, I’m not at all sure that it isn’t actionable—blackmail, you know.”
“Nonsense. Blackmail is saying you’ll tell unless you are given money. Now, there’s nothing I could tell, because I don’t really know anything.”
“Hm,” said Tommy doubtfully. “Well, anyway, what are we going to do? Whittington was in a hurry to get rid of you this morning, but next time he’ll want to know something more before he parts with his money. He’ll want to know how much you know, and where you got your information from, and a lot of other things that you can’t cope with. What are you going to do about it?”
Tuppence frowned severely.
“We must think. Order some Turkish coffee, Tommy. Stimulating to the brain. Oh, dear, what a lot I have eaten!”
“You have made rather a hog of yourself! So have I for that matter, but I flatter myself that my choice of dishes was more judicious than yours. Two coffees.” (This was to the waiter.) “One Turkish, one French.”
Tuppence sipped her coffee with a deeply reflective air, and snubbed Tommy when he spoke to her.
“Be quiet. I’m thinking.”
“Shades of Pelmanism!” said Tommy, and relapsed into silence.
“There!” said Tuppence at last. “I’ve got a plan. Obviously what we’ve got to do is to find out more about it all.”
Tommy applauded.
“Don’t jeer. We can only find out through Whittington. We must discover where he lives, what he does—sleuth him, in fact! Now I can’t do it, because he knows me, but he only saw you for a minute or two in Lyons’. He’s not likely to recognize you. After all, one young man is much like another.”
“I repudiate that remark utterly. I’m sure my pleasing features and distinguished appearance would single me out from any crowd.”
“My plan is this,” Tuppence went on calmly, “I’ll go alone tomorrow. I’ll put him off again like I did today. It doesn’t matter if I don’t get any more money at once. Fifty pounds ought to last us a few days.”
“Or even longer!”
“You’ll hang about outside. When I come out I shan’t speak to you in case he’s watching. But I’ll take up my stand somewhere near, and when he comes out of the building I’ll drop a handkerchief or something, and off you go!”
“Off I go where?”
“Follow him, of course, silly! What do you think of the idea?”
“Sort of thing one reads about in books. I somehow feel that in real life one will feel a bit of an ass standing in the street for hours with nothing to do. People will wonder what I’m up to.”
“Not in the city. Every one’s in such a hurry. Probably no one will even notice you at all.”
“That’s the second time you’ve made that sort of remark. Never mind, I forgive you. Anyway, it will be rather a lark. What are you doing this afternoon?”
“Well,” said Tuppence meditatively. “I had thought of hats! Or perhaps silk stockings! Or perhaps——”
“Hold hard,” admonished Tommy. “There’s a limit to fifty pounds! But let’s do dinner and a show tonight at all events.”
“Rather.”
The day passed pleasantly. The evening even more so. Two of the five-pound notes were now irretrievably dead.
They met by arrangement the following morning and proceeded citywards. Tommy remained on the opposite side of the road while Tuppence plunged into the building.
Tommy strolled slowly down to the end of the street, then back again. Just as he came abreast of the building, Tuppence darted across the road.
“Tommy!”
“Yes. What’s up?”
“The place is shut. I can’t make anyone hear.”
“That’s odd.”
“Isn’t it? Come up with me, and let’s try again.”
Tommy followed her. As they passed the third floor landing a young clerk came out of an office. He hesitated a moment, then addressed himself to Tuppence.
“Were you wanting the Esthonia Glassware?”
“Yes, please.”
“It’s closed down. Since yesterday afternoon. Company being wound up, t
hey say. Not that I’ve ever heard of it myself. But anyway the office is to let.”
“Th—thank you,” faltered Tuppence. “I suppose you don’t know Mr. Whittington’s address?”
“Afraid I don’t. They left rather suddenly.”
“Thank you very much,” said Tommy. “Come on, Tuppence.”
They descended to the street again where they gazed at one another blankly.
“That’s torn it,” said Tommy at length.
“And I never suspected it,” wailed Tuppence.
“Cheer up, old thing, it can’t be helped.”
“Can’t it, though!” Tuppence’s little chin shot out defiantly. “Do you think this is the end? If so, you’re wrong. It’s just the beginning!”
“The beginning of what?”
“Of our adventure! Tommy, don’t you see, if they are scared enough to run away like this, it shows that there must be a lot in this Jane Finn business! Well, we’ll get to the bottom of it. We’ll run them down! We’ll be sleuths in earnest!”
“Yes, but there’s no one left to sleuth.”
“No, that’s why we’ll have to start all over again. Lend me that bit of pencil. Thanks. Wait a minute—don’t interrupt. There!” Tuppence handed back the pencil, and surveyed the piece of paper on which she had written with a satisfied eye:
“What’s that?”
“Advertisement.”
“You’re not going to put that thing in after all?”
“No, it’s a different one.” She handed him the slip of paper.
Tommy read the words on it aloud:
“WANTED, any information respecting Jane Finn. Apply Y. A.”
CHAPTER IV
Who Is Jane Finn?
The next day passed slowly. It was necessary to curtail expenditure. Carefully husbanded, forty pounds will last a long time. Luckily the weather was fine, and “walking is cheap,” dictated Tuppence. An outlying picture house provided them with recreation for the evening.
The day of disillusionment had been a Wednesday. On Thursday the advertisement had duly appeared. On Friday letters might be expected to arrive at Tommy’s rooms.
He had been bound by an honourable promise not to open any such letters if they did arrive, but to repair to the National Gallery, where his colleague would meet him at ten o’clock.
Tuppence was first at the rendezvous. She ensconced herself on a red velvet seat, and gazed at the Turners with unseeing eyes until she saw the familiar figure enter the room.
“Well?”
“Well,” returned Mr. Beresford provokingly. “Which is your favourite picture?”
“Don’t be a wretch. Aren’t there any answers?”
Tommy shook his head with a deep and somewhat overacted melancholy.
“I didn’t want to disappoint you, old thing, by telling you right off. It’s too bad. Good money wasted.” He sighed. “Still, there it is. The advertisement has appeared, and—there are only two answers!”
“Tommy, you devil!” almost screamed Tuppence. “Give them to me. How could you be so mean!”
“Your language, Tuppence, your language! They’re very particular at the National Gallery. Government show, you know. And do remember, as I have pointed out to you before, that as a clergyman’s daughter——”
“I ought to be on the stage!” finished Tuppence with a snap.
“That is not what I intended to say. But if you are sure that you have enjoyed to the full the reaction of joy after despair with which I have kindly provided you free of charge, let us get down to our mail, as the saying goes.”
Tuppence snatched the two precious envelopes from him unceremoniously, and scrutinized them carefully.
“Thick paper, this one. It looks rich. We’ll keep it to the last and open the other first.”
“Right you are. One, two, three, go!”
Tuppence’s little thumb ripped open the envelope, and she extracted the contents.
“Dear Sir,
“Referring to your advertisement in this morning’s paper, I may be able to be of some use to you. Perhaps you could call and see me at the above address at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.
“Yours truly,
“A. Carter.”
“27 Carshalton Gardens,” said Tuppence, referring to the address. “That’s Gloucester Road way. Plenty of time to get there if we tube.”
“The following,” said Tommy, “is the plan of campaign. It is my turn to assume the offensive. Ushered into the presence of Mr. Carter, he and I wish each other good morning as is customary. He then says: ‘Please take a seat, Mr.—er?’ To which I reply promptly and significantly: ‘Edward Whittington!’ whereupon Mr. Carter turns purple in the face and gasps out: ‘How much?’ Pocketing the usual fee of fifty pounds, I rejoin you in the road outside, and we proceed to the next address and repeat the performance.”
“Don’t be absurd, Tommy. Now for the other letter. Oh, this is from the Ritz!”
“A hundred pounds instead of fifty!”
“I’ll read it:
“Dear Sir,
“Re your advertisement, I should be glad if you would call round somewhere about lunch-time.
“Yours truly,
“Julius P. Hersheimmer.”
“Ha!” said Tommy. “Do I smell a Boche? Or only an American millionaire of unfortunate ancestry? At all events we’ll call at lunch-time. It’s a good time—frequently leads to free food for two.”
Tuppence nodded assent.
“Now for Carter. We’ll have to hurry.”
Carshalton Terrace proved to be an unimpeachable row of what Tuppence called “ladylike looking houses.” They rang the bell at No. 27, and a neat maid answered the door. She looked so respectable that Tuppence’s heart sank. Upon Tommy’s request for Mr. Carter, she showed them into a small study on the ground floor where she left them. Hardly a minute elapsed, however, before the door opened, and a tall man with a lean hawklike face and a tired manner entered the room.
“Mr. Y. A.?” he said, and smiled. His smile was distinctly attractive. “Do sit down, both of you.”
They obeyed. He himself took a chair opposite to Tuppence and smiled at her encouragingly. There was something in the quality of his smile that made the girl’s usual readiness desert her.
As he did not seem inclined to open the conversation, Tuppence was forced to begin.
“We wanted to know—that is, would you be so kind as to tell us anything you know about Jane Finn?”
“Jane Finn? Ah!” Mr. Carter appeared to reflect. “Well, the question is, what do you know about her?”
Tuppence drew herself up.
“I don’t see that that’s got anything to do with it.”
“No? But it has, you know, really it has.” He smiled again in his tired way, and continued reflectively. “So that brings us down to it again. What do you know about Jane Finn?”
“Come now,” he continued, as Tuppence remained silent. “You must know something to have advertised as you did?” He leaned forward a little, his weary voice held a hint of persuasiveness. “Suppose you tell me….”
There was something very magnetic about Mr. Carter’s personality. Tuppence seemed to shake herself free of it with an effort, as she said:
“We couldn’t do that, could we, Tommy?”
But to her surprise, her companion did not back her up. His eyes were fixed on Mr. Carter, and his tone when he spoke held an unusual note of deference.
“I dare say the little we know won’t be any good to you, sir. But such as it is, you’re welcome to it.”
“Tommy!” cried out Tuppence in surprise.
Mr. Carter slewed round in his chair. His eyes asked a question.
Tommy nodded.
“Yes, sir, I recognized you at once. Saw you in France when I was with the Intelligence. As soon as you came into the room, I knew——”
Mr. Carter held up his hand.
“No names, please. I’m known as Mr. Carter here. It’s my cousin’s house, by the way. She’s willing to lend it to me sometimes when it’s a case of working on strictly unofficial lines. Well, now”—he looked from one to the other—“who’s going to tell me the story?”
“Fire ahead, Tuppence,” directed Tommy. “It’s your yarn.”
“Yes, little lady, out with it.”
And obediently Tuppence did out with it, telling the whole story from the forming of the Young Adventurers, Ltd., downwards.
Mr. Carter listened in silence with a resumption of his tired manner. Now and then he passed his hand across his lips as though to hide a smile. When she had finished he nodded gravely.
“Not much. But suggestive. Quite suggestive. If you’ll excuse my saying so, you’re a curious young couple. I don’t know—you might succeed where others have failed….I believe in luck, you know—always have….”
He paused a moment, and then went on.
“Well, how about it? You’re out for adventure. How would you like to work for me? All quite unofficial, you know. Expenses paid, and a moderate screw?”
Tuppence gazed at him, her lips parted, her eyes growing wider and wider.
“What should we have to do?” she breathed.
Mr. Carter smiled.
“Just go on with what you’re doing now. Find Jane Finn.”
“Yes, but—who is Jane Finn?”
Mr. Carter nodded gravely.
“Yes, you’re entitled to know that, I think.”
He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, brought the tips of his fingers together, and began in a low monotone:
“Secret diplomacy (which, by the way, is nearly always bad policy!) does not concern you. It will be sufficient to say that in the early days of 1915 a certain document came into being. It was the draft of a secret agreement—treaty—call it what you like. It was drawn up ready for signature by the various representatives, and drawn up in America—at that time a neutral country. It was dispatched to England by a special messenger selected for that purpose, a young fellow called Danvers. It was hoped that the whole affair had been kept so secret that nothing would have leaked out. That kind of hope is usually disappointed. Somebody always talks!
The Big Book of Female Detectives Page 61