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, guv’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, guv’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 cas
e 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 three-penny 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 today. 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.’ Just 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 tomorrow 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 three-penny 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 rôle 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.
The Big Book of Female Detectives Page 65