style="font-size:15px;"> ‘But there’s something you don’t know – that we haven’t told you.’ Her eyes dwelt on Jane in perplexity.
‘What is that?’ asked the other sharply. ‘No hesitations, Miss Tuppence. We need to be sure of our going.’
But Tuppence, for once, seemed tongue-tied.
‘It’s so difficult – you see, if I’m wrong – oh, it would be dreadful.’ She made a grimace at the unconscious Jane. ‘Never forgive me,’ she observed cryptically.
‘You want me to help you out, eh?’
‘Yes, please. You know who Mr Brown is, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Sir James gravely. ‘At last I do.’
‘At last?’ queried Tuppence doubtfully. ‘Oh, but I thought –’ She paused.
‘You thought correctly, Miss Tuppence. I have been morally certain of his identity for some time – ever since the night of Mrs Vandemeyer’s mysterious death.’
‘Ah!’ breathed Tuppence.
‘For there we are up against the logic of facts. There are only two solutions. Either the chloral was administered by her own hand, which theory I reject utterly, or else –’
‘Yes?’
‘Or else it was administered in the brandy you gave her. Only three people touched that brandy – you, Miss Tuppence, I myself, and one other – Mr Julius Hersheimmer!’
Jane Finn stirred and sat up, regarding the speaker with wide astonished eyes.
‘At first, the thing seemed utterly impossible. Mr Hersheimmer, as the son of a prominent millionaire, was a well-known figure in America. It seemed utterly impossible that he and Mr Brown could be one and the same. But you cannot escape from the logic of facts. Since the thing was so – it must be accepted. Remember Mrs Vandemeyer’s sudden and inexplicable agitation. Another proof, if proof was needed.
‘I took an early opportunity of giving you a hint. From some words of Mr Hersheimmer’s at Manchester, I gathered that you had understood and acted on that hint. Then I set to work to prove the impossible possible. Mr Beresford rang me up and told me, what I had already suspected, that the photograph of Miss Jane Finn had never really been out of Mr Hersheimmer’s possession –’
But the girl interrupted. Springing to her feet, she cried out angrily:
‘What do you mean? What are you trying to suggest? That Mr Brown is Julius? Julius – my own cousin!’
‘No, Miss Finn,’ said Sir James unexpectedly. ‘Not your cousin. The man who calls himself Julius Hersheimmer is no relation to you whatsoever.’
Sir James’s words came like a bombshell. Both girls looked equally puzzled. The lawyer went across to his desk, and returned with a small newspaper cutting, which he handed to Jane. Tuppence read it over her shoulder. Mr Carter would have recognized it. It referred to the mysterious man found dead in New York.
‘As I was saying to Miss Tuppence,’ resumed the lawyer, ‘I set to work to prove the impossible possible. The great stumbling-block was the undeniable fact that Julius Hersheimmer was not an assumed name. When I came across this paragraph my problem was solved. Julius Hersheimmer set out to discover what had become of his cousin. He went out West, where he obtained news of her and her photograph to aid him in his search. On the eve of his departure from New York he was set upon and murdered. His body was dressed in shabby clothes, and the face disfigured to prevent identification. Mr Brown took his place. He sailed immediately for England. None of the real Hersheimmer’s friends or intimates saw him before he sailed – though indeed it would hardly have mattered if they had, the impersonation was so perfect. Since then he had been hand in glove with those sworn to hunt him down. Every secret of theirs had been known to him. Only once did he come near disaster. Mrs Vandemeyer knew his secret. It was no part of his plan that that huge bribe should ever be offered to her. But for Miss Tuppence’s fortunate change of plan, she would have been far away from the flat when we arrived there. Exposure stared him in the face. He took a desperate step, trusting in his assumed character to avert suspicion. He nearly succeeded – but not quite.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ murmured Jane. ‘He seemed so splendid.’
‘The real Julius Hersheimmer was a splendid fellow! And Mr Brown is a consummate actor. But ask Miss Tuppence if she also has not had her suspicions.’
Jane turned mutely to Tuppence. The latter nodded.
‘I didn’t want to say it, Jane – I knew it would hurt you. And, after all, I couldn’t be sure. I still don’t understand why, if he’s Mr Brown, he rescued us.’
‘Was it Julius Hersheimmer who helped you to escape?’
Tuppence recounted to Sir James the exciting events of the evening, ending up: ‘But I can’t see why!’
‘Can’t you? I can. So can young Beresford, by his actions. As a last hope Jane Finn was to be allowed to escape – and the escape must be managed so that she harbours no suspicions of its being a put-up job. They’re not averse to young Beresford’s being in the neighbourhood, and, if necessary, communicating with you. They’ll take care to get him out of the way at the right minute. Then Julius Hersheimmer dashes up and rescues you in true melodramatic style. Bullets fly – but don’t hit anybody. What would have happened next? You would have driven straight to the house in Soho and secured the document which Miss Finn would probably have entrusted to her cousin’s keeping. Or, if he conducted the search, he would have pretended to find the hiding-place already rifled. He would have had a dozen ways of dealing with the situation, but the result would have been the same. And I rather fancy some accident would have happened to both of you. You see, you know rather an inconvenient amount. That’s a rough outline. I admit I was caught napping; but somebody else wasn’t.’
‘Tommy,’ said Tuppence softly.
‘Yes. Evidently when the right moment came to get rid of him – he was too sharp for them. All the same, I’m not too easy in my mind about him.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Julius Hersheimmer is Mr Brown,’ said Sir James dryly. ‘And it takes more than one man and a revolver to hold up Mr Brown …’
Tuppence paled a little.
‘What can we do?’
‘Nothing until we’ve been to the house in Soho. If Beresford has still got the upper hand, there’s nothing to fear. If otherwise, our enemy will come to find us, and he will not find us unprepared!’ From a drawer in the desk, he took a Service revolver, and placed it in his coat pocket.
‘Now we’re ready. I know better than even to suggest going without you, Miss Tuppence –’
‘I
