‘You are willing to write, then?’
‘Of course. Haven’t I been telling you so all along? I’m all out to be pleasant and obliging. You won’t do anything unkind to Tuppence, of course. I’m sure you won’t. She’s such a nice girl.’
‘We only want the letter,’ said Dymchurch, but there was a singularly unpleasant smile on his face.
At a nod from him the brutal Coggins knelt down and unfastened Tommy’s arms. The latter swung them to and fro.
‘That’s better,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Will kind Coggins hand me my fountain pen? It’s on the table, I think, with my other miscellaneous property.’
Scowling, the man brought it to him, and provided a sheet of paper.
‘Be careful what you say,’ Dymchurch said menacingly. ‘We leave it to you, but failure means – death – and slow death at that.’
‘In that case,’ said Tommy, ‘I will certainly do my best.’
He reflected a minute or two, then began to scribble rapidly.
‘How will this do?’ he asked, handing over the completed epistle.
Dear Tuppence,
Can you come along at once and bring that blue letter with you? We want to decode it here and now.
In haste,
Francis.
‘Francis?’ queried the bogus Inspector, with lifted eyebrows. ‘Was that the name she called you?’
‘As you weren’t at my christening,’ said Tommy, ‘I don’t suppose you can know whether it’s my name or not. But I think the cigarette case you took from my pocket is a pretty good proof that I’m speaking the truth.’
The other stepped over to the table and took up the case, read ‘Francis from Tuppence’ with a faint grin and laid it down again.
‘I am glad to find you are behaving so sensibly,’ he said. ‘Coggins, give that note to Vassilly. He is on guard outside. Tell him to take it at once.’
The next twenty minutes passed slowly, the ten minutes after that more slowly still. Dymchurch was striding up and down with a face that grew darker and darker. Once he turned menacingly on Tommy.
‘If you have dared to double-cross us,’ he growled.
‘If we’d had a pack of cards here, we might have had a game of picquet to pass the time,’ drawled Tommy. ‘Women always keep one waiting. I hope you’re not going to be unkind to little Tuppence when she comes?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Dymchurch. ‘We shall arrange for you to go to the same place – together.’
‘Will you, you swine,’ said Tommy under his breath.
Suddenly there was a stir in the outer office. A man whom Tommy had not yet seen poked his head in and growled something in Russian.
‘Good,’ said Dymchurch. ‘She is coming – and coming alone.’
For a moment a faint anxiety caught at Tommy’s heart.
The next minute he heard Tuppence’s voice.
‘Oh! there you are, Inspector Dymchurch. I’ve brought the letter. Where is Francis?’
With the last words she came through the door, and Vassilly sprang on her from behind, clapping his hand over her mouth. Dymchurch tore the handbag from her grasp and turned over its contents in a frenzied search.
Suddenly he uttered an ejaculation of delight and held up a blue envelope with a Russian stamp on it. Coggins gave a hoarse shout.
And just in that minute of triumph the other door, the door into Tuppence’s own office, opened noiselessly and Inspector Marriot and two men armed with revolvers stepped into the room, with the sharp command: ‘Hands up.’
There was no fight. The others were taken at a hopeless disadvantage. Dymchurch’s automatic lay on the table, and the two others were not armed.
‘A very nice little haul,’ said Inspector Marriot with approval, as he snapped the last pair of handcuffs. ‘And we’ll have more as time goes on, I hope.’
White with rage, Dymchurch glared at Tuppence.
‘You little devil,’ he snarled. ‘It was you put them on to us.’
Tuppence laughed.
‘It wasn’t all my doing. I ought to have guessed, I admit, when you brought in the number sixteen this afternoon. But it was Tommy’s note clinched matters. I rang up Inspector Marriot, got Albert to meet him with the duplicate key of the office, and came along myself with the empty blue envelope in my bag. The letter I forwarded according to my instructions as soon as I had parted with you two this afternoon.’
But one word had caught the other’s attention.
‘Tommy?’ he queried.
Tommy, who had just been released from his bonds, came towards them.
‘Well done, brother Francis,’ he said to Tuppence, taking both her hands in his. And to Dymchurch: ‘As I told you, my dear fellow, you really ought to read the classics.’
It was a wet Wednesday in the offices of the International Detective Agency. Tuppence let the Daily Leader fall idly from her hand.
‘Do you know what I’ve been thinking, Tommy?’
‘It’s impossible to say,’ replied her husband. ‘You think of so many things, and you think of them all at once.’
‘I think it’s time we went dancing again.’
Tommy picked up the Daily Leader hastily.
‘Our advertisement looks well,’ he remarked, his head on one side. ‘Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives. Do you realise, Tuppence, that you and you alone are Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives? There’s glory for you, as Humpty Dumpty would say.’
‘I was talking about dancing.’
‘There’s a curious point that I have observed about newspapers. I wonder if you have ever noticed it. Take these three copies of the Daily Leader. Can you tell me how they differ one from the other?’
Tuppence took them with some curiosity.
‘It seems fairly easy,’ she remarked witheringly. ‘One is today’s, one is yesterday’s, and one is the day before’s.’
