‘No?’ said Tuppence. ‘Well, perhaps you’re right. But I dare say Lawrence St Vincent will swallow that sort of slush. He’s full of romantic notions just now. By the way, I guaranteed results in twenty-four hours – our special service.’
‘Tuppence – you congenital idiot, what made you do that?’
‘The idea just came into my head. I thought it sounded rather well. Don’t you worry. Leave it to mother. Mother knows best.’
She went out leaving Tommy profoundly dissatisfied.
Presently he rose, sighed, and went out to do what could be done, cursing Tuppence’s over-fervent imagination.
When he returned weary and jaded at half-past four, he found Tuppence extracting a bag of biscuits from their place of concealment in one of the files.
‘You look hot and bothered,’ she remarked. ‘What have you been doing?’
Tommy groaned.
‘Making a round of the hospitals with that girl’s description.’
‘Didn’t I tell you to leave it to me?’ demanded Tuppence.
‘You can’t find that girl single-handed before two o’clock tomorrow.’
‘I can – and what’s more, I have!’
‘You have? What do you mean?’
‘A simple problem, Watson, very simple indeed.’
‘Where is she now?’
Tuppence pointed a hand over her shoulder.
‘She’s in my office next door.’
‘What is she doing there?’
Tuppence began to laugh.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘early training will tell, and with a kettle, a gas ring, and half a pound of tea staring her in the face, the result is a foregone conclusion.
‘You see,’ continued Tuppence gently. ‘Madame Violette’s is where I go for my hats, and the other day I ran across an old pal of hospital days amongst the girls there. She gave up nursing after the war and started a hat shop, failed, and took this job at Madame Violette’s. We fixed up the whole thing between us. She was to rub the advertisement well into young St Vincent, and then disappear. Wonderful efficiency of Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives. Publicity for us, and the necessary fillip to young St Vincent to bring him to the point of proposing. Janet was in despair about it.’
‘Tuppence,’ said Tommy. ‘You take my breath away! The whole thing is the most immoral business I ever heard of. You aid and abet this young man to marry out of his class –’
‘Stuff,’ said Tuppence. ‘Janet is a splendid girl – and the queer thing is that she really adores that week-kneed young man. You can see with half a glance what his family needs. Some good red blood in it. Janet will be the making of him. She’ll look after him like a mother, ease down the cocktails and the night clubs and make him lead a good healthy country gentleman’s life. Come and meet her.’
Tuppence opened the door of the adjoining office and Tommy followed her.
A tall girl with lovely auburn hair, and a pleasant face, put down the steaming kettle in her hand, and turned with a smile that disclosed an even row of white teeth.
‘I hope you’ll forgive me, Nurse Cowley – Mrs Beresford, I mean. I thought that very likely you’d be quite ready for a cup of tea yourself. Many’s the pot of tea you’ve made for me in the hospital at three o’clock in the morning.’
‘Tommy,’ said Tuppence. ‘Let me introduce you to my old friend, Nurse Smith.’
‘Smith, did you say? How curious!’ said Tommy shaking hands. ‘Eh? Oh! nothing – a little monograph that I was thinking of writing.’
‘Pull yourself together, Tommy,’ said Tuppence.
She poured him out a cup of tea.
‘Now, then, let’s drink together. Here’s to the success of the International Detective Agency. Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives! May they never know failure!’
‘What on earth are you doing?’ demanded Tuppence, as she entered the inner sanctum of the International Detective Agency – (Slogan – Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives) and discovered her lord and master prone on the floor in a sea of books.
Tommy struggled to his feet.
‘I was trying to arrange these books on the top shelf of that cupboard,’ he complained. ‘And the damned chair gave way.’
‘What are they, anyway?’ asked Tuppence, picking up a volume. ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles. I wouldn’t mind reading that again some time.’
‘You see the idea?’ said Tommy, dusting himself with care. ‘Half-hours with the Great Masters – that sort of thing. You see, Tuppence, I can’t help feeling that we are more or less amateurs at this business – of course amateurs in one sense we cannot help being, but it would do no harm to acquire the technique, so to speak. These books are detective stories by the leading masters of the art. I intend to try different styles, and compare results.’
‘H’m,’ said Tuppence. ‘I often wonder how these detectives would have got on in real life.’ She picked up another volume. ‘You’ll find a difficulty in being a Thorndyke. You’ve no medical experience, and less legal, and I never heard that science was your strong point.’
‘Perhaps not,’ said Tommy. ‘But at any rate I’ve bought a very good camera, and I shall photograph footprints and enlarge the negatives and all that sort of thing. Now, mon ami, use your little grey cells – what does this convey to you?’
He pointed to the bottom shelf of the cupboard. On it lay a somewhat futuristic dressing-gown, a turkish slipper, and a violin.
‘Obvious, my dear Watson,’ said Tuppence.
‘Exactly,’ said Tommy. ‘The Sherlock Holmes touch.’
He took up the violin and drew the bow idly across the strings, causing Tuppence to give a wail of agony.
At that moment the buzzer rang on the desk, a sign that a client had arrived in the outer office and was being held in parley by Albert, the office boy.
Tommy hastily replaced the violin in the cupboard and kicked the books behind the desk.
‘Not that there’s any great hurry,’ he remarked. ‘Albert will be handing them out the stuff about my being engaged with Scotland Yard on the phone. Get into your office and start typing, Tuppence. It makes the office sound busy and active.
