nodded.
‘That is the truth, Bolshevist gold is pouring into this country for the specific purpose of procuring a Revolution. And there is a certain man, a man whose real name is unknown to us, who is working in the dark for his own ends. The Bolshevists are behind the labour unrest—but this man is behind the Bolshevists. Who is he? We do not know. He is always spoken of by the unassuming title of “Mr Brown.” But one thing is certain, he is the master criminal of this age. He controls a marvellous organization. Most of the peace propaganda during the war was originated and financed by him. His spies are everywhere.’
‘A naturalized German?’ asked Tommy.
‘On the contrary, I have every reason to believe he is an Englishman. He was pro-German, as he would have been pro-Boer. What he seeks to attain we do not know—probably supreme power for himself, of a kind unique in history. We have no clue as to his real personality. It is reported that even his own followers are ignorant of it. Where we have come across his tracks, he has always played a secondary part. Somebody else assumes the chief rôle. But afterwards we always find that there had been some nonentity, a servant or a clerk, who had remained in the background unnoticed, and that the elusive Mr Brown has escaped us once more.’
‘Oh!’ Tuppence jumped. ‘I wonder—’
‘Yes?’
‘I remember in Mr Whittington’s office. The clerk—he called him Brown. You don’t think—’
Carter nodded thoughtfully.
‘Very likely. A curious point is that the name is usually mentioned. An idiosyncrasy of genius. Can you describe him at all?’
‘I really didn’t notice. He was quite ordinary—just like anyone else.’
Mr Carter sighed in his tired manner.
‘That is the invariable description of Mr Brown! Brought a telephone message to the man Whittington, did he? Notice a telephone in the outer office?’
Tuppence thought.
‘No, I don’t think I did.’
‘Exactly. That “message” was Mr Brown’s way of giving an order to his subordinate. He overheard the whole conversation of course. Was it after that that Whittington handed you over the money, and told you to come the following day?’
Tuppence nodded.
‘Yes, undoubtedly the hand of Mr Brown!’ Mr Carter paused. ‘Well, there it is, you see what you are pitting yourself against? Possibly the finest criminal brain of the age. I don’t quite like it, you know. You’re such young things, both of you. I shouldn’t like anything to happen to you.’
‘It won’t,’ Tuppence assured him positively.
‘I’ll look after her, sir,’ said Tommy.
‘And I’ll look after you,’ retorted Tuppence, resenting the manly assertion.
‘Well, then, look after each other,’ said Mr Carter, smiling. ‘Now let’s get back to business. There’s something mysterious about this draft treaty that we haven’t fathomed yet. We’ve been threatened with it—in plain and unmistakable terms. The Revolutionary elements as good as declared that it’s in their hands, and that they intend to produce it at a given moment. On the other hand, they are clearly at fault about many of its provisions. The Government consider it as mere bluff on their part, and, rightly or wrongly, have stuck to the policy of absolute denial. I’m not so sure. There have been hints, indiscreet allusions, that seem to indicate that the menace is a real one. The position is much as though they had got hold of an incriminating document, but couldn’t read it because it was in cipher—but we know that the draft treaty wasn’t in cipher—couldn’t be in the nature of things—so that won’t wash. But there’s something. Of course, Jane Finn may be dead for all we know—but I don’t think so. The curious thing is that they’re trying to get information about the girl from us.’
‘What?’
‘Yes. One or two little things have cropped up. And your story, little lady, confirms my idea. They know we’re looking for Jane Finn. Well, they’ll produce a Jane Finn of their own—say at a pensionnat in Paris.’ Tuppence gasped, and Mr Carter smiled. ‘No one knows in the least what she looks like, so that’s all right. She’s primed with a trumped-up tale, and her real business is to get as much information as possible out of us. See the idea?’
‘Then you think’—Tuppence paused to grasp the supposition fully—‘that it was as Jane Finn that they wanted me to go to Paris?’
Mr Carter smiled more wearily than ever.
‘I believe in coincidences, you know,’ he said.
‘Well,’ said Tuppence, recovering herself, ‘it really seems as though it were meant to be.’
Carter nodded.
‘I know what you mean. I’m superstitious myself. Luck, and all that sort of thing. Fate seems to have chosen you out to be mixed up in this.’
Tommy indulged in a chuckle.
‘My word! I don’t wonder Whittington got the wind up when Tuppence plumped out that name! I should have myself. But look here, sir, we’re taking up an awful lot of your time. Have you any tips to give us before we clear out?’
‘I think not. My experts, working in stereotyped ways, have failed. You will bring imagination and an open mind to the task. Don’t be discouraged if that too does not succeed. For one thing there is a likelihood of the pace being forced.’
Tuppence frowned uncomprehendingly.
‘When you had that interview with Whittington, they had time before them. I have information that the big coup was planned for early in the new year. But the Government is contemplating legislative action which will deal effectually with the strike menace. They’ll get wind of it soon, if they haven’t already, and it’s possible that they may bring things to a head. I hope it will myself. The less time they have to mature their plans the better. I’m just warning you that you haven’t much time before you, and that you needn’t be cast down if you fail. It’s not an easy proposition anyway. That’s all.’
Tuppence rose.
‘I think we ought to be business-like. What exactly can we count upon you for, Mr Carter?’
Mr Carter’s lips twitched slightly, but he replied succinctly:
‘Funds within reason, detailed information on any point, and no official recognition. I mean that if you get yourselves into trouble with the police, I can’t officially help you out of it. You’re on your own.’
Tuppence nodded sagely.
