The Complete Tommy & Tuppence Collection (40 page)

He buried his head in his hands—then asked a most unexpected question.

“I say, is it really true that young St. Vincent is engaged to be married?”

“Quite true,” said Tuppence. “I know the girl.”

Mr. Rennie suddenly became confidential.

“It's been hell,” he confided. “They've been asking her morning, noon and night—chucking Beatrice at his head. All because he'll come into a title some day. If I had my way—”

“Don't let's talk politics,” said Tuppence hastily. “Do you mind telling me, Mr. Rennie, why you think Miss Kingston Bruce took the pearl?”

“I—I don't.”

“You do,” said Tuppence calmly. “You wait to see the detective, as you think, drive off and the coast clear, and then you come and ask for her. It's obvious.If you'd taken the pearl yourself, you wouldn't be half so upset.”

“Her manner was so odd,” said the young man. “She came this morning and told me about the robbery, explaining that she was on her way to a firm of private detectives. She seemed anxious to say something, and yet not able to get it out.”

“Well,” said Tuppence. “All I want is the pearl. You'd better go and talk to her.”

But at that moment Colonel Kingston Bruce opened the door.

“Lunch is ready, Miss Robinson. You will lunch with us, I hope. The—”

Then he stopped and glared at the guest.

“Clearly,” said Mr. Rennie, “you don't want to ask me to lunch. All right, I'll go.”

“Come back later,” whispered Tuppence, as he passed her.

Tuppence followed Colonel Kingston Bruce, still growling into his moustache about the pestilential impudence of some people, into a massive dining room where the family was already assembled. Only one person present was unknown to Tuppence.

“This, Lady Laura, is Miss Robinson, who is kindly assisting us.”

Lady Laura bent her head, and then proceeded to stare at Tuppence through her pince-nez. She was a tall, thin woman, with a sad smile, a gentle voice, and very hard shrewd eyes. Tuppence returned her stare, and Lady Laura's eyes dropped.

After lunch Lady Laura entered into conversation with an air of gentle curiosity. How was the inquiry proceeding? Tuppence laid suitable stress on the suspicion attaching to the parlourmaid, but her mind was not really on Lady Laura. Lady Laura might conceal teaspoons and other articles in her clothing, but Tuppence felt fairly sure that she had not taken the pink pearl.

Presently Tuppence proceeded with her search of the house. Time was going on. There was no sign of Tommy, and, what mattered far more to Tuppence, there was no sign of Mr. Rennie. Suddenly Tuppence came out of a bedroom and collided with Beatrice Kingston Bruce, who was going downstairs. She was fully-dressed for the street.

“I'm afraid,” said Tuppence, “that you mustn't go out just now.”

The other girl looked at her haughtily.

“Whether I go out or not is no business of yours,” she said coldly.

“It is my business whether I communicate with the police or not, though,” said Tuppence.

In a minute the girl had turned ashy pale.

“You mustn't—you mustn't—I won't go out—but don't do that.” She clung to Tuppence beseechingly.

“My dear Miss Kingston Bruce,” said Tuppence, smiling, “the case has been perfectly clear to me from the start—I—”

But she was interrupted. In the stress of her encounter with the girl, Tuppence had not heard the front doorbell. Now, to her astonishment, Tommy came bounding up the stairs, and in the hall below she caught sight of a big burly man in the act of removing a bowler hat.

“Detective Inspector Marriot of Scotland Yard,” he said with a grin.

With a cry, Beatrice Kingston Bruce tore herself from Tuppence's grasp and dashed down the stairs, just as the front door was opened once more to admit Mr. Rennie.

“Now you
have
torn it,” said Tuppence bitterly.

“Eh?” said Tommy, hurrying into Lady Laura's room. He passed on into the bathroom and picked up a large cake of soap which he brought out in his hands. The Inspector was just mounting the stairs.

“She went quite quietly,” he announced. “She's an old hand and knows when the game is up. What about the pearl?”

“I rather fancy,” said Tommy, handing him the soap, “that you'll find it in here.”

The Inspector's eyes lit up appreciatively.

“An old trick, and a good one. Cut a cake of soap in half, scoop out a place for the jewel, clap it together again, and smooth the join well over with hot water. A very smart piece of work on your part, sir.”

Tommy accepted the compliment gracefully. He and Tuppence descended the stairs. Colonel Kingston Bruce rushed at him and shook him warmly by the hand.

“My dear sir, I can't thank you enough. Lady Laura wants to thank you also—”

“I am glad we have given you satisfaction,” said Tommy. “But I'm afraid I can't stop. I have a most urgent appointment. Member of the Cabinet.”

He hurried out to the car and jumped in. Tuppence jumped in beside him.

“But Tommy,” she cried. “Haven't they arrested Lady Laura after all?”

“Oh!” said Tommy. “Didn't I tell you? They've not arrested Lady Laura. They've arrested Elise.”

“You see,” he went on, as Tuppence sat dumbfounded, “I've often tried to open a door with soap on my hands myself. It can't be done—your hands slip. So I wondered what Elise could have been doing with the soap to get her hands as soapy as all that. She caught up a towel, you remember, so there were no traces of soap on the handle afterwards. But it occurred to me that if you were a professional thief, it wouldn't be a bad plan to be maid to a lady suspected of kleptomania who stayed about a good deal in different houses. So I managed to get a photo of her as well as of the room, induced her to handle a glass slide and toddled off to dear old Scotland Yard. Lightning development of negative, successful identification of fingerprints—and photo. Elise was a long lost friend. Useful place, Scotland Yard.”

“And to think,” said Tuppence, finding her voice, “that those two young idiots were only suspecting each other in that weak way they do it in books. But why didn't you tell me what you were up to when you went off?”

“In the first place, I suspected that Elise was listening on the landing, and in the second place—”

“Yes?”

“My learned friend forgets,” said Tommy. “Thorndyke never tells until the last moment. Besides, Tuppence, you and your pal Janet Smith put one over on me last time. This makes us all square.”

Four

T
HE
A
DVENTURE
OF
THE
S
INISTER
S
TRANGER

“I
t's been a darned dull day,” said Tommy, and yawned widely.

“Nearly tea time,” said Tuppence and also yawned.

Business was not brisk in the International Detective Agency. The eagerly expected letter from the ham merchant had not arrived and
bona fide
cases were not forthcoming.

Albert, the office boy, entered with a sealed package which he laid on the table.

“The Mystery of the Sealed Packet,” murmured Tommy. “Did it contain the fabulous pearls of the Russian Grand Duchess? Or was it an infernal machine destined to blow Blunt's Brilliant Detectives to pieces?”

“As a matter of fact,” said Tuppence, tearing open the package. “It's my wedding present to Francis Haviland. Rather nice, isn't it?”

Tommy took a slender silver cigarette case from her outstretched hand, noted the inscription engraved in her own handwriting, “
Francis from Tuppence,
” opened and shut the case, and nodded approvingly.

“You do throw your money about, Tuppence,” he remarked. “I'll have one like it, only in gold, for my birthday next month. Fancy wasting a thing like that on Francis Haviland, who always was and always will be one of the most perfect asses God ever made!”

“You forget I used to drive him about during the war, when he was a General. Ah! those were the good old days.”

“They were,” agreed Tommy. “Beautiful women used to come and squeeze my hand in hospital, I remember. But I don't send them all wedding presents. I don't believe the bride will care much for this gift of yours, Tuppence.”

“It's nice and slim for the pocket, isn't it?” said Tuppence, disregarding his remarks.

Tommy slipped it into his own pocket.

“Just right,” he said approvingly. “Hullo, here is Albert with the afternoon post. Very possibly the Duchess of Perthshire is commissioning us to find her prize Peke.”

They sorted through the letters together. Suddenly Tommy gave vent to a prolonged whistle and held up one of them in his hand.

“A blue letter with a Russian stamp on it. Do you remember what the Chief said? We were to look out for letters like that.”

“How exciting,” said Tuppence. “Something has happened at last. Open it and see if the contents are up to schedule. A ham merchant, wasn't it? Half a minute. We shall want some milk for tea. They forgot to leave it this morning. I'll send Albert out for it.”

She returned from the outer office, after despatching Albert on his errand, to find Tommy holding the blue sheet of paper in his hand.

“As we thought, Tuppence,” he remarked. “Almost word for word what the Chief said.”

Tuppence took the letter from him and read it.

It was couched in careful stilted English, and purported to be from one Gregor Feodorsky, who was anxious for news of his wife. The International Detective Agency was urged to spare no expense in doing their utmost to trace her. Feodorsky himself was unable to leave Russia at the moment owing to a crisis in the pork trade.

“I wonder what it really means,” said Tuppence thoughtfully, smoothing out the sheet on the table in front of her.

“Code of some kind, I suppose,” said Tommy. “That's not our business. Our business is to hand it over to the Chief as soon as possible. Better just verify it by soaking off the stamp and seeing if the number 16 is underneath.”

“All right,” said Tuppence. “But I should think—”

She stopped dead, and Tommy, surprised by her sudden pause, looked up to see a man's burly figure blocking the doorway.

The intruder was a man of commanding presence, squarely built, with a very round head and a powerful jaw. He might have been about forty-five years of age.

“I must beg your pardon,” said the stranger, advancing into the room, hat in hand. “I found your outer office empty and this door open, so I ventured to intrude. This is Blunt's International Detective Agency, is it not?”

“Certainly it is.”

“And you are, perhaps, Mr. Blunt? Mr. Theodore Blunt?”

“I am Mr. Blunt. You wish to consult me? This is my secretary, Miss Robinson.”

Tuppence inclined her head gracefully, but continued to scrutinise the stranger narrowly through her downcast eyelashes. She was wondering how long he had been standing in the doorway, and how much he had seen and heard. It did not escape her observation that even while he was talking to Tommy, his eyes kept coming back to the blue paper in her hand.

Tommy's voice, sharp with a warning note, recalled her to the needs of the moment.

“Miss Robinson, please, take notes. Now, sir, will you kindly state the matter on which you wish to have my advice?”

Tuppence reached for her pad and pencil.

The big man began in rather a harsh voice.

“My name is Bower. Dr. Charles Bower. I live in Hampstead, where I have a practice. I have come to you, Mr. Blunt, because several rather strange occurrences have happened lately.”

“Yes, Dr. Bower?”

“Twice in the course of the last week I have been summoned by telephone to an urgent case—in each case to find that the summons has been a fake. The first time I thought a practical joke had been played upon me, but on my return the second time I found that some of my private papers had been displaced and disarranged, and now I believe that the same thing had happened the first time. I made an exhaustive search and came to the conclusion that my whole desk had been thoroughly ransacked, and the various papers replaced hurriedly.”

Dr. Bower paused and gazed at Tommy.

“Well, Mr. Blunt?”

“Well, Dr. Bower,” replied the young man, smiling.

“What do you think of it, eh?”

“Well, first I should like the facts. What do you keep in your desk?”

“My private papers.”

“Exactly. Now, what do those private papers consist of? What value are they to the common thief—or any particular person?”

“To the common thief I cannot see that they would have any value at all, but my notes on certain obscure alkaloids would be of interest to anyone possessed of technical knowledge of the subject. I have been making a study of such matters for the last few years. These alkaloids are deadly and virulent poisons, and are in addition, almost untraceable. They yield no known reactions.”

“The secret of them would be worth money, then?”

“To unscrupulous persons, yes.”

“And you suspect—whom?”

The doctor shrugged his massive shoulders.

“As far as I can tell, the house was not entered forcibly from the outside. That seems to point to some member of my household, and yet I cannot believe—” He broke off abruptly, then began again, his voice very grave.

“Mr. Blunt, I must place myself in your hands unreservedly. I dare not go to the police in the matter. Of my three servants I am almost entirely sure. They have served me long and faithfully. Still, one never knows. Then I have living with me my two nephews, Bertram and Henry. Henry is a good boy—a very good boy—he has never caused me any anxiety, an excellent hardworking young fellow. Bertram, I regret to say, is of quite a different character—wild, extravagant, and persistently idle.”