The Complete Tommy & Tuppence Collection (47 page)

He called a waiter and gave the order. Then he spoke to Tuppence.

“Miss Ganges—I am lunching here tomorrow with the French Prefect of Police. Just note down the luncheon, and give it to the head waiter with instructions to reserve me my usual table. I am assisting the French police in an important case.
The fee
”—he paused—“is considerable. Are you ready, Miss Ganges.”

“Quite ready,” said Tuppence, her stylo poised.

“We will start with that special salad of shrimps that they have here. Then to follow—let me see,
to follow
—Yes, Omelette Blitz, and perhaps a couple of
Tournedos à l'Etranger.
”

He paused and murmured apologetically:

“You will forgive me, I hope. Ah! yes,
Souffle en surprise.
That will conclude the repast. A most interesting man, the French Prefect. You know him, perhaps?”

The other replied in the negative, as Tuppence rose and went to speak to the head waiter. Presently she returned, just as the coffee was brought.

Tommy drank a large cup of it, sipping it slowly, then rose.

“My cane, Miss Ganges? Thank you. Directions, please?”

It was a moment of agony for Tuppence.

“One right, eighteen straight. About the fifth step, there is a waiter serving the table on your left.”

Swinging his cane jauntily, Tommy set out. Tuppence kept close beside him, and endeavoured unobtrusively to steer him. All went well until they were just passing out through the doorway. A man entered rather hurriedly, and before Tuppence could warn the blind Mr. Blunt, he had barged right into the newcomer. Explanations and apologies ensued.

At the door of the Blitz, a smart landaulette was waiting. The Duke himself aided Mr. Blunt to get in.

“Your car here, Harker?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yes. Just round the corner.”

“Take Miss Ganges in it, will you.”

Before another word could be said, he had jumped in beside Tommy, and the car rolled smoothly away.

“A very delicate matter,” murmured the Duke. “I can soon acquaint you with all the details.”

Tommy raised his hand to his head.

“I can remove my eyeshade now,” he observed pleasantly. “It was only the glare of artificial light in the restaurant necessitated its use.”

But his arm was jerked down sharply. At the same time he felt something hard and round being poked between his ribs.

“No, my dear Mr. Blunt,” said the Duke's voice—but a voice that seemed suddenly different. “You will not remove that eyeshade. You will sit perfectly still and not move in any way. You understand? I don't want this pistol of mine to go off. You see, I happen not to be the Duke of Blairgowrie at all. I borrowed his name for the occasion, knowing that you would not refuse to accompany such a celebrated client. I am something much more prosaic—a ham merchant who has lost his wife.”

He felt the start the other gave.

“That tells you something,” he laughed. “My dear young man, you have been incredibly foolish. I'm afraid—I'm very much afraid that your activities will be curtailed in future.”

He spoke the last words with a sinister relish.

Tommy sat motionless. He did not reply to the other's taunts.

Presently the car slackened its pace and drew up.

“Just a minute,” said the pseudo Duke. He twisted a handkerchief deftly into Tommy's mouth, and drew up his scarf over it.

“In case you should be foolish enough to think of calling for help,” he explained suavely.

The door of the car opened and the chauffeur stood ready. He and his master took Tommy between them and propelled him rapidly up some steps and in at the door of a house.

The door closed behind them. There was a rich oriental smell in the air. Tommy's feet sank deep into velvet pile. He was propelled in the same fashion up a flight of stairs and into a room which he judged to be at the back of the house. Here the two men bound his hands together. The chauffeur went out again, and the other removed the gag.

“You may speak freely now,” he announced pleasantly. “What have you to say for yourself, young man?”

Tommy cleared his throat and eased the aching corners of his mouth.

“I hope you haven't lost my hollow cane,” he said mildly. “It cost me a lot to have that made.”

“You have nerve,” said the other, after a minute's pause. “Or else you are just a fool. Don't you understand that I have got you—got you in the hollow of my hand? That you're absolutely in my power? That no one who knows you is ever likely to see you again.”

“Can't you cut out the melodrama?” asked Tommy plaintively. “Have I got to say, ‘You villain, I'll foil you yet?' That sort of thing is so very much out of date.”

“What about the girl?” said the other, watching him. “Doesn't that move you?”

“Putting two and two together during my enforced silence just now,” said Tommy. “I have come to the inevitable conclusion that that chatty lad Harker is another of the doers of desperate deeds, and that therefore my unfortunate secretary will shortly join this little tea party.”

“Right as to one point, but wrong on the other. Mrs. Beresford—you see, I know all about you—Mrs. Beresford will not be brought here. That is a little precaution I took. It occurred to me that just probably your friends in high places might be keeping you shadowed. In that case, by dividing the pursuit, you could not both be trailed. I should still keep one in my hands. I am waiting now—”

He broke off as the door opened. The chauffeur spoke.

“We've not been followed, sir. It's all clear.”

“Good. You can go, Gregory.”

The door closed again.

“So far, so good,” said the “Duke.” “And now what are we to do with you, Mr. Beresford Blunt?”

“I wish you'd take this confounded eyeshade off me,” said Tommy.

“I think not. With it on, you are truly blind—without it you would see as well as I do—and that would not suit my little plan. For I have a plan. You are fond of sensational fiction, Mr. Blunt. This little game that you and your wife were playing today proves that. Now I, too, have arranged a little game—something rather ingenious, as I am sure you will admit when I explain it to you.

“You see, this floor on which you are standing is made of metal, and here and there on its surface are little projections. I touch a switch—so.” A sharp click sounded. “Now the electric current is switched on. To tread on one of those little knobs now means—death! You understand? If you could see . . . but you cannot see. You are in the dark. That is the game—Blindman's Buff with death. If you can reach the door in safety—freedom! But I think that long before you reach it you will have trodden on one of the danger spots. And that will be very amusing—for me!”

He came forward and unbound Tommy's hands. Then he handed him his cane with a little ironical bow.

“The blind Problemist. Let us see if he will solve this problem. I shall stand here with my pistol ready. If you raise your hands to your head to remove that eyeshade, I shoot. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly clear,” said Tommy. He was rather pale, but determined. “I haven't a dog's chance, I suppose?”

“Oh! that—” the other shrugged his shoulders.

“Damned ingenious devil, aren't you?” said Tommy. “But you've forgotten one thing. May I light a cigarette by the way? My poor little heart's going pit-a-pat.”

“You may light a cigarette—but no tricks. I am watching you, remember, with the pistol ready.”

“I'm not a performing dog,” said Tommy. “I don't do tricks.” He extracted a cigarette from his case, then felt for a match box. “It's all right. I'm not feeling for a revolver. But you know well enough that I'm not armed. All the same, as I said before, you've forgotten one thing.”

“What is that?”

Tommy took a match from the box, and held it ready to strike.

“I'm blind and you can see. That's admitted. The advantage is with you. But supposing we were both in the dark—eh? Where's your advantage then?”

He struck the match.

“Thinking of shooting at the switch of the lights? Plunging the room into darkness? It can't be done.”

“Just so,” said Tommy. “I can't give you darkness. But extremes meet, you know. What about
light?
”

As he spoke, he touched the match to something he held in his hand, and threw it down upon the table.

A blinding glare filled the room.

Just for a minute, blinded by the intense white light, the “Duke” blinked and fell back, his pistol hand lowered.

He opened his eyes again to feel something sharp pricking his breast.

“Drop that pistol,” ordered Tommy. “Drop it quick. I agree with you that a hollow cane is a pretty rotten affair. So I didn't get one. A good
sword stick
is a very useful weapon, though. Don't you think so? Almost as useful as magnesium wire.
Drop that pistol.
”

Obedient to the necessity of that sharp point, the man dropped it. Then, with a laugh, he sprang back.

“But I still have the advantage,” he mocked. “For I can see, and you cannot.”

“That's where you're wrong,” said Tommy. “I can see perfectly. The eyeshade's a fake. I was going to put one over on Tuppence. Make one or two bloomers to begin with, and then put in some perfectly marvellous stuff towards the end of lunch. Why, bless you, I could have walked to the door and avoided all the knobs with perfect ease. But I didn't trust you to play a sporting game. You'd never have let me get out of this alive. Careful now—”

For, with his face distorted with rage, the “Duke” sprang forward, forgetting in his fury to look where he put his feet.

There was a sudden blue crackle of flame, and he swayed for a minute, then fell like a log. A faint odour of singed flesh filled the room, mingling with a stronger smell of ozone.”

“Whew,” said Tommy.

He wiped his face.

Then, moving gingerly, and with every precaution, he reached the wall, and touched the switch he had seen the other manipulate.

He crossed the room to the door, opened it carefully, and looked out. There was no one about. He went down the stairs and out through the front door.

Safe in the street, he looked up at the house with a shudder, noting the number. Then he hurried to the nearest telephone box.

There was a moment of agonising anxiety, and then a well-known voice spoke.

“Tuppence, thank goodness!”

“Yes, I'm all right. I got all your points. The Fee, Shrimp, Come to the Blitz and follow the two strangers. Albert got there in time, and when we went off in separate cars, followed me in a taxi, saw where they took me, and rang up the police.”

“Albert's a good lad,” said Tommy. “Chivalrous. I was pretty sure he'd choose to follow you. But I've been worried, all the same. I've got lots to tell you. I'm coming straight back now. And the first thing I shall do when I get back is to write a thumping big cheque for St. Dunstan's. Lord, it must be awful not to be able to see.”

Nine

T
HE
M
AN
IN
THE
M
IST

T
ommy was not pleased with life. Blunt's Brilliant Detectives had met with a reverse, distressing to their pride if not to their pockets. Called in professionally to elucidate the mystery of a stolen pearl necklace at Adlington Hall, Adlington, Blunt's Brilliant Detectives had failed to make good. Whilst Tommy, hard on the track of a gambling Countess, was tracking her in the disguise of a Roman Catholic priest, and Tuppence was “getting off” with the nephew of the house on the golf links, the local Inspector of Police had unemotionally arrested the second footman who proved to be a thief well-known at headquarters, and who admitted his guilt without making any bones about it.

Tommy and Tuppence, therefore, had withdrawn with what dignity they could muster, and were at the present moment solacing themselves with cocktails at the Grand Adlington Hotel. Tommy still wore his clerical disguise.

“Hardly a Father Brown touch, that,” he remarked gloomily. “And yet I've got just the right kind of umbrella.”

“It wasn't a Father Brown problem,” said Tuppence. “One needs a certain atmosphere from the start. One must be doing something quite ordinary, and then bizarre things begin to happen. That's the idea.”

“Unfortunately,” said Tommy, “we have to return to town. Perhaps something bizarre will happen on the way to the station.”

He raised the glass he was holding to his lips, but the liquid in it was suddenly spilled, as a heavy hand smacked him on the shoulder, and a voice to match the hand boomed out words of greeting.

“Upon my soul, it is! Old Tommy! And Mrs. Tommy too. Where did you blow in from? Haven't seen or heard anything of you for years.”

“Why, it's Bulger!” said Tommy, setting down what was left of the cocktail, and turning to look at the intruder, a big square-shouldered man of thirty years of age, with a round red beaming face, and dressed in golfing kit. “Good old Bulger!”

“But I say, old chap,” said Bulger (whose real name, by the way, was Marvyn Estcourt), “I never knew you'd taken orders. Fancy you a blinking parson.”

Tuppence burst out laughing, and Tommy looked embarrassed. And then they suddenly became conscious of a fourth person.

A tall, slender creature, with very golden hair and very round blue eyes, almost impossibly beautiful, with an effect of really expensive black topped by wonderful ermines, and very large pearl earrings. She was smiling. And her smile said many things. It asserted, for instance, that she knew perfectly well that she herself was the thing best worth looking at, certainly in England, and possibly in the whole world. She was not vain about it in any way, but she just knew, with certainty and confidence, that it was so.