The Secret Adversary
cousin’s disappearance was to be found there. The energetic young
man had succeeded in making the lives of several Scotland Yard men
unbearable to them, and the telephone girls at the Admiralty had learned
to know and dread the familiar “Hullo!” He had spent three hours in
Paris hustling the Prefecture, and had returned from there imbued with
the idea, possibly inspired by a weary French official, that the true
clue to the mystery was to be found in Ireland.
“I dare say he’s dashed off there now,” thought Tuppence. “All very
well, but this is very dull for _me!_ Here I am bursting with news, and
absolutely no one to tell it to! Tommy might have wired, or something. I
wonder where he is. Anyway, he can’t have ‘lost the trail’ as they say.
That reminds me----” And Miss Cowley broke off in her meditations, and
summoned a small boy.
Ten minutes later the lady was ensconced comfortably on her bed,
smoking cigarettes and deep in the perusal of _Garnaby Williams, the Boy
Detective_, which, with other threepenny works of lurid fiction, she had
sent out to purchase. She felt, and rightly, that before the strain
of attempting further intercourse with Albert, it would be as well to
fortify herself with a good supply of local colour.
The morning brought a note from Mr. Carter:
“DEAR MISS TUPPENCE,
“You have made a splendid start, and I congratulate you. I feel, though,
that I should like to point out to you once more the risks you are
running, especially if you pursue the course you indicate. Those people
are absolutely desperate and incapable of either mercy or pity. I feel
that you probably underestimate the danger, and therefore warn you
again that I can promise you no protection. You have given us valuable
information, and if you choose to withdraw now no one could blame you.
At any rate, think the matter over well before you decide.
“If, in spite of my warnings, you make up your mind to go through with
it, you will find everything arranged. You have lived for two years with
Miss Dufferin, The Parsonage, Llanelly, and Mrs. Vandemeyer can apply to
her for a reference.
“May I be permitted a word or two of advice? Stick as near to the truth
as possible--it minimizes the danger of ‘slips.’ I suggest that you
should represent yourself to be what you are, a former V.A.D., who has
chosen domestic service as a profession. There are many such at the
present time. That explains away any incongruities of voice or manner
which otherwise might awaken suspicion.
“Whichever way you decide, good luck to you.
“Your sincere friend,
“MR. CARTER.”
Tuppence’s spirits rose mercurially. Mr. Carter’s warnings passed
unheeded. The young lady had far too much confidence in herself to pay
any heed to them.
With some reluctance she abandoned the interesting part she had sketched
out for herself. Although she had no doubts of her own powers to sustain
a role indefinitely, she had too much common sense not to recognize the
force of Mr. Carter’s arguments.
There was still no word or message from Tommy, but the morning post
brought a somewhat dirty postcard with the words: “It’s O.K.” scrawled
upon it.
At ten-thirty Tuppence surveyed with pride a slightly battered tin trunk
containing her new possessions. It was artistically corded. It was with
a slight blush that she rang the bell and ordered it to be placed in a
taxi. She drove to Paddington, and left the box in the cloak room.
She then repaired with a handbag to the fastnesses of the ladies’
waiting-room. Ten minutes later a metamorphosed Tuppence walked demurely
out of the station and entered a bus.
It was a few minutes past eleven when Tuppence again entered the hall
of South Audley Mansions. Albert was on the look-out, attending to his
duties in a somewhat desultory fashion. He did not immediately recognize
Tuppence. When he did, his admiration was unbounded.
“Blest if I’d have known you! That rig-out’s top-hole.”
“Glad you like it, Albert,” replied Tuppence modestly. “By the way, am I
your cousin, or am I not?”
“Your voice too,” cried the delighted boy. “It’s as English as anything!
No, I said as a friend of mine knew a young gal. Annie wasn’t best
pleased. She’s stopped on till to-day--to oblige, _she_ said, but really
it’s so as to put you against the place.”
“Nice girl,” said Tuppence.
Albert suspected no irony.
“She’s style about her, and keeps her silver a treat--but, my word,
ain’t she got a temper. Are you going up now, miss? Step inside the
lift. No. 20 did you say?” And he winked.
Tuppence quelled him with a stern glance, and stepped inside.
As she rang the bell of No. 20 she was conscious of Albert’s eyes slowly
descending beneath the level of the floor.
A smart young woman opened the door.
“I’ve come about the place,” said Tuppence.
“It’s a rotten place,” said the young woman without hesitation. “Regular
old cat--always interfering. Accused me of tampering with her letters.
Me! The flap was half undone anyway. There’s never anything in the
waste-paper basket--she burns everything. She’s a wrong ‘un, that’s what
she is. Swell clothes, but no class. Cook knows something about her--but
she won’t tell--scared to death of her. And suspicious! She’s on to you
in a minute if you as much as speak to a fellow. I can tell you----”
But what more Annie could tell, Tuppence was never destined to learn,
for at that moment a clear voice with a peculiarly steely ring to it
called:
“Annie!”
The smart young woman jumped as if she had been shot.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Who are you talking to?”
“It’s a young woman about the situation, ma’am.”
“Show her in then. At once.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Tuppence was ushered into a room on the right of the long passage. A
woman was standing by the fireplace. She was no longer in her first
youth, and the beauty she undeniably possessed was hardened and
coarsened. In her youth she must have been dazzling. Her pale gold hair,
owing a slight assistance to art, was coiled low on her neck, her eyes,
of a piercing electric blue, seemed to possess a faculty of boring into
the very soul of the person she was looking at. Her exquisite figure was
enhanced by a wonderful gown of indigo charmeuse. And yet, despite her
swaying grace, and the almost ethereal beauty of her face, you felt
instinctively the presence of something hard and menacing, a kind of
metallic strength that found expression in the tones of her voice and in
that gimlet-like quality of her eyes.
For the first time Tuppence felt afraid. She had not feared Whittington,
but this woman was different. As if fascinated, she watched the long
cruel line of the red curving mouth, and again she felt that sensation
of panic pass over her. Her usual self-confidence deserted her. Vaguely
she felt that deceiving this woman would be very different to deceiving
Whittington. Mr. Carter’s warning recurred to her mind. Here, indeed,
she might expect no mercy.
Fighting down that instinct of panic which urged her to turn tail and
run without further delay, Tuppence returned the lady’s gaze firmly and
respectfully.
As though that first scrutiny had been satisfactory, Mrs. Vandemeyer
motioned to a chair.
“You can sit down. How did you hear I wanted a house-parlourmaid?”
“Through a friend who knows the lift boy here. He thought the place
might suit me.”
Again that basilisk glance seemed to pierce her through.
“You speak like an educated girl?”
Glibly enough, Tuppence ran through her imaginary career on the lines
suggested by Mr. Carter. It seemed to her, as she did so, that the
tension of Mrs. Vandemeyer’s attitude relaxed.
“I see,” she remarked at length. “Is there anyone I can write to for a
reference?”
“I lived last with a Miss Dufferin, The Parsonage, Llanelly. I was with
her two years.”
“And then you thought you would get more money by coming to London,
I suppose? Well, it doesn’t matter to me. I will give you
£50--£60--whatever you want. You can come in at once?”
“Yes, ma’am. To-day, if you like. My box is at Paddington.”
“Go and fetch it in a taxi, then. It’s an easy place. I am out a good
deal. By the way, what’s your name?”
“Prudence Cooper, ma’am.”
“Very well, Prudence. Go away and fetch your box. I shall be out to
lunch. The cook will show you where everything is.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Tuppence withdrew. The smart Annie was not in evidence. In the hall
below a magnificent hall porter had relegated Albert to the background.
Tuppence did not even glance at him as she passed meekly out.
The adventure had begun, but she felt less elated than she had done
earlier in the morning. It crossed her mind that if the unknown Jane
Finn had fallen into the hands of Mrs. Vandemeyer, it was likely to have
gone hard with her.
CHAPTER X. ENTER SIR JAMES PEEL EDGERTON
TUPPENCE betrayed no awkwardness in her new duties. The daughters of the
archdeacon were well grounded in household tasks. They were also experts
in training a “raw girl,” the inevitable result being that the raw girl,
once trained, departed elsewhere where her newly acquired knowledge
commanded a more substantial remuneration than the archdeacon’s meagre
purse allowed.
Tuppence had therefore very little fear of proving inefficient. Mrs.
Vandemeyer’s cook puzzled her. She evidently went in deadly terror of
her mistress. The girl thought it probable that the other woman had some
hold over her. For the rest, she cooked like a _chef_, as Tuppence had
an opportunity of judging that evening. Mrs. Vandemeyer was expecting a
guest to dinner, and Tuppence accordingly laid the beautifully polished
table for two. She was a little exercised in her own mind as to this
visitor. It was highly possible that it might prove to be Whittington.
Although she felt fairly confident that he would not recognize her, yet
she would have been better pleased had the guest proved to be a total
stranger. However, there was nothing for it but to hope for the best.
At a few minutes past eight the front door bell rang, and Tuppence went
to answer it with some inward trepidation. She was relieved to see that
the visitor was the second of the two men whom Tommy had taken upon
himself to follow.
He gave his name as Count Stepanov. Tuppence announced him, and Mrs.
Vandemeyer rose from her seat on a low divan with a quick murmur of
pleasure.
“It is delightful to see you, Boris Ivanovitch,” she said.
“And you, madame!” He bowed low over her hand.
Tuppence returned to the kitchen.
“Count Stepanov, or some such,” she remarked, and affecting a frank and
unvarnished curiosity: “Who’s he?”
“A Russian gentleman, I believe.”
“Come here much?”
“Once in a while. What d’you want to know for?”
“Fancied he might be sweet on the missus, that’s all,” explained the
girl, adding with an appearance of sulkiness: “How you do take one up!”
“I’m not quite easy in my mind about the _soufflé_,” explained the
other.
“You know something,” thought Tuppence to herself, but aloud she only
said: “Going to dish up now? Right-o.”
Whilst waiting at table, Tuppence listened closely to all that was said.
She remembered that this was one of the men Tommy was shadowing when she
had last seen him. Already, although she would hardly admit it, she was
becoming uneasy about her partner. Where was he? Why had no word of any
kind come from him? She had arranged before leaving the _Ritz_ to have
all letters or messages sent on at once by special messenger to a small
stationer’s shop near at hand where Albert was to call in frequently.
True, it was only yesterday morning that she had parted from Tommy, and
she told herself that any anxiety on his behalf would be absurd. Still,
it was strange that he had sent no word of any kind.