The Secret Adversary
Lobster _à l’américane_, Chicken Newberg, and Pêche Melba! Let’s go
and get them!”
“Tuppence, old girl, what has really come over you?”
“Oh, unbelieving one!” Tuppence wrenched open her bag. “Look here, and
here, and here!”
“Great Jehosaphat! My dear girl, don’t wave Fishers aloft like that!”
“They’re not Fishers. They’re five times better than Fishers, and this
one’s ten times better!”
Tommy groaned.
“I must have been drinking unawares! Am I dreaming, Tuppence, or do I
really behold a large quantity of five-pound notes being waved about in
a dangerous fashion?”
“Even so, O King! _Now_, will you come and have lunch?”
“I’ll come anywhere. But what have you been doing? Holding up a bank?”
“All in good time. What an awful place Piccadilly Circus is. There’s a
huge bus bearing down on us. It would be too terrible if they killed the
five-pound notes!”
“Grill room?” inquired Tommy, as they reached the opposite pavement in
safety.
“The other’s more expensive,” demurred Tuppence.
“That’s mere wicked wanton extravagance. Come on below.”
“Are you sure I can get all the things I want there?”
“That extremely unwholesome menu you were outlining just now? Of course
you can--or as much as is good for you, anyway.”
“And now tell me,” said Tommy, unable to restrain his pent-up curiosity
any longer, as they sat in state surrounded by the many _hors d’œuvre_
of Tuppence’s dreams.
Miss Cowley told him.
“And the curious part of it is,” she ended, “that I really did invent
the name of Jane Finn! I didn’t want to give my own because of poor
father--in case I should get mixed up in anything shady.”
“Perhaps that’s so,” said Tommy slowly. “But you didn’t invent it.”
“What?”
“No. _I_ told it to you. Don’t you remember, I said yesterday I’d
overheard two people talking about a female called Jane Finn? That’s
what brought the name into your mind so pat.”
“So you did. I remember now. How extraordinary----” Tuppence tailed off
into silence. Suddenly she aroused herself. “Tommy!”
“Yes?”
“What were they like, the two men you passed?”
Tommy frowned in an effort at remembrance.
“One was a big fat sort of chap. Clean shaven, I think--and dark.”
“That’s him,” cried Tuppence, in an ungrammatical squeal. “That’s
Whittington! What was the other man like?”
“I can’t remember. I didn’t notice him particularly. It was really the
outlandish name that caught my attention.”
“And people say that coincidences don’t happen!” Tuppence tackled her
Pêche Melba happily.
But Tommy had become serious.
“Look here, Tuppence, old girl, what is this going to lead to?”
“More money,” replied his companion.
“I know that. You’ve only got one idea in your head. What I mean is,
what about the next step? How are you going to keep the game up?”
“Oh!” Tuppence laid down her spoon. “You’re right, Tommy, it is a bit of
a poser.”
“After all, you know, you can’t bluff him forever. You’re sure to slip
up sooner or later. And, anyway, I’m not at all sure that it isn’t
actionable--blackmail, you know.”
“Nonsense. Blackmail is saying you’ll tell unless you are given
money. Now, there’s nothing I could tell, because I don’t really know
anything.”
“Hm,” said Tommy doubtfully. “Well, anyway, what _are_ we going to do?
Whittington was in a hurry to get rid of you this morning, but next time
he’ll want to know something more before he parts with his money. He’ll
want to know how much _you_ know, and where you got your information
from, and a lot of other things that you can’t cope with. What are you
going to do about it?”
Tuppence frowned severely.
“We must think. Order some Turkish coffee, Tommy. Stimulating to the
brain. Oh, dear, what a lot I have eaten!”
“You have made rather a hog of yourself! So have I for that matter, but
I flatter myself that my choice of dishes was more judicious than yours.
Two coffees.” (This was to the waiter.) “One Turkish, one French.”
Tuppence sipped her coffee with a deeply reflective air, and snubbed
Tommy when he spoke to her.
“Be quiet. I’m thinking.”
“Shades of Pelmanism!” said Tommy, and relapsed into silence.
“There!” said Tuppence at last. “I’ve got a plan. Obviously what we’ve
got to do is to find out more about it all.”
Tommy applauded.
“Don’t jeer. We can only find out through Whittington. We must discover
where he lives, what he does--sleuth him, in fact! Now I can’t do it,
because he knows me, but he only saw you for a minute or two in Lyons’.
He’s not likely to recognize you. After all, one young man is much like
another.”
“I repudiate that remark utterly. I’m sure my pleasing features and
distinguished appearance would single me out from any crowd.”
“My plan is this,” Tuppence went on calmly, “I’ll go alone to-morrow.
I’ll put him off again like I did to-day. It doesn’t matter if I don’t
get any more money at once. Fifty pounds ought to last us a few days.”
“Or even longer!”
“You’ll hang about outside. When I come out I shan’t speak to you in
case he’s watching. But I’ll take up my stand somewhere near, and when
he comes out of the building I’ll drop a handkerchief or something, and
off you go!”
“Off I go where?”
“Follow him, of course, silly! What do you think of the idea?”
“Sort of thing one reads about in books. I somehow feel that in real
life one will feel a bit of an ass standing in the street for hours with
nothing to do. People will wonder what I’m up to.”
“Not in the city. Every one’s in such a hurry. Probably no one will even
notice you at all.”
“That’s the second time you’ve made that sort of remark. Never mind, I
forgive you. Anyway, it will be rather a lark. What are you doing this
afternoon?”
“Well,” said Tuppence meditatively. “I _had_ thought of hats! Or perhaps
silk stockings! Or perhaps----”
“Hold hard,” admonished Tommy. “There’s a limit to fifty pounds! But
let’s do dinner and a show to-night at all events.”
“Rather.”
The day passed pleasantly. The evening even more so. Two of the
five-pound notes were now irretrievably dead.
They met by arrangement the following morning and proceeded citywards.
Tommy remained on the opposite side of the road while Tuppence plunged
into the building.
Tommy strolled slowly down to the end of the street, then back again.
Just as he came abreast of the building, Tuppence darted across the
road.
“Tommy!”
“Yes. What’s up?”
“The place is shut. I can’t make anyone hear.”
“That’s odd.”
“Isn’t it? Come up with me, and let’s try again.”
Tommy followed her. As they passed the third floor landing a young clerk
came out of an office. He hesitated a moment, then addressed himself to
Tuppence.
“Were you wanting the Esthonia Glassware?”
“Yes, please.”
“It’s closed down. Since yesterday afternoon. Company being wound up,
they say. Not that I’ve ever heard of it myself. But anyway the office
is to let.”
“Th--thank you,” faltered Tuppence. “I suppose you don’t know Mr.
Whittington’s address?”
“Afraid I don’t. They left rather suddenly.”
“Thank you very much,” said Tommy. “Come on, Tuppence.”
They descended to the street again where they gazed at one another
blankly.
“That’s torn it,” said Tommy at length.
“And I never suspected it,” wailed Tuppence.
“Cheer up, old thing, it can’t be helped.”
“Can’t it, though!” Tuppence’s little chin shot out defiantly. “Do you
think this is the end? If so, you’re wrong. It’s just the beginning!”
“The beginning of what?”
“Of our adventure! Tommy, don’t you see, if they are scared enough to
run away like this, it shows that there must be a lot in this Jane Finn
business! Well, we’ll get to the bottom of it. We’ll run them down!
We’ll be sleuths in earnest!”
“Yes, but there’s no one left to sleuth.”
“No, that’s why we’ll have to start all over again. Lend me that bit of
pencil. Thanks. Wait a minute--don’t interrupt. There!” Tuppence handed
back the pencil, and surveyed the piece of paper on which she had
written with a satisfied eye:
“What’s that?”
“Advertisement.”
“You’re not going to put that thing in after all?”
“No, it’s a different one.” She handed him the slip of paper.
Tommy read the words on it aloud:
“WANTED, any information respecting Jane Finn. Apply Y. A.”
CHAPTER IV. WHO IS JANE FINN?
THE next day passed slowly. It was necessary to curtail expenditure.
Carefully husbanded, forty pounds will last a long time. Luckily the
weather was fine, and “walking is cheap,” dictated Tuppence. An outlying
picture house provided them with recreation for the evening.
The day of disillusionment had been a Wednesday. On Thursday the
advertisement had duly appeared. On Friday letters might be expected to
arrive at Tommy’s rooms.
He had been bound by an honourable promise not to open any such letters
if they did arrive, but to repair to the National Gallery, where his
colleague would meet him at ten o’clock.
Tuppence was first at the rendezvous. She ensconced herself on a red
velvet seat, and gazed at the Turners with unseeing eyes until she saw
the familiar figure enter the room.
“Well?”
“Well,” returned Mr. Beresford provokingly. “Which is your favourite
picture?”
“Don’t be a wretch. Aren’t there _any_ answers?”
Tommy shook his head with a deep and somewhat overacted melancholy.
“I didn’t want to disappoint you, old thing, by telling you right off.
It’s too bad. Good money wasted.” He sighed. “Still, there it is. The
advertisement has appeared, and--there are only two answers!”
“Tommy, you devil!” almost screamed Tuppence. “Give them to me. How
could you be so mean!”
“Your language, Tuppence, your language! They’re very particular at the
National Gallery. Government show, you know. And do remember, as I have
pointed out to you before, that as a clergyman’s daughter----”
“I ought to be on the stage!” finished Tuppence with a snap.
“That is not what I intended to say. But if you are sure that you have
enjoyed to the full the reaction of joy after despair with which I have
kindly provided you free of charge, let us get down to our mail, as the
saying goes.”
Tuppence snatched the two precious envelopes from him unceremoniously,
and scrutinized them carefully.
“Thick paper, this one. It looks rich. We’ll keep it to the last and
open the other first.”
“Right you are. One, two, three, go!”
Tuppence’s little thumb ripped open the envelope, and she extracted the
contents.
“DEAR SIR,
“Referring to your advertisement in this morning’s paper, I may be able
to be of some use to you. Perhaps you could call and see me at the above
address at eleven o’clock to-morrow morning.
“Yours truly,
“A. CARTER.”
“27 Carshalton Gardens,” said Tuppence, referring to the address.
“That’s Gloucester Road way. Plenty of time to get there if we tube.”
“The following,” said Tommy, “is the plan of campaign. It is my turn to
assume the offensive. Ushered into the presence of Mr. Carter, he and I
wish each other good morning as is customary. He then says: ‘Please take
a seat, Mr.--er?’ To which I reply promptly and significantly: ‘Edward
Whittington!’ whereupon Mr. Carter turns purple in the face and gasps
out: ‘How much?’ Pocketing the usual fee of fifty pounds, I rejoin you
in the road outside, and we proceed to the next address and repeat the
performance.”
“Don’t be absurd, Tommy. Now for the other letter. Oh, this is from the
_Ritz!_”
“A hundred pounds instead of fifty!”
“I’ll read it:
“DEAR SIR,
“Re your advertisement, I should be glad if you would call round
somewhere about lunch-time.
“Yours truly,
“JULIUS P. HERSHEIMMER.”
“Ha!” said Tommy. “Do I smell a Boche? Or only an American millionaire
of unfortunate ancestry? At all events we’ll call at lunch-time. It’s a