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      ‘Good morning,’ he said briskly and cheerfully. ‘From the Hampstead Borough Council. The New Voting Register. Mrs Edgar Keith lives here, does she not?’

      ‘Yaas,’ said the servant.

      ‘Christian name?’ asked Tommy, his pencil poised.

      ‘Missus’s? Eleanor Jane.’

      ‘Eleanor,’ spelt Tommy. ‘Any sons or daughters over twenty-one?’

      ‘Naow.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Tommy closed the notebook with a brisk snap. ‘Good morning.’

      The servant volunteered her first remark:

      ‘I thought perhaps as you’d come about the gas,’ she observed cryptically, and shut the door.

      Tommy rejoined his accomplice.

      ‘You see, Tuppence,’ he observed. ‘Child’s play to the masculine mind.’

      ‘I don’t mind admitting that for once you’ve scored handsomely. I should never have thought of that.’

      ‘Good wheeze, wasn’t it? And we can repeat it ad lib.’

      Lunch-time found the young couple attacking steak and chips in an obscure hostelry with avidity. They had collected a Gladys Mary and a Marjorie, been baffled by one change of address, and had been forced to listen to a long lecture on universal suffrage from a vivacious American lady whose Christian name had proved to be Sadie.

      ‘Ah!’ said Tommy, imbibing a long draught of beer. ‘I feel better. Where’s the next draw?’

      The notebook lay on the table between them. Tuppence picked it up.

      ‘Mrs Vandemeyer,’ she read, ‘20 South Audley Mansions. Miss Wheeler, 43 Clapington Road, Battersea. She’s a lady’s maid, as far as I remember, so probably won’t be there, and, anyway, she’s not likely.’

      ‘Then the Mayfair lady is clearly indicated as the first port of call.’

      ‘Tommy, I’m getting discouraged.’

      ‘Buck up, old bean. We always knew it was an outside chance. And, anyway, we’re only starting. If we draw a blank in London, there’s a fine tour of England, Ireland and Scotland before us.’

      ‘True,’ said Tuppence, her flagging spirits reviving. ‘And all expenses paid! But, oh, Tommy, I do like things to happen quickly. So far, adventure has succeeded adventure, but this morning has been dull as dull.’

      ‘You must stifle this longing for vulgar sensation, Tuppence. Remember that if Mr Brown is all he is reported to be, it’s a wonder that he has not ere now done us to death. That’s a good sentence, quite a literary flavour about it.’

      ‘You’re really more conceited than I am – with less excuse! Ahem! But it certainly is queer that Mr Brown has not yet wreaked vengeance upon us. (You see, I can do it too.) We pass on our way unscathed.’

      ‘Perhaps he doesn’t think us worth bothering about,’ suggested the young man simply.

      Tuppence received the remark with great disfavour.

      ‘How horrid you are, Tommy. Just as though we didn’t count.’

      ‘Sorry, Tuppence. What I meant was that we work like moles in the dark, and that he has no suspicion of our nefarious schemes. Ha ha!’

      ‘Ha ha!’ echoed Tuppence approvingly, as she rose.

      South Audley Mansions was an imposing looking block of flats just off Park Lane. No. 20 was on the second floor.

      Tommy had by this time the glibness born of practice. He rattled off the formula to the elderly woman, looking more like a housekeeper than a servant, who opened the door to him.

      ‘Christian name?’

      ‘Margaret.’

      Tommy spelt it, but the other interrupted him.

      ‘No, g u e.’

      ‘Oh, Marguerite; French way, I see.’ He paused then plunged boldly. ‘We had her down as Rita Vandermeyer, but I suppose that’s correct?’

      ‘She’s mostly called that, sir, but Marguerite’s her name.’

      ‘Thank you. That’s all. Good morning.’

      Hardly able to contain his excitement, Tommy hurried down the stairs. Tuppence was waiting at the angle of the turn.

      ‘You heard?’

      ‘Yes. Oh, Tommy!’

      Tommy squeezed her arm sympathetically.

      ‘I know, old thing. I feel the same.’

      ‘It’s – it’s so lovely to think of things – and then for them really to happen!’ cried Tuppence enthusiastically.

      Her hand was still in Tommy’s. They had reached the entrance hall. There were footsteps on the stairs above them, and voices.

      Suddenly, to Tommy’s complete surprise, Tuppence dragged him into the little space by the side of the lift where the shadow was deepest.

      ‘What the –’

      ‘Hush!’

      Two men came down the stairs and passed out through the entrance. Tuppence’s hand closed tighter on Tommy’s arm.

      ‘Quick – follow them. I daren’t. He might recognize me. I don’t know who the other man is, but the bigger of the two was Whittington.’

       Chapter 7

       The House in Soho

      Whittington and his companion were walking at a good pace. Tommy started in pursuit at once, and was in time to see them turn the corner of the street. His vigorous strides soon enabled him to gain upon them, and by the time he, in his turn, reached the corner the distance between them was sensibly lessened. The small Mayfair streets were comparatively deserted, and he judged it wise to content himself with keeping them in sight.

      The sport was a new one to him. Though familiar with the technicalities from a course of novel reading, he had never before attempted to ‘follow’ anyone, and it appeared to him at once that, in actual practice, the proceeding was fraught with difficulties. Supposing, for instance, that they should suddenly hail a taxi? In books, you simply leapt into another, promised the driver a sovereign – or its modern equivalent – and there you were. In actual fact, Tommy foresaw that it was extremely likely there would be no second taxi. Therefore СКАЧАТЬ