The Secret Adversary

  CHAPTER VI. A PLAN OF CAMPAIGN

  A veil might with profit be drawn over the events of the next half-hour.Suffice it to say that no such person as “Inspector Brown” was known toScotland Yard. The photograph of Jane Finn, which would have been ofthe utmost value to the police in tracing her, was lost beyond recovery.Once again “Mr. Brown” had triumphed.

  The immediate result of this set-back was to effect a _rapprochement_between Julius Hersheimmer and the Young Adventurers. All barriers wentdown with a crash, and Tommy and Tuppence felt they had known the youngAmerican all their lives. They abandoned the discreet reticence of“private inquiry agents,” and revealed to him the whole history ofthe joint venture, whereat the young man declared himself “tickled todeath.”

  He turned to Tuppence at the close of the narration.

  “I’ve always had a kind of idea that English girls were just a mitemoss-grown. Old-fashioned and sweet, you know, but scared to move roundwithout a footman or a maiden aunt. I guess I’m a bit behind the times!”

  The upshot of these confidential relations was that Tommy and Tuppencetook up their abode forthwith at the _Ritz_, in order, as Tuppence putit, to keep in touch with Jane Finn’s only living relation. “And putlike that,” she added confidentially to Tommy, “nobody could boggle atthe expense!”

  Nobody did, which was the great thing.

  “And now,” said the young lady on the morning after their installation,“to work!”

  Mr. Beresford put down the _Daily Mail_, which he was reading, andapplauded with somewhat unnecessary vigour. He was politely requested byhis colleague not to be an ass.

  “Dash it all, Tommy, we’ve got to _do_ something for our money.”

  Tommy sighed.

  “Yes, I fear even the dear old Government will not support us at the_Ritz_ in idleness for ever.”

  “Therefore, as I said before, we must _do_ something.”

  “Well,” said Tommy, picking up the _Daily Mail_ again, “_do_ it. Ishan’t stop you.”

  “You see,” continued Tuppence. “I’ve been thinking----”

  She was interrupted by a fresh bout of applause.

  “It’s all very well for you to sit there being funny, Tommy. It would doyou no harm to do a little brain work too.”

  “My union, Tuppence, my union! It does not permit me to work before 11a.m.”

  “Tommy, do you want something thrown at you? It is absolutely essentialthat we should without delay map out a plan of campaign.”

  “Hear, hear!”

  “Well, let’s do it.”

  Tommy laid his paper finally aside. “There’s something of the simplicityof the truly great mind about you, Tuppence. Fire ahead. I’m listening.”

  “To begin with,” said Tuppence, “what have we to go upon?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” said Tommy cheerily.

  “Wrong!” Tuppence wagged an energetic finger. “We have two distinctclues.”

  “What are they?”

  “First clue, we know one of the gang.”

  “Whittington?”

  “Yes. I’d recognize him anywhere.”

  “Hum,” said Tommy doubtfully, “I don’t call that much of a clue. Youdon’t know where to look for him, and it’s about a thousand to oneagainst your running against him by accident.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” replied Tuppence thoughtfully. “I’ve oftennoticed that once coincidences start happening they go on happening inthe most extraordinary way. I dare say it’s some natural law that wehaven’t found out. Still, as you say, we can’t rely on that. But there_are_ places in London where simply every one is bound to turn up sooneror later. Piccadilly Circus, for instance. One of my ideas was to takeup my stand there every day with a tray of flags.”

  “What about meals?” inquired the practical Tommy.

  “How like a man! What does mere food matter?”

  “That’s all very well. You’ve just had a thundering good breakfast. Noone’s got a better appetite than you have, Tuppence, and by tea-timeyou’d be eating the flags, pins and all. But, honestly, I don’t thinkmuch of the idea. Whittington mayn’t be in London at all.”

  “That’s true. Anyway, I think clue No. 2 is more promising.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “It’s nothing much. Only a Christian name--Rita. Whittington mentionedit that day.”

  “Are you proposing a third advertisement: Wanted, female crook,answering to the name of Rita?”

  “I am not. I propose to reason in a logical manner. That man, Danvers,was shadowed on the way over, wasn’t he? And it’s more likely to havebeen a woman than a man----”

  “I don’t see that at all.”

  “I am absolutely certain that it would be a woman, and a good-lookingone,” replied Tuppence calmly.

  “On these technical points I bow to your decision,” murmured Mr.Beresford.

  “Now, obviously this woman, whoever she was, was saved.”

  “How do you make that out?”

  “If she wasn’t, how would they have known Jane Finn had got the papers?”

  “Correct. Proceed, O Sherlock!”

  “Now there’s just a chance, I admit it’s only a chance, that this womanmay have been ‘Rita.’”

  “And if so?”

  “If so, we’ve got to hunt through the survivors of the _Lusitania_ tillwe find her.”

  “Then the first thing is to get a list of the survivors.”

  “I’ve got it. I wrote a long list of things I wanted to know, and sentit to Mr. Carter. I got his reply this morning, and among other thingsit encloses the official statement of those saved from the _Lusitania_.How’s that for clever little Tuppence?”

  “Full marks for industry, zero for modesty. But the great point is, isthere a ‘Rita’ on the list?”

  “That’s just what I don’t know,” confessed Tuppence.

  “Don’t know?”

  “Yes. Look here.” Together they bent over the list. “You see, very fewChristian names are given. They’re nearly all Mrs. or Miss.”

  Tommy nodded.

  “That complicates matters,” he murmured thoughtfully.

  Tuppence gave her characteristic “terrier” shake.

  “Well, we’ve just got to get down to it, that’s all. We’ll start withthe London area. Just note down the addresses of any of the females wholive in London or roundabout, while I put on my hat.”

  Five minutes later the young couple emerged into Piccadilly, and a fewseconds later a taxi was bearing them to The Laurels, Glendower Road,N.7, the residence of Mrs. Edgar Keith, whose name figured first in alist of seven reposing in Tommy’s pocket-book.

  The Laurels was a dilapidated house, standing back from the road witha few grimy bushes to support the fiction of a front garden. Tommy paidoff the taxi, and accompanied Tuppence to the front door bell. As shewas about to ring it, he arrested her hand.

  “What are you going to say?”

  “What am I going to say? Why, I shall say--Oh dear, I don’t know. It’svery awkward.”

  “I thought as much,” said Tommy with satisfaction. “How like a woman! Noforesight! Now just stand aside, and see how easily the mere maledeals with the situation.” He pressed the bell. Tuppence withdrew to asuitable spot.

  A slatternly looking servant, with an extremely dirty face and a pair ofeyes that did not match, answered the door.

  Tommy had produced a notebook and pencil.

  “Good morning,” he said briskly and cheerfully. “From the HampsteadBorough 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. “Goodmorning.”

  The servant
volunteered her first remark:

  “I thought perhaps as you’d come about the gas,” she observedcryptically, 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 shouldnever have thought of that.”

  “Good wheeze, wasn’t it? And we can repeat it _ad lib_.”

  Lunch-time found the young couple attacking a steak and chips in anobscure hostelry with avidity. They had collected a Gladys Mary and aMarjorie, been baffled by one change of address, and had been forced tolisten to a long lecture on universal suffrage from a vivacious Americanlady 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, 43Clapington 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 afine tour of England, Ireland and Scotland before us.”

  “True,” said Tuppence, her flagging spirits reviving. “And all expensespaid! But, oh, Tommy, I do like things to happen quickly. So far,adventure has succeeded adventure, but this morning has been dull asdull.”

  “You must stifle this longing for vulgar sensation, Tuppence. Rememberthat if Mr. Brown is all he is reported to be, it’s a wonder that he hasnot ere now done us to death. That’s a good sentence, quite a literaryflavour about it.”

  “You’re really more conceited than I am--with less excuse! Ahem! But itcertainly 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 youngman 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 offPark Lane. No. 20 was on the second floor.

  Tommy had by this time the glibness born of practice. He rattled offthe formula to the elderly woman, looking more like a housekeeper than aservant, 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. “Wehad her down as Rita Vandemeyer, but I suppose that’s incorrect?”

  “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 tohappen!” cried Tuppence enthusiastically.

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

  Suddenly, to Tommy’s complete surprise, Tuppence dragged him into thelittle 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 whothe other man is, but the bigger of the two was Whittington.”