“My dear sir,” said Tommy in a melancholy voice. “I am blind-completely blind.”
“What?”
“You are astonished. But surely you have heard of blind detectives?”
“In fiction. Never in real life. And I have certainly never heard that you were blind.”
“Many people are not aware of the fact,” murmured Tommy. “I am wearing an eyeshade today to save my eyeballs from glare. But without it, quite a host of people have never suspected my infirmity-if you call it that. You see, my eyes cannot mislead me. But enough of all this. Shall we go at once to my office, or will you give me the facts of the case here? The latter would be best, I think.”
A waiter brought up two extra chairs, and the two men sat down. The second man, who had not yet spoken, was shorter, sturdy in build and very dark.
“It is a matter of great delicacy,” said the older man dropping his voice confidentially. He looked uncertainly at Tuppence. Mr. Blunt seemed to feel the glance.
“Let me introduce my confidential secretary,” he said. “Miss Ganges. Found on the banks of the Indian river-a mere bundle of baby clothes. Very sad history. Miss Ganges is my eyes. She accompanies me everywhere.”
The stranger acknowledged the introduction with a bow.
“Then I can speak out. Mr. Blunt, my daughter, a girl of sixteen, has been abducted under somewhat peculiar circumstances. I discovered this half an hour ago. The circumstances of the case were such that I dared not call in the police. Instead I rang up your office. They told me you were out to lunch, but would be back by half past two. I came in here with my friend Captain Harker-”
The short man jerked his head and muttered something.
“By the greatest good fortune you happened to be lunching here also. We must lose no time. You must return with me to my house immediately.”
Tommy demurred cautiously.
“I can be with you in half an hour. I must return to my office first.”
Captain Harker, turning to glance at Tuppence, may have been surprised to see a half smile lurking for a moment at the corners of her mouth.
“No, no, that will not do. You must return with me.” The grey haired man took a card from his pocket and handed it across the table. “That is my name.”
Tommy fingered it.
“My fingers are hardly sensitive enough for that,” he said with a smile, and handed it to Tuppence, who read out in a low voice: “The Duke of Blairgowrie.”
She looked with great interest at their client. The Duke of Blairgowrie was well known to be a most haughty and inaccessible nobleman who had married as a wife the daughter of a Chicago pork butcher, many years younger than himself, and of a lively temperament that augured ill for their future together. There had been rumors of disaccord lately.
“You will come at once, Mr. Blunt?” said the Duke, with a tinge of acerbity in his manner.
Tommy yielded to the inevitable.
“Miss Ganges and I will come with you,” he said quietly. “You will excuse my just stopping to drink a large cup of black coffee? They will serve it immediately. I am subject to very distressing headaches, the result of my eye trouble, and the coffee steadies my nerves.”
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 win 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 Toundedos á l’Etranger.”
He looked up, catching the Duke’s eye.
“You will forgive me, I hope,” he murmured. “Ah! yes, Soufflé en surprise. That will conclude the repast. A most interesting man, the French prefect. You know him, perhaps?”