“Er-St. Vincent,” he said. “Lawrence St. Vincent.”
“It’s a curious thing,” said Tommy, “how very few people there are whose real name is Smith. Personally, I don’t know anyone called Smith. But nine men out of ten who wish to conceal their real name give that of Smith. I am writing a monograph upon the subject.”
At that moment a buzzer purred discreetly on his desk. That meant that Tuppence was requesting to take hold. Tommy, who wanted his lunch, and who felt profoundly unsympathetic towards Mr. St. Vincent, was only too pleased to relinquish the helm.
“Excuse me,” he said, and picked up the telephone.
Across his face there shot rapid changes-surprise, consternation, slight elation.
“You don’t say so,” he said into the phone. “The Prime Minister himself? Of course, in that case, I will come round at once.”
He replaced the receiver on the hook, and turned to his client.
“My dear sir, I must ask you to excuse me. A most urgent summons. If you will give the facts of the case to my confidential secretary, she will deal with them.”
He strode to the adjoining door.
“Miss Robinson.”
Tuppence, very neat and demure with smooth black head and dainty collar and cuffs, tripped in. Tommy made the necessary introductions and departed.
“A lady you take an interest in has disappeared, I understand, Mr. St. Vincent,” said Tuppence, in her soft voice, as she sat down and took up Mr. Blunt’s pad and pencil. “A young lady?”
“Oh! rather,” said Mr. St. Vincent. “Young-and-and-awfully good-looking and all that sort of thing.”
Tuppence’s face grew grave.
“Dear me,” she murmured. “I hope that-”
“You don’t think anything’s really happened to her?” demanded Mr. St. Vincent, in lively concern.
“Oh! we must hope for the best,” said Tuppence, with a kind of false cheerfulness which depressed Mr. St. Vincent horribly.
“Oh! look here, Miss Robinson. I say, you must do something. Spare no expense. I wouldn’t have anything happen to her for the world. You seem awfully sympathetic, and I don’t mind telling you in confidence that I simply worship the ground that girl walks on. She’s a topper, an absolute topper.”
“Please tell me her name and all about her.”
“Her name’s Janet-I don’t know her second name. She works in a hat shop-Madame Violette’s in Brook Street-but she’s as straight as they make them. Has ticked me off no end of times-I went round there yesterday-waiting for her to come out-all the others came, but not her. Then I found that she’d never turned up that morning to work at all-sent no message either-old Madame was furious about it. I got the address of her lodgings, and I went round there. She hadn’t come home the night before, and they didn’t know where she was. I was simply frantic. I thought of going to the police. But I knew that Janet would be absolutely furious with me for doing that if she were really all right and had gone off on her own. Then I remembered that she herself had pointed out your advertisement to me one day in the paper and told me that one of the women who’d been in buying hats had simply raved about your ability and discretion and all that sort of thing. So I toddled along here right away.”
“I see,” said Tuppence. “What is the address of her lodgings?”
The young man gave it to her.
“That’s all, I think,” said Tuppence reflectively. “That is to say-am I to understand that you are engaged to this young lady?”
Mr. St. Vincent turned a brick red.
“Well, no-not exactly. I never said anything. But I can tell you this, I mean to ask her to marry me as soon as ever I see her-if I ever do see her again.”
Tuppence laid aside her pad.
“Do you wish for our special twenty-four hour service?” she asked, in business like tones.
“What’s that?”
“The fees are doubled, but we put all our available staff on to the case. Mr. St. Vincent, if the lady is alive, I shall be able to tell you where she is by this time to-morrow.”
“What? I say, that’s wonderful.”