“I have done it, Tommy. I have solved the mystery of the alibi. We can charge up all these half crowns and ten shilling notes and demand a substantial fee of our own from Mr. Montgomery Jones and he can go right off and collect his girl.”
“What is the solution?” cried Tommy.
“A perfectly simple one,” said Tuppence. “Twins.”
“What do you mean?-Twins?”
“Why just that. Of course it is the only solution. I will say you put it into my head last night talking about mothers-in-law, twins, and bottles of beer. I cabled to Australia and got back the information I wanted. Una has a twin sister, Vera, who arrived in England last Monday. That is why she was able to make this bet so spontaneously. She thought it would be a frightful rag on poor Montgomery Jones. The sister went to Torquay and she stayed in London.”
“Do you think she’ll be terribly despondent that she’s lost?” asked Tommy.
“No,” said Tuppence. “I don’t. I gave you my views about that before. She will put all the kudos down to Montgomery Jones. I always think respect for your husband’s abilities should be the foundation of married life.”
“I am glad to have inspired these sentiments in you, Tuppence.”
“It is not a really satisfactory solution,” said Tuppence.
“Not the ingenious sort of flaw that Inspector French would have detected.”
“Nonsense,” said Tommy. “I think the way I showed these photographs to the waiter in the Restaurant was exactly like Inspector French.”
“He didn’t have to use nearly so many half crowns and ten shilling notes as we seem to have done,” said Tuppence.
“Never mind,” said Tommy. “We can charge them all up with additions to Mr. Montgomery Jones. He will be in such a state of idiotic bliss that he would probably pay the most enormous bill without jibbing at it.”
“So he should,” said Tuppence. “Haven’t Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives been brilliantly successful? Oh, Tommy, I do think we are extraordinarily clever. It quite frightens me sometimes.”
“The next case we have shall be a Roger Sheringham case and you, Tuppence, shall be Roger Sheringham.”
“I shall have to talk a lot,” said Tuppence.
“You do that naturally,” said Tommy. “And now I suggest that we carry out my programme of last night and seek out a Music Hall where they have plenty of jokes about mothers-in-law, bottles of beer, and Twins.”
20. THE CLERGYMAN’S DAUGHTER
“I wish,” said Tuppence, roaming moodily round the office, “that we could befriend a clergyman’s daughter.”
“Why?” asked Tommy.
“You may have forgotten the fact, but I was once a clergyman’s daughter myself. I remember what it was like. Hence this altruistic urge-this spirit of thoughtful consideration for others-this-”
“You are getting ready to be Roger Sheringham, I see,” said Tommy. “If you will allow me to make a criticism, you talk quite as much as he does, but not nearly so well.”
“On the contrary,” said Tuppence, “there is a feminine subtlety about my conversation, a je ne sais quoi, that no gross male could ever attain to. I have, moreover, powers unknown to my prototype-do I mean prototype? Words are such uncertain things, they so often sound well but mean the opposite of what one thinks they do.”
“Go on,” said Tommy kindly.
“I was. I was only pausing to take breath. Touching these powers, it is my wish to-day to assist a clergyman’s daughter. You will see, Tommy, the first person to enlist the aid of Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives will be a clergyman’s daughter.”
“I’ll bet you it isn’t,” said Tommy.
“Done,” said Tuppence. “Hist! To your typewriters, Oh! Israel. One comes.”
Mr. Blunt’s office was humming with industry as Albert opened the door and announced:
“Miss Monica Deane.”
A slender brown haired girl, rather shabbily dressed, entered and stood hesitating. Tommy came forward.
“Good-morning, Miss Deane. Won’t you sit down and tell us what we can do for you? By the way, let me introduce my confidential secretary, Miss Sheringham.”
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Deane,” said Tuppence. “Your father was in the Church, I think.”
“Yes, he was. But how did you know that?”