“Now then,” said Tommy. ‘The private inquiry agents make good! Open the loot, Mrs. Beresford.”
Inside the bag was a package done up in oil silk and a heavy chamois leather bag. They opened the latter first. It was full of gold sovereigns. Tommy counted them.
“Two hundred pounds. That was all they would let her have, I suppose. Cut open the package.”
Tuppence did so. It was full of closely folded banknotes. Tommy and Tuppence counted them carefully. They amounted to exactly twenty thousand pounds!
“Whew!” said Tommy. “Isn’t it lucky for Monica that we’re both rich and honest? What’s that done up in tissue paper?”
Tuppence unrolled the little parcel and drew out a magnificent string of pearls, exquisitely matched.
“I don’t know much about these things,” said Tommy slowly, “But I’m pretty sure that those pearls are worth another five thousand pounds at least. Look at the size of them. Now I see why the old lady kept that cutting about pearls being a good investment. She must have realized all her securities and turned them into notes and jewels.”
“Oh! Tommy, isn’t it wonderful? Darling Monica. Now she can marry her nice young man and live happily ever afterwards, like me.”
“That’s rather sweet of you, Tuppence. So you are happy with me?”
“As a matter of fact,” said Tuppence, “I am. But I didn’t mean to say so. It slipped out. What with being excited, and Christmas Eve, and one thing and another-”
“If you really love me,” said Tommy, “will you answer me one question?”
“I hate these catches,” said Tuppence. “But-well-all right.”
“Then how did you know that Monica was a clergyman’s daughter?”
“Oh, that was just cheating,” said Tuppence happily. “I opened her letter making an appointment, and a Mr. Deane was Father’s curate once and he had a little girl called Monica, about four or five years younger than me. So I put two and two together.”
“You are a shameless creature,” said Tommy. “Hullo, there’s twelve o’clock striking. Happy Christmas, Tuppence.”
“Happy Christmas, Tommy. It’ll be a Happy Christmas for Monica too-and all owing to US. I am glad. Poor thing, she has been so miserable. Do you know, Tommy, I feel all queer and choky about the throat when I think of it.”
“Darling Tuppence,” said Tommy.
“Darling Tommy,” said Tuppence. “How awfully sentimental we are getting.”
“Christmas comes but once a year,” said Tommy sententiously. “That’s what our great grandmothers said and I expect there’s a lot of truth in it still.”
22. THE AMBASSADOR’S BOOTS
“My dear fellow, my dear fellow,” said Tuppence and waved a heavily buttered muffin.
Tommy looked at her for a minute or two, then a broad grin spread over his face and he murmured.
“We do have to be so very careful.”
“That’s right,” said Tuppence delighted. “You guessed. I am the famous Dr. Fortune and you are Superintendent Bell.”
“Why are you being Reginald Fortune?”
“Well really because I feel like a lot of hot butter.”
“That is the pleasant side of it,” said Tommy. “But there is another. You will have to examine horribly smashed faces and very extra dead bodies a good deal.”
In answer Tuppence threw across a letter. Tommy’s eyebrows rose in astonishment.
“Randolph Wilmott, the American Ambassador. I wonder what he wants.”
“We shall know to-morrow at eleven o’clock.
Punctually to the time named, Mr. Randolph Wilmott, United States Ambassador to the Court of St. James, was ushered into Mr. Blunt’s office. He cleared his throat and commenced speaking in a deliberate and characteristic manner.
“I have come to you, Mr. Blunt-By the way, it is Mr. Blunt himself to whom I am speaking, is it not?”
“Certainly,” said Tommy. “I am Theodore Blunt, the head of the firm.”
“I a ways prefer to deal with heads of de-partments,” said Mr. Wilmott. “It is more satisfactory in every way. As I was about to say, Mr. Blunt, this business gets my goat. There’s nothing in it to trouble Scotland Yard about-I’m not a penny the worse in any way, and it’s probably all due to a simple mistake. But all the same, I don’t see just how that mistake arose. There’s nothing criminal in it, I daresay, but I’d like just to get the thing straightened out. It makes me mad not to see the why and wherefore of a thing.”