‘The name – Lily Waters – and the age – seven years old.
That was done properly – and then the other bits of words – It looked like “Whosoever…” and then “offend least of these” ‘Sounds familiar.’ ‘It should do. It’s de£mitely biblical – but done by someone who wasn’t quite sure what the words he wanted to remember were ‘ ‘Very odd – the whole g.’ ‘And why anyone should object – I was only trying to help the vicar – and the poor man who was trying to fm.d his lost child – There, we are – back to the lost child motif again – Mrs Lancaster talked about a poor child walled up behind a fireplace, and Mrs Copleigh chattered about walled-up nuns and murdered children, and a mother who killed a baby, and a lover, and an illegitimate baby, and a suicide – It’s all old tales and gossip and hearsay and legends, mixed up in the most glorious kind of hasty pudding! All the same, Tommy, there was one actual fact – not just hearsay or legend ‘ ‘You mean?’ ‘I mean that in the chinmey of this Canal House, this old rag doll fell out – A child’s doll. It had been there a very, very long time, all covered with soot and rubble ‘ ‘Pity we haven’t got it,’ said Tommy.
‘: ‘I have,’ said Tuppence. She spoke triumphantly.
‘You brought it away with you?’
‘Yes. It startled me, you know. I thought I’d like to take it and examine it. Nobody wanted it or anything. I should imagine the Perrys would just have thrown it into the ashcan straight away. I’ve got it here.’ She rose from her sofa, went to her suitcase, rummaged a little and then brought out something wrapped in newspaper.
‘Here you are, Tommy, have a look.’ With some curiosity Tommy unwrapped the newspaper. He took out carefully the wreck of a child’s doll. It’s limp arms and legs hung down, faint festoons of clothing dropped off as he touched them. The body seemed made of a very thin suede leather sewn up over a body that had once been plump with sawdust and now was sagging because here and there the sawdust had escaped. As Tommy handled it, and he was quite gentle in his touch, the body suddenly disintegrated flapping over in a great wound from which there poured out a cupful of sawdust and with it small pebbles that ran to and fro about the floor. Tommy went round picking them up carefully.
‘Good lord,’ he said to himself, ‘good lord?
‘How odd,’ Tuppence said, ‘it’s full of pebbles. Is that a bit of the chimney disintegrating do you think? The plaster or something crumbling away?’ ‘No,’ said Tommy. ‘These pebbles were inside the body.’ He had gathered them up now carefully, he poked his finger into the carcase of the doll and a few more pebbles fell out. He took them over to the window and turned them over in his hand. Tuppence watched him with uncomprehending eyes.
‘It’s a funny idea, stuffing a doll with pebbles,’ she said.
‘Well, they’re not exactly the usual kind of pebbles,’ said Tommy. ‘There was a very good reason for it, I should imagine.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Have a look at them. Handle a few.’ She took some wonderingly from his hand.
‘They’re nothing but pebbles,’ she said. ‘Some are rather large and some small. Why are you so excited?’ ‘Because, Tuppence, I’m beginning to understand things.
Those aren’t pebbles, my dear girl, they’re d/amonds.’
CHAPTER 15 Evening at the Vicarage
‘Diamonds? Tuppence gasped.
Looking from him to the pebbles she still held in her hand, she said: ‘These dusty looking things, diamonds?’ Tommy nodded.
‘It’s beginning to make sense now, you see, Tuppence. It ties up. The Canal House. The picture. You wait until Ivor Smith hears about that doll. He’s got a bouquet waiting for you already, Tuppence-‘ ‘What for?’ ‘For helping to round up a big criminal gang!’ ‘You and your Ivor Smith! I suppose that’s where you’ve been all this last week, abandoning me in my last days of convalescence in that dreary hospital – just when I wanted brilliant conversation and a lot of cheering up.’ ‘I came in visiting hours practically every evening.’ ‘You didn’t tell me much.’ ‘I was warned by that dragon of a sister not to excite you. But Ivor himself is coming here the day after tomorrow, and we’ve got a little social evening laid on at the vicarage.’ ‘Who’s coming?’ ‘Mrs Boscowan, one of the big local landowners, your friend Miss Nellie Bligh, the vicar, of course, you and I ‘ ‘And Mr Ivor Smith – what’s his real name?’ ‘As far as I know, it’s Ivor Smith.’ ‘You are always so cautious -‘ Tuppence laughed suddenly.