“Absolutely,” said Tommy.
Mr. Wilmott went on. He was slow and given to much detail. At last Tommy managed to get a word in.
“Quite so,” he said, “the position is this. You arrived by the liner Nomadic a week ago. In some way your kitbag and the kitbag of another gentleman, Mr. Ralph Westerham whose initials are the same as yours, got mixed up. You took Mr. Westerham’s kitbag, and he took yours. Mr. Westerham discovered the mistake immediately, sent round your kitbag to the Embassy, and took away his own. Am I right so far?”
“That is precisely what occurred. The two bags must have been practically identical, and with the initials R.W. being the same in both cases, it is not difficult to understand that an error might have been made. I myself was not aware of what had happened until my valet informed me of the mistake, and that Mr. Westerham-he is a Senator, and a man for whom I have a great admiration-had sent round for his bag and returned mine.”
“Then I don’t see-”
“But you will see. That’s only the beginning of the story. Yesterday, as it chanced, I ran up against Senator Westerham, and I happened to mention the matter to him jestingly. To my great surprise, he did not seem to know what I was talking about, and when I explained, he denied the story absolutely. He had not taken my bag off the ship in mistake for his own-in fact, he had not travelled with such an article amongst his luggage.”
“What an extraordinary thing!”
“Mr. Blunt, it is an extraordinary thing. There seems no rhyme or reason in it. Why, if anyone wanted to steal my kitbag, he could do so easily enough without resorting to all this round about business! And anyway, it was not stolen, but returned to me. On the other hand, if it were taken by mistake, why use Senator Westerham’s name? It’s a crazy business-but just for curiosity I mean to get to the bottom of it. I hope the case is not too trivial for you to undertake?”
“Not at all. It is a very intriguing little problem, capable as you say, of many simple explanations, but nevertheless baffling on the face of it. The first thing, of course, is the reason of the substitution, if substitution it was. You say nothing was missing from your bag when it came back into your possession?”
“My man says not. He would know.”
“What was in it, if I may ask?”
“Mostly boots.”
“Boots,” said Tommy discouraged.
“Yes,” said Mr. Wilmott. “Boots. Odd, isn’t it?”
“You’ll forgive my asking you,” said Tommy, “but you didn’t carry any secret papers, or anything of that sort sewn in the lining of a boot or screwed into a false heel?”
The Ambassador seemed amused by the question.
“Secret diplomacy hasn’t got to that pitch, I hope.”
“Only in fiction,” said Tommy with an answering smile, and a slightly apologetic manner. “But you see, we’ve got to account for the thing somehow. Who came for the bag-the other bag, I mean?”
“Supposed to be one of Westerham’s servants. Quite a quiet ordinary man, so I understand. My valet saw nothing wrong with him.”
“Had it been unpacked, do you know?”
“That I can’t say. I presume not. But perhaps you’d like to ask the valet a few questions? He can tell you more than I can about the business.”
“I think that would be the best plan, Mr. Wilmott.”
The Ambassador scribbled a few words on a card and handed it to Tommy.
“I opine that you would prefer to go round to the Embassy and make your inquiries there? If not, I will have the man,-his name is Richards, by the way-sent round here.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Wilmott. I should prefer to go to the Embassy.”
The Ambassador rose, glancing at his watch.
“Dear me, I shall be late for an appointment. Well, good bye, Mr. Blunt. I leave the matter in your hands.”
He hurried away. Tommy looked at Tuppence who had been scribbling demurely on her pad in the character of the efficient Miss Robinson.
“What about it, old thing?” he asked. “Do you see, as the old bird put it, any rhyme or reason in the proceeding?”