recess where Tommy had hidden that day. Tuppence had heard the story from Jane
in her character of “Annette.” She looked at the tattered velvet with interest.
Even now she could almost swear it moved–as though some one was behind it. So
strong was the illusion that she almost fancied she could make out the outline
of a form…. Supposing Mr. Brown–Julius–was there waiting….
Impossible of course! Yet she almost went back to put the curtain aside
and make sure….
Now they were entering the prison room. No place for anyone to hide here,
thought Tuppence, with a sigh of relief, then chided herself indignantly. She
must not give way to this foolish fancying–this curious insistent feeling that
MR. BROWN WAS IN THE HOUSE…. Hark! what was that? A stealthy footstep on the
stairs? There WAS some one in the house! Absurd! She was becoming hysterical.
Jane had gone straight to the picture of Marguerite. She unhooked it with
a steady hand. The dust lay thick upon it, and festoons of cobwebs lay between
it and the wall. Sir James handed her a pocket-knife, and she ripped away the
brown paper from the back…. The advertisement page of a magazine fell out.
Jane picked it up. Holding apart the frayed inner edges she extracted two thin
sheets covered with writing!
No dummy this time! The real thing!
“We’ve got it,” said Tuppence. “At last….”
The moment was almost breathless in its emotion. Forgotten the faint
creakings, the imagined noises of a minute ago. None of them had eyes for
anything but what Jane held in her hand.
Sir James took it, and scrutinized it attentively.
“Yes,” he said quietly, “this is the ill-fated draft treaty!”
“We’ve succeeded,” said Tuppence. There was awe and an almost wondering
unbelief in her voice.
Sir James echoed her words as he folded the paper carefully and put it away
in his pocket-book, then he looked curiously round the dingy room.
“It was here that our young friend was confined for so long, was it not?”
he said. “A truly sinister room. You notice the absence of windows, and the
thickness of the close-fitting door. Whatever took place here would never be
heard by the outside world.”
Tuppence shivered. His words woke a vague alarm in her. What if there WAS
some one concealed in the house? Some one who might bar that door on them, and
leave them to die like rats in a trap? Then she realized the absurdity of her
thought. The house was surrounded by police who, if they failed to reappear,
would not hesitate to break in and make a thorough search. She smiled at her
own foolishness–then looked up with a start to find Sir James watching her. He
gave her an emphatic little nod.
“Quite right, Miss Tuppence. You scent danger. So do I. So does Miss
Finn.”
“Yes,” admitted Jane. “It’s absurd–but I can’t help it.”
Sir James nodded again.
“You feel–as we all feel–THE PRESENCE OF MR. BROWN. Yes”–as Tuppence
made a movement–“not a doubt of it–MR. BROWN IS HERE….”
“In this house?”
“In this room…. You don’t understand? I AM MR. BROWN….”
Stupefied, unbelieving, they stared at him. The very lines of his face had
changed. It was a different man who stood before them. He smiled a slow cruel
smile.
“Neither of you will leave this room alive! You said just now we had
succeeded. I have succeeded! The draft treaty is mine.” His smile grew wider
as he looked at Tuppence. “Shall I tell you how it will be? Sooner or later
the police will break in, and they will find three victims of Mr. Brown–three,
not two, you understand, but fortunately the third will not be dead, only
wounded, and will be able to describe the attack with a wealth of detail! The
treaty? It is in the hands of Mr. Brown. So no one will think of searching the
pockets of Sir James Peel Edgerton!”
He turned to Jane.
“You outwitted me. I make my acknowledgments. But you will not do it
again.”
There was a faint sound behind him, but, intoxicated with success, he did
not turn his head.
He slipped his hand into his pocket.