They descended to the street again where they gazed at one another blankly.
“That’s torn it,” said Tommy at length.
“And I never suspected it,” wailed Tuppence.
“Cheer up, old thing, it can’t be helped.”
“Can’t it, though!” Tuppence’s little chin shot out defiantly. “Do you
think this is the end? If so, you’re wrong. It’s just the beginning!”
“The beginning of what?”
“Of our adventure! Tommy, don’t you see, if they are scared enough to run
away like this, it shows that there must be a lot in this Jane Finn business!
Well, we’ll get to the bottom of it. We’ll run them down! We’ll be sleuths in
earnest!”
“Yes, but there’s no one left to sleuth.”
“No, that’s why we’ll have to start all over again. Lend me that bit of
pencil. Thanks. Wait a minute–don’t interrupt. There!” Tuppence handed back
the pencil, and surveyed the piece of paper on which she had written with a
satisfied eye:
“What’s that?”
“Advertisement.”
“You’re not going to put that thing in after all?”
“No, it’s a different one.” She handed him the slip of paper.
Tommy read the words on it aloud:
“WANTED, any information respecting Jane Finn. Apply Y.A.”
CHAPTER IV
WHO IS JANE FINN?
THE next day passed slowly. It was necessary to curtail expenditure.
Carefully husbanded, forty pounds will last a long time. Luckily the weather was
fine, and “walking is cheap,” dictated Tuppence. An outlying picture house
provided them with recreation for the evening.
The day of disillusionment had been a Wednesday. On Thursday the
advertisement had duly appeared. On Friday letters might be expected to arrive
at Tommy’s rooms.
He had been bound by an honourable promise not to open any such letters if
they did arrive, but to repair to the National Gallery, where his colleague
would meet him at ten o’clock.
Tuppence was first at the rendezvous. She ensconced herself on a red
velvet seat, and gazed at the Turners with unseeing eyes until she saw the
familiar figure enter the room.
“Well?”
“Well,” returned Mr. Beresford provokingly. “Which is your favourite
picture?”
“Don’t be a wretch. Aren’t there ANY answers?”
Tommy shook his head with a deep and somewhat overacted melancholy.
“I didn’t want to disappoint you, old thing, by telling you right off. It’s
too bad. Good money wasted.” He sighed. “Still, there it is. The
advertisement has appeared, and–there are only two answers!”
“Tommy, you devil!” almost screamed Tuppence. “Give them to me. How could
you be so mean!”
“Your language, Tuppence, your language! They’re very particular at the
National Gallery. Government show, you know. And do remember, as I have pointed
out to you before, that as a clergyman’s daughter—-”
“I ought to be on the stage!” finished Tuppence with a snap.
“That is not what I intended to say. But if you are sure that you have
enjoyed to the full the reaction of joy after despair with which I have kindly
provided you free of charge, let us get down to our mail, as the saying goes.”
Tuppence snatched the two precious envelopes from him unceremoniously, and
scrutinized them carefully.
“Thick paper, this one. It looks rich. We’ll keep it to the last and open
the other first.”
“Right you are. One, two, three, go!”
Tuppence’s little thumb ripped open the envelope, and she extracted the
contents.
“DEAR SIR,
“Referring to your advertisement in this morning’s paper, I may be able to
be of some use to you. Perhaps you could call and see me at the above address
at eleven o’clock to-morrow morning. “Yours truly,
“A. CARTER.
“27 Carshalton Gardens,” said Tuppence, referring to the address. “That’s
Gloucester Road way. Plenty of time to get there if we tube.”
“The following,” said Tommy, “is the plan of campaign. It is my turn to
assume the offensive. Ushered into the presence of Mr. Carter, he and I wish
each other good morning as is customary. He then says: ‘Please take a seat,
Mr.–er?’ To which I reply promptly and significantly: ‘Edward Whittington!’
whereupon Mr. Carter turns purple in the face and gasps out: ‘How much?’
Pocketing the usual fee of fifty pounds, I rejoin you in the road outside, and