have been ‘Rita.’ ”
“And if so?”
“If so, we’ve got to hunt through the survivors of the Lusitania till we
find her.”
“Then the first thing is to get a list of the survivors.”
“I’ve got it. I wrote a long list of things I wanted to know, and sent it
to Mr. Carter. I got his reply this morning, and among other things it encloses
the official statement of those saved from the Lusitania. How’s that for clever
little Tuppence?”
“Full marks for industry, zero for modesty. But the great point is, is
there a ‘Rita’ on the list?”
“That’s just what I don’t know,” confessed Tuppence.
“Don’t know?”
“Yes. Look here.” Together they bent over the list. “You see, very few
Christian names are given. They’re nearly all Mrs. or Miss.”
Tommy nodded.
“That complicates matters,” he murmured thoughtfully.
Tuppence gave her characteristic “terrier” shake.
“Well, we’ve just got to get down to it, that’s all. We’ll start with the
London area. Just note down the addresses of any of the females who live in
London or roundabout, while I put on my hat.”
Five minutes later the young couple emerged into Piccadilly, and a few
seconds later a taxi was bearing them to The Laurels, Glendower Road, N.7, the
residence of Mrs. Edgar Keith, whose name figured first in a list of seven
reposing in Tommy’s pocket-book.
The Laurels was a dilapidated house, standing back from the road with a few
grimy bushes to support the fiction of a front garden. Tommy paid off the taxi,
and accompanied Tuppence to the front door bell. As she was about to ring it, he
arrested her hand.
“What are you going to say?”
“What am I going to say? Why, I shall say–Oh dear, I don’t know. It’s
very awkward.”
“I thought as much,” said Tommy with satisfaction. “How like a woman! No
foresight! Now just stand aside, and see how easily the mere male deals with
the situation.” He pressed the bell. Tuppence withdrew to a suitable spot.
A slatternly looking servant, with an extremely dirty face and a pair of
eyes that did not match, answered the door.
Tommy had produced a notebook and pencil.
“Good morning,” he said briskly and cheerfully. “From the Hampstead
Borough Council. The new Voting Register. Mrs. Edgar Keith lives here, does
she not?”
“Yaas,” said the servant.
“Christian name?” asked Tommy, his pencil poised.
“Missus’s? Eleanor Jane.”
“Eleanor,” spelt Tommy. “Any sons or daughters over twenty-one?”
“Naow.”
“Thank you.” Tommy closed the notebook with a brisk snap. “Good morning.”
The servant volunteered her first remark:
“I thought perhaps as you’d come about the gas,” she observed cryptically,
and shut the door.
Tommy rejoined his accomplice.
“You see, Tuppence,” he observed. “Child’s play to the masculine mind.”
“I don’t mind admitting that for once you’ve scored handsomely. I should
never have thought of that.”
“Good wheeze, wasn’t it? And we can repeat it ad lib.”
Lunch-time found the young couple attacking a steak and chips in an obscure
hostelry with avidity. They had collected a Gladys Mary and a Marjorie, been
baffled by one change of address, and had been forced to listen to a long
lecture on universal suffrage from a vivacious American lady whose Christian
name had proved to be Sadie.
“Ah!” said Tommy, imbibing a long draught of beer, “I feel better. Where’s
the next draw?”
The notebook lay on the table between them. Tuppence picked it up.
“Mrs. Vandemeyer,” she read, “20 South Audley Mansions. Miss Wheeler, 43
Clapington Road, Battersea. She’s a lady’s maid, as far as I remember, so
probably won’t be there, and, anyway, she’s not likely.”
“Then the Mayfair lady is clearly indicated as the first port of call.”
“Tommy, I’m getting discouraged.”
“Buck up, old bean. We always knew it was an outside chance. And, anyway,
we’re only starting. If we draw a blank in London, there’s a fine tour of
England, Ireland and Scotland before us.”
“True,” said Tuppence, her flagging spirits reviving. “And all expenses
paid! But, oh, Tommy, I do like things to happen quickly. So far, adventure
has succeeded adventure, but this morning has been dull as dull.”
“You must stifle this longing for vulgar sensation, Tuppence. Remember