Hersheimmer, and when you get him tell him to get Sir James and come on at once,
as Mrs. Vandemeyer is trying to hook it. If you can’t get him, ring up Sir James
Peel Edgerton, you’ll find his number in the book, and tell him what’s
happening. You won’t forget the names, will you?”
Albert repeated them glibly. “You trust to me, miss, it’ll be all right.
But what about you? Aren’t you afraid to trust yourself with her?”
“No, no, that’s all right. BUT GO AND TELEPHONE. Be quick.”
Drawing a long breath, Tuppence entered the Mansions and ran up to the door
of No. 20. How she was to detain Mrs. Vandemeyer until the two men arrived, she
did not know, but somehow or other it had to be done, and she must accomplish
the task single-handed. What had occasioned this precipitate departure? Did Mrs.
Vandemeyer suspect her?
Speculations were idle. Tuppence pressed the bell firmly. She might learn
something from the cook.
Nothing happened and, after waiting some minutes, Tuppence pressed the bell
again, keeping her finger on the button for some little while. At last she heard
footsteps inside, and a moment later Mrs. Vandemeyer herself opened the door.
She lifted her eyebrows at the sight of the girl.
“You?”
“I had a touch of toothache, ma’am,” said Tuppence glibly. “So thought it
better to come home and have a quiet evening.”
Mrs. Vandemeyer said nothing, but she drew back and let Tuppence pass into
the hall.
“How unfortunate for you,” she said coldly. “You had better go to bed.”
“Oh, I shall be all right in the kitchen, ma’am. Cook will—-”
“Cook is out,” said Mrs. Vandemeyer, in a rather disagreeable tone. “I sent
her out. So you see you had better go to bed.”
Suddenly Tuppence felt afraid. There was a ring in Mrs. Vandemeyer’s voice
that she did not like at all. Also, the other woman was slowly edging her up the
passage. Tuppence turned at bay.
“I don’t want—-”
Then, in a flash, a rim of cold steel touched her temple, and Mrs.
Vandemeyer’s voice rose cold and menacing:
“You damned little fool! Do you think I don’t know? No, don’t answer. If
you struggle or cry out, I’ll shoot you like a dog.”
The rim of steel pressed a little harder against the girl’s temple.
“Now then, march,” went on Mrs. Vandemeyer. “This way–into my room. In a
minute, when I’ve done with you, you’ll go to bed as I told you to. And you’ll
sleep–oh yes, my little spy, you’ll sleep all right!”
There was a sort of hideous geniality in the last words which Tuppence did
not at all like. For the moment there was nothing to be done, and she walked
obediently into Mrs. Vandemeyer’s bedroom. The pistol never left her forehead.
The room was in a state of wild disorder, clothes were flung about right and
left, a suit-case and a hat box, half-packed, stood in the middle of the floor.
Tuppence pulled herself together with an effort. Her voice shook a little,
but she spoke out bravely.
“Come now,” she said. “This is nonsense. You can’t shoot me. Why, every
one in the building would hear the report.”
“I’d risk that,” said Mrs. Vandemeyer cheerfully. “But, as long as you
don’t sing out for help, you’re all right–and I don’t think you will. You’re a
clever girl. You deceived ME all right. I hadn’t a suspicion of you! So I’ve no
doubt that you understand perfectly well that this is where I’m on top and
you’re underneath. Now then–sit on the bed. Put your hands above your head,
and if you value your life don’t move them.”
Tuppence obeyed passively. Her good sense told her that there was nothing
else to do but accept the situation. If she shrieked for help there was very
little chance of anyone hearing her, whereas there was probably quite a good
chance of Mrs. Vandemeyer’s shooting her. In the meantime, every minute of delay
gained was valuable.
Mrs. Vandemeyer laid down the revolver on the edge of the washstand within
reach of her hand, and, still eyeing Tuppence like a lynx in case the girl