had several American friends there. She was more than ever puzzled.
“You want me to go to Madame Colombier’s? For how long?”
“That depends. Possibly three months.”
“And that is all? There are no other conditions?”
“None whatever. You would, of course, go in the character of my ward, and
you would hold no communication with your friends. I should have to request
absolute secrecy for the time being. By the way, you are English, are you not?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you speak with a slight American accent?”
“My great pal in hospital was a little American girl. I dare say I picked
it up from her. I can soon get out of it again.”
“On the contrary, it might be simpler for you to pass as an American.
Details about your past life in England might be more difficult to sustain.
Yes, I think that would be decidedly better. Then—-”
“One moment, Mr. Whittington! You seem to be taking my consent for
granted.”
Whittington looked surprised.
“Surely you are not thinking of refusing? I can assure you that Madame
Colombier’s is a most high-class and orthodox establishment. And the terms are
most liberal.”
“Exactly,” said Tuppence. “That’s just it. The terms are almost too
liberal, Mr. Whittington. I cannot see any way in which I can be worth that
amount of money to you.”
“No?” said Whittington softly. “Well, I will tell you. I could doubtless
obtain some one else for very much less. What I am willing to pay for is a young
lady with sufficient intelligence and presence of mind to sustain her part well,
and also one who will have sufficient discretion not to ask too many questions.”
Tuppence smiled a little. She felt that Whittington had scored.
“There’s another thing. So far there has been no mention of Mr. Beresford.
Where does he come in?”
“Mr. Beresford?”
“My partner,” said Tuppence with dignity. “You saw us together yesterday.”
“Ah, yes. But I’m afraid we shan’t require his services.”
“Then it’s off!” Tuppence rose. “It’s both or neither. Sorry–but that’s
how it is. Good morning, Mr. Whittington.”
“Wait a minute. Let us see if something can’t be managed. Sit down again,
Miss—-” He paused interrogatively.
Tuppence’s conscience gave her a passing twinge as she remembered the
archdeacon. She seized hurriedly on the first name that came into her head.
“Jane Finn,” she said hastily; and then paused open-mouthed at the effect
of those two simple words.
All the geniality had faded out of Whittington’s face. It was purple with
rage, and the veins stood out on the forehead. And behind it all there lurked a
sort of incredulous dismay. He leaned forward and hissed savagely:
“So that’s your little game, is it?”
Tuppence, though utterly taken aback, nevertheless kept her head. She had
not the faintest comprehension of his meaning, but she was naturally
quick-witted, and felt it imperative to “keep her end up” as she phrased it.
Whittington went on:
“Been playing with me, have you, all the time, like a cat and mouse? Knew
all the time what I wanted you for, but kept up the comedy. Is that it, eh?” He
was cooling down. The red colour was ebbing out of his face. He eyed her
keenly. “Who’s been blabbing? Rita?”
Tuppence shook her head. She was doubtful as to how long she could sustain
this illusion, but she realized the importance of not dragging an unknown Rita
into it.
“No,” she replied with perfect truth. “Rita knows nothing about me.”
His eyes still bored into her like gimlets.
“How much do you know?” he shot out.
“Very little indeed,” answered Tuppence, and was pleased to note that
Whittington’s uneasiness was augmented instead of allayed. To have boasted that
she knew a lot might have raised doubts in his mind.
“Anyway,” snarled Whittington, “you knew enough to come in here and plump
out that name.”
“It might be my own name,” Tuppence pointed out.
“It’s likely, isn’t it, then there would be two girls with a name like
that?”
“Or I might just have hit upon it by chance,” continued Tuppence,
intoxicated with the success of truthfulness.
Mr. Whittington brought his fist down upon the desk with a bang.