“No one could have known beforehand that she was going to be in that
house–much less that particular room.”
“That’s so,” admitted Julius. “Then one of the nurses was a crook and
listened at the door. How’s that?”
“I don’t see that it matters anyway,” said Tommy wearily. “He may have
found out some months ago, and removed the papers, then—-No, by Jove, that
won’t wash! They’d have been published at once.”
“Sure thing they would! No, some one’s got ahead of us to-day by an hour
or so. But how they did it gets my goat.”
“I wish that chap Peel Edgerton had been with us,” said Tommy thoughtfully.
“Why?” Julius stared. “The mischief was done when we came.”
“Yes—-” Tommy hesitated. He could not explain his own feeling–the
illogical idea that the K.C.’s presence would somehow have averted the
catastrophe. He reverted to his former point of view. “It’s no good arguing
about how it was done. The game’s up. We’ve failed. There’s only one thing for
me to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Get back to London as soon as possible. Mr. Carter must be warned. It’s
only a matter of hours now before the blow falls. But, at any rate, he ought to
know the worst.”
The duty was an unpleasant one, but Tommy had no intention of shirking it.
He must report his failure to Mr. Carter. After that his work was done. He took
the midnight mail to London. Julius elected to stay the night at Holyhead.
Half an hour after arrival, haggard and pale, Tommy stood before his chief.
“I’ve come to report, sir. I’ve failed–failed badly.”
Mr. Carter eyed him sharply.
“You mean that the treaty—-”
“Is in the hands of Mr. Brown, sir.”
“Ah!” said Mr. Carter quietly. The expression on his face did not change,
but Tommy caught the flicker of despair in his eyes. It convinced him as nothing
else had done that the outlook was hopeless.
“Well,” said Mr. Carter after a minute or two, “we mustn’t sag at the
knees, I suppose. I’m glad to know definitely. We must do what we can.”
Through Tommy’s mind flashed the assurance: “It’s hopeless, and he knows
it’s hopeless!”
The other looked up at him.
“Don’t take it to heart, lad,” he said kindly. “You did your best. You
were up against one of the biggest brains of the century. And you came very near
success. Remember that.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s awfully decent of you.”
“I blame myself. I have been blaming myself ever since I heard this other
news.”
Something in his tone attracted Tommy’s attention. A new fear gripped at
his heart.
“Is there–something more, sir?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Mr. Carter gravely. He stretched out his hand to a
sheet on the table.
“Tuppence—-?” faltered Tommy.
“Read for yourself.”
The typewritten words danced before his eyes. The description of a green
toque, a coat with a handkerchief in the pocket marked P.L.C. He looked an
agonized question at Mr. Carter. The latter replied to it:
“Washed up on the Yorkshire coast–near Ebury. I’m afraid–it looks very
much like foul play.”
“My God!” gasped Tommy. “TUPPENCE! Those devils–I’ll never rest till
I’ve got even with them! I’ll hunt them down! I’ll—-”
The pity on Mr. Carter’s face stopped him.
“I know what you feel like, my poor boy. But it’s no good. You’ll waste
your strength uselessly. It may sound harsh, but my advice to you is: Cut your
losses. Time’s merciful. You’ll forget.”
“Forget Tuppence? Never!”
Mr. Carter shook his head.
“So you think now. Well, it won’t bear thinking of–that brave little
girl! I’m sorry about the whole business–confoundedly sorry.”
Tommy came to himself with a start.
“I’m taking up your time, sir,” he said with an effort. “There’s no need
for you to blame yourself. I dare say we were a couple of young fools to take
on such a job. You warned us all right. But I wish to God I’d been the one to
get it in the neck. Good-bye, sir.”
Back at the Ritz, Tommy packed up his few belongings mechanically, his
thoughts far away. He was still bewildered by the introduction of tragedy into