THE SECRET ADVERSARY BY AGATHA CHRISTIE

He turned to Tuppence at the close of the narration.

“I’ve always had a kind of idea that English girls were just a mite

moss-grown. Old-fashioned and sweet, you know, but scared to move round without

a footman or a maiden aunt. I guess I’m a bit behind the times!”

The upshot of these confidential relations was that Tommy and Tuppence took

up their abode forthwith at the Ritz, in order, as Tuppence put it, to keep in

touch with Jane Finn’s only living relation. “And put like that,” she added

confidentially to Tommy, “nobody could boggle at the expense!”

Nobody did, which was the great thing.

“And now,” said the young lady on the morning after their installation, “to

work!”

Mr. Beresford put down the Daily Mail, which he was reading, and applauded

with somewhat unnecessary vigour. He was politely requested by his colleague

not to be an ass.

“Dash it all, Tommy, we’ve got to DO something for our money.”

Tommy sighed.

“Yes, I fear even the dear old Government will not support us at the Ritz

in idleness for ever.”

“Therefore, as I said before, we must DO something.”

“Well,” said Tommy, picking up the Daily Mail again, “DO it. I shan’t stop

you.”

“You see,” continued Tuppence. “I’ve been thinking—-”

She was interrupted by a fresh bout of applause.

“It’s all very well for you to sit there being funny, Tommy. It would do

you no harm to do a little brain work too.”

“My union, Tuppence, my union! It does not permit me to work before 11

a.m.”

“Tommy, do you want something thrown at you? It is absolutely essential

that we should without delay map out a plan of campaign.”

“Hear, hear!”

“Well, let’s do it.”

Tommy laid his paper finally aside. “There’s something of the simplicity

of the truly great mind about you, Tuppence. Fire ahead. I’m listening.”

“To begin with,” said Tuppence, “what have we to go upon?”

“Absolutely nothing,” said Tommy cheerily.

“Wrong!” Tuppence wagged an energetic finger. “We have two distinct

clues.”

“What are they?”

“First clue, we know one of the gang.”

“Whittington?”

“Yes. I’d recognize him anywhere.”

“Hum,” said Tommy doubtfully, “I don’t call that much of a clue. You don’t

know where to look for him, and it’s about a thousand to one against your

running against him by accident.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” replied Tuppence thoughtfully. “I’ve often

noticed that once coincidences start happening they go on happening in the most

extraordinary way. I dare say it’s some natural law that we haven’t found out.

Still, as you say, we can’t rely on that. But there ARE places in London where

simply every one is bound to turn up sooner or later. Piccadilly Circus, for

instance. One of my ideas was to take up my stand there every day with a tray

of flags.”

“What about meals?” inquired the practical Tommy.

“How like a man! What does mere food matter?”

“That’s all very well. You’ve just had a thundering good breakfast. No

one’s got a better appetite than you have, Tuppence, and by tea-time you’d be

eating the flags, pins and all. But, honestly, I don’t think much of the idea.

Whittington mayn’t be in London at all.”

“That’s true. Anyway, I think clue No. 2 is more promising.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“It’s nothing much. Only a Christian name–Rita. Whittington mentioned it

that day.”

“Are you proposing a third advertisement: Wanted, female crook, answering

to the name of Rita?”

“I am not. I propose to reason in a logical manner. That man, Danvers, was

shadowed on the way over, wasn’t he? And it’s more likely to have been a woman

than a man—-”

“I don’t see that at all.”

“I am absolutely certain that it would be a woman, and a good-looking one,”

replied Tuppence calmly.

“On these technical points I bow to your decision,” murmured Mr. Beresford.

“Now, obviously this woman, whoever she was, was saved.”

“How do you make that out?”

“If she wasn’t, how would they have known Jane Finn had got the papers?”

“Correct. Proceed, O Sherlock!”

“Now there’s just a chance, I admit it’s only a chance, that this woman may

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