presence. Once again she admitted to herself that she was afraid, horribly
afraid, of the beautiful woman with the cruel eyes.
In the midst of a final desultory polishing of her silver, Tuppence was
disturbed by the ringing of the front door bell, and went to answer it. This
time the visitor was neither Whittington nor Boris, but a man of striking
appearance.
Just a shade over average height, he nevertheless conveyed the impression
of a big man. His face, clean-shaven and exquisitely mobile, was stamped with
an expression of power and force far beyond the ordinary. Magnetism seemed to
radiate from him.
Tuppence was undecided for the moment whether to put him down as an actor
or a lawyer, but her doubts were soon solved as he gave her his name: Sir James
Peel Edgerton.
She looked at him with renewed interest. This, then, was the famous K.C.
whose name was familiar all over England. She had heard it said that he might
one day be Prime Minister. He was known to have refused office in the interests
of his profession, preferring to remain a simple Member for a Scotch
constituency.
Tuppence went back to her pantry thoughtfully. The great man had impressed
her. She understood Boris’s agitation. Peel Edgerton would not be an easy man
to deceive.
In about a quarter of an hour the bell rang, and Tuppence repaired to the
hall to show the visitor out. He had given her a piercing glance before. Now,
as she handed him his hat and stick, she was conscious of his eyes raking her
through. As she opened the door and stood aside to let him pass out, he stopped
in the doorway.
“Not been doing this long, eh?”
Tuppence raised her eyes, astonished. She read in his glance kindliness,
and something else more difficult to fathom.
He nodded as though she had answered.
“V.A.D. and hard up, I suppose?”
“Did Mrs. Vandemeyer tell you that?” asked Tuppence suspiciously.
“No, child. The look of you told me. Good place here?”
“Very good, thank you, sir.”
“Ah, but there are plenty of good places nowadays. And a change does no
harm sometimes.”
“Do you mean—-?” began Tuppence.
But Sir James was already on the topmost stair. He looked back with his
kindly, shrewd glance.
“Just a hint,” he said. “That’s all.”
Tuppence went back to the pantry more thoughtful than ever.
CHAPTER XI
JULIUS TELLS A STORY
DRESSED appropriately, Tuppence duly sallied forth for her “afternoon out.”
Albert was in temporary abeyance, but Tuppence went herself to the stationer’s
to make quite sure that nothing had come for her. Satisfied on this point, she
made her way to the Ritz. On inquiry she learnt that Tommy had not yet
returned. It was the answer she had expected, but it was another nail in the
coffin of her hopes. She resolved to appeal to Mr. Carter, telling him when and
where Tommy had started on his quest, and asking him to do something to trace
him. The prospect of his aid revived her mercurial spirits, and she next
inquired for Julius Hersheimmer. The reply she got was to the effect that he
had returned about half an hour ago, but had gone out immediately.
Tuppence’s spirits revived still more. It would be something to see
Julius. Perhaps he could devise some plan for finding out what had become of
Tommy. She wrote her note to Mr. Carter in Julius’s sitting-room, and was just
addressing the envelope when the door burst open.
“What the hell—-” began Julius, but checked himself abruptly. “I beg your
pardon, Miss Tuppence. Those fools down at the office would have it that
Beresford wasn’t here any longer–hadn’t been here since Wednesday. Is that
so?”
Tuppence nodded.
“You don’t know where he is?” she asked faintly.
“I? How should I know? I haven’t had one darned word from him, though I
wired him yesterday morning.”
“I expect your wire’s at the office unopened.”
“But where is he?”
“I don’t know. I hoped you might.”
“I tell you I haven’t had one darned word from him since we parted at the
depot on Wednesday.”
“What depot?”
“Waterloo. Your London and South Western road.”