mind to marry money when I was quite young. Any thinking girl would! I’m not
sentimental, you know.” She paused. “Come now, you can’t say I’m sentimental,”
she added sharply.
“Certainly not,” agreed Tommy hastily. “No one would ever think of
sentiment in connection with you.”
“That’s not very polite,” replied Tuppence. “But I dare say you mean it
all right. Well, there it is! I’m ready and willing–but I never meet any rich
men! All the boys I know are about as hard up as I am.”
“What about the general?” inquired Tommy.
“I fancy he keeps a bicycle shop in time of peace,” explained Tuppence.
“No, there it is! Now you could marry a rich girl.”
“I’m like you. I don’t know any.”
“That doesn’t matter. You can always get to know one. Now, if I see a man
in a fur coat come out of the Ritz I can’t rush up to him and say: ‘Look here,
you’re rich. I’d like to know you.’ ”
“Do you suggest that I should do that to a similarly garbed female?”
“Don’t be silly. You tread on her foot, or pick up her handkerchief, or
something like that. If she thinks you want to know her she’s flattered, and
will manage it for you somehow.”
“You overrate my manly charms,” murmured Tommy.
“On the other hand,” proceeded Tuppence, “my millionaire would probably run
for his life! No–marriage is fraught with difficulties. Remains–to MAKE
money!”
“We’ve tried that, and failed,” Tommy reminded her.
“We’ve tried all the orthodox ways, yes. But suppose we try the
unorthodox. Tommy, let’s be adventurers!”
“Certainly,” replied Tommy cheerfully. “How do we begin?”
“That’s the difficulty. If we could make ourselves known, people might
hire us to commit crimes for them.”
“Delightful,” commented Tommy. “Especially coming from a clergyman’s
daughter!”
“The moral guilt,” Tuppence pointed out, “would be theirs–not mine. You
must admit that there’s a difference between stealing a diamond necklace for
yourself and being hired to steal it.”
“There wouldn’t be the least difference if you were caught!”
“Perhaps not. But I shouldn’t be caught. I’m so clever.”
“Modesty always was your besetting sin,” remarked Tommy.
“Don’t rag. Look here, Tommy, shall we really? Shall we form a business
partnership?”
“Form a company for the stealing of diamond necklaces?”
“That was only an illustration. Let’s have a–what do you call it in
book-keeping?”
“Don’t know. Never did any.”
“I have–but I always got mixed up, and used to put credit entries on the
debit side, and vice versa–so they fired me out. Oh, I know–a joint venture!
It struck me as such a romantic phrase to come across in the middle of musty old
figures. It’s got an Elizabethan flavour about it–makes one think of galleons
and doubloons. A joint venture!”
“Trading under the name of the Young Adventurers, Ltd.? Is that your idea,
Tuppence?”
“It’s all very well to laugh, but I feel there might be something in it.”
“How do you propose to get in touch with your would-be employers?”
“Advertisement,” replied Tuppence promptly. “Have you got a bit of paper
and a pencil? Men usually seem to have. Just like we have hairpins and
powder-puffs.”
Tommy handed over a rather shabby green notebook, and Tuppence began
writing busily.
“Shall we begin: ‘Young officer, twice wounded in the war–‘ ”
“Certainly not.”
“Oh, very well, my dear boy. But I can assure you that that sort of thing
might touch the heart of an elderly spinster, and she might adopt you, and then
there would be no need for you to be a young adventurer at all.”
“I don’t want to be adopted.”
“I forgot you had a prejudice against it. I was only ragging you! The
papers are full up to the brim with that type of thing. Now listen–how’s this?
‘Two young adventurers for hire. Willing to do anything, go anywhere. Pay must
be good.’ (We might as well make that clear from the start.) Then we might add:
‘No reasonable offer refused’–like flats and furniture.”
“I should think any offer we get in answer to that would be a pretty
UNreasonable one!”
“Tommy! You’re a genius! That’s ever so much more chic. ‘No unreasonable