head. He strode across, and pump-handled Tommy’s hand with what seemed to the
latter quite unnecessary vigour.
“Holy snakes!” he ejaculated. “Is it really you?”
“Of course it is. Why shouldn’t it be?”
“Why shouldn’t it be? Say, man, don’t you know you’ve been given up for
dead? I guess we’d have had a solemn requiem for you in another few days.”
“Who thought I was dead?” demanded Tommy.
“Tuppence.”
“She remembered the proverb about the good dying young, I suppose. There
must be a certain amount of original sin in me to have survived. Where is
Tuppence, by the way?”
“Isn’t she here?”
“No, the fellows at the office said she’d just gone out.”
“Gone shopping, I guess. I dropped her here in the car about an hour ago.
But, say, can’t you shed that British calm of yours, and get down to it? What on
God’s earth have you been doing all this time?”
“If you’re feeding here,” replied Tommy, “order now. It’s going to be a
long story.”
Julius drew up a chair to the opposite side of the table, summoned a
hovering waiter, and dictated his wishes. Then he turned to Tommy.
“Fire ahead. I guess you’ve had some few adventures.”
“One or two,” replied Tommy modestly, and plunged into his recital.
Julius listened spellbound. Half the dishes that were placed before him he
forgot to eat. At the end he heaved a long sigh.
“Bully for you. Reads like a dime novel!”
“And now for the home front,” said Tommy, stretching out his hand for a
peach.
“We-el,” drawled Julius, “I don’t mind admitting we’ve had some adventures
too.”
He, in his turn, assumed the role of narrator. Beginning with his
unsuccessful reconnoitring at Bournemouth, he passed on to his return to London,
the buying of the car, the growing anxieties of Tuppence, the call upon Sir
James, and the sensational occurrences of the previous night.
“But who killed her?” asked Tommy. “I don’t quite understand.”
“The doctor kidded himself she took it herself,” replied Julius dryly.
“And Sir James? What did he think?”
“Being a legal luminary, he is likewise a human oyster,” replied Julius.
“I should say he ‘reserved judgment.’ ” He went on to detail the events of the
morning.
“Lost her memory, eh?” said Tommy with interest. “By Jove, that explains
why they looked at me so queerly when I spoke of questioning her. Bit of a slip
on my part, that! But it wasn’t the sort of thing a fellow would be likely to
guess.”
“They didn’t give you any sort of hint as to where Jane was?”
Tommy shook his head regretfully.
“Not a word. I’m a bit of an ass, as you know. I ought to have got more
out of them somehow.”
“I guess you’re lucky to be here at all. That bluff of yours was the goods
all right. How you ever came to think of it all so pat beats me to a frazzle!”
“I was in such a funk I had to think of something,” said Tommy simply.
There was a moment’s pause, and then Tommy reverted to Mrs. Vandemeyer’s
death.
“There’s no doubt it was chloral?”
“I believe not. At least they call it heart failure induced by an
overdose, or some such claptrap. It’s all right. We don’t want to be worried
with an inquest. But I guess Tuppence and I and even the highbrow Sir James
have all got the same idea.”
“Mr. Brown?” hazarded Tommy.
“Sure thing.”
Tommy nodded.
“All the same,” he said thoughtfully, “Mr. Brown hasn’t got wings. I don’t
see how he got in and out.”
“How about some high-class thought transference stunt? Some magnetic
influence that irresistibly impelled Mrs. Vandemeyer to commit suicide?”
Tommy looked at him with respect.
“Good, Julius. Distinctly good. Especially the phraseology. But it leaves
me cold. I yearn for a real Mr. Brown of flesh and blood. I think the gifted
young detectives must get to work, study the entrances and exits, and tap the
bumps on their foreheads until the solution of the mystery dawns on them. Let’s
go round to the scene of the crime. I wish we could get hold of Tuppence. The