Agatha Christie: The Collection. Agatha Christie

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 Ritz would enjoy the spectacle of the glad reunion.”

      Inquiry at the office revealed the fact that Tuppence had not yet returned.

      “All the same, I guess I’ll have a look round upstairs,” said Julius. “She might be in my sitting-room.” He disappeared.

      Suddenly a diminutive boy spoke at Tommy’s elbow:

      “The young lady – she’s gone away by train, I think, sir,” he murmured shyly.

      “What?” Tommy wheeled round upon him.

      The small boy became pinker than before.

      “The taxi, sir. I heard her tell the driver Charing Cross and to look sharp.”

      Tommy stared at him, his eyes opening wide in surprise. Emboldened, the small boy proceeded. “So I thought, having asked for an A.B.C. and a Bradshaw.”

      Tommy interrupted him:

      “When did she ask for an A.B.C. and a Bradshaw?”

      “When I took her the telegram, sir.”

      “A telegram?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “When was that?”

      “About half-past twelve, sir.”

      “Tell me exactly what happened.”

      The small boy drew a long breath.

      “I took up a telegram to No. 891 – the lady was there. She opened it and gave a gasp, and then she said, very jolly like: ‘Bring me up a Bradshaw, and an A.B.C., and look sharp, Henry.’ My name isn’t Henry, but –”

      “Never mind your name,” said Tommy impatiently. “Go on.”

      “Yes, sir. I brought them, and she told me to wait, and looked up something. And then she looks up at the clock, and ‘Hurry up,’ she says. ‘Tell them to get me a taxi,’ and she begins a-shoving on of her hat in front of the glass, and she was down in two ticks, almost as quick as I was, and I seed her going down the steps and into the taxi, and I heard her call out what I told you.”

      The small boy stopped and replenished his lungs. Tommy continued to stare at him. At that moment Julius rejoined him. He held an open letter in his hand.

      “I say, Hersheimmer” – Tommy turned to him – “Tuppence has gone off sleuthing on her own.”

      “Shucks!”

      “Yes, she has. She went off in a taxi to Charing Cross in the deuce of a hurry after getting a telegram.” His eye fell on the letter in Julius’s hand. “Oh; she left a note for you. That’s all right. Where’s she off to?”

      Almost unconsciously, he held out his hand for the letter, but Julius folded it up and placed it in his pocket. He seemed a trifle embarrassed.

      “I guess this is nothing to do with it. It’s about something else – something I asked her that she was to let me know about.”

      “Oh!” Tommy looked puzzled, and seemed waiting for more.

      “See here,” said Julius suddenly, “I’d better put you wise. I asked Miss Tuppence to marry me this morning.”

      “Oh!” said Tommy mechanically. He felt dazed. Julius’s words were totally unexpected. For the moment they benumbed his brain.

      “I’d like to tell you,” continued Julius, “that before I suggested anything of the kind to Miss Tuppence, I made it clear that I didn’t want to butt in in any way between her and you –”

      Tommy roused himself.

      “That’s all right,” he said quickly. “Tuppence and I have been pals for years. Nothing more.” He lit a cigarette with a hand that shook ever so little. “That’s quite all right. Tuppence always said that she was looking out for –”

      He stopped abruptly, his face crimsoning, but Julius was in no way discomposed.

      “Oh, I guess it’ll be the dollars that’ll do the trick. Miss Tuppence put me wise to that right away. There’s no humbug about her. We ought to gee along together very well.”

      Tommy looked at him curiously for a minute, as though he were about to speak, then changed his mind and said nothing. Tuppence and Julius! Well, why not? Had she not lamented the fact that she knew no rich men? Had she not openly avowed her intention of marrying for money if she ever had the chance? Her meeting with the young American millionaire had given her the chance – and it was unlikely she would be slow to avail herself of it. She was out for money. She had always said so. Why blame her because she had been true to her creed?

      Nevertheless, Tommy did blame her. He was filled with a passionate and utterly illogical resentment. It was all very well to say things like that – but a real girl would never marry for money. Tuppence was utterly cold-blooded and selfish, and he would be delighted if he never saw her again! And it was a rotten world!

      Julius’s voice broke in on these meditations.

      “Yes, we ought to gee along together very well. I’ve heard that a girl always refuses you once – a sort of convention.”

      Tommy caught his arm.

      “Refuses? Did you say refuses?”

      “Sure thing. Didn’t I tell you that? She just rapped out a ‘no’ without any kind of reason to it. The eternal feminine, the Huns call it, I’ve heard. But she’ll come round right enough. Likely enough, I hustled her some –”

      But Tommy interrupted regardless of decorum.

      “What did she say in that note?” he demanded fiercely.

      The obliging Julius handed it to him.

      “There’s no earthly clue in it as to where she’s gone,” he assured Tommy. “But you might as well see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

      The note, in Tuppence’s well-known schoolboy writing, ran as follows:

      Dear Julius,

      It’s always better to have things in black and white. I don’t feel I can be bothered to think of marriage until Tommy is found. Let’s leave it till then.

      Yours