Detectives and Young Adventurers: The Complete Short Stories. Agatha Christie

of a male detective.’

      ‘Oh, my dear fellow, my dear fellow!’

      ‘A little more action, Tuppence, and a little less repetition.’

      ‘A classic phrase cannot be repeated too often,’ said Tuppence with dignity.

      ‘Have a muffin,’ said Tommy kindly.

      ‘Not at eleven o’clock in the morning, thank you. Silly case, this. Boots – you know. Why boots?’

      ‘Well,’ said Tommy. ‘Why not?’

      ‘It doesn’t fit. Boots.’ She shook her head. ‘All wrong. Who wants other people’s boots? The whole thing’s mad.’

      ‘Possibly they got hold of the wrong bag,’ suggested Tommy.

      ‘That’s possible. But if they were after papers, a despatch case would be more likely. Papers are the only things one thinks of in connection with ambassadors.’

      ‘Boots suggest footprints,’ said Tommy thoughtfully. ‘Do you think they wanted to lay a trail of Wilmott’s footsteps somewhere?’

      Tuppence considered the suggestion, abandoning her role, then shook her head.

      ‘It seems wildly impossible,’ she said. ‘No, I believe we shall have to resign ourselves to the fact that the boots have nothing to do with it.’

      ‘Well,’ said Tommy with a sigh, ‘the next step is to interview friend Richards. He may be able to throw some light on the mystery.’

      On production of the Ambassador’s card, Tommy was admitted to the Embassy, and presently a pale young man, with a respectful manner and a subdued voice, presented himself to undergo examination.

      ‘I am Richards, sir. Mr Wilmott’s valet. I understood you wished to see me?’

      ‘Yes, Richards. Mr Wilmott called on me this morning, and suggested that I should come round and ask you a few questions. It is this matter of the kitbag.’

      ‘Mr Wilmott was rather upset over the affair, I know, sir. I can hardly see why, since no harm was done. I certainly understood from the man who called for the other bag that it belonged to Senator Westerham, but of course, I may have been mistaken.’

      ‘What kind of man was he?’

      ‘Middle-aged. Grey hair. Very good class, I should say – most respectable. I understood he was Senator Westerham’s valet. He left Mr Wilmott’s bag and took away the other.’

      ‘Had it been unpacked at all?’

      ‘Which one, sir?’

      ‘Well, I meant the one you brought from the boat. But I should like to know about the other as well – Mr Wilmott’s own. Had that been unpacked, do you fancy?’

      ‘I should say not, sir. It was just as I strapped it up on the boat. I should say the gentleman – whoever he was – just opened it – realised it wasn’t his, and shut it up again.’

      ‘Nothing missing? No small article?’

      ‘I don’t think so, sir. In fact, I’m quite sure.’

      ‘And now the other one. Had you started to unpack that?’

      ‘As a matter of fact, sir, I was just opening it at the very moment Senator Westerham’s man arrived. I’d just undone the straps.’

      ‘Did you open it at all?’

      ‘We just unfastened it together, sir, to be sure no mistake had been made this time. The man said it was all right, and he strapped it up again and took it away.’

      ‘What was inside? Boots also?’

      ‘No, sir, mostly toilet things, I fancy. I know I saw a tin of bath salts.’ Tommy abandoned that line of research.

      ‘You never saw anyone tampering with anything in your master’s cabin on board ship, I suppose?’

      ‘Oh, no, sir.’

      ‘Never anything suspicious of any kind?’

      ‘And what do I mean by that, I wonder,’ he thought to himself with a trace of amusement. ‘Anything suspicious – just words!’

      But the man in front of him hesitated.

      ‘Now that I remember it –’

      ‘Yes,’ said Tommy eagerly. ‘What?’

      ‘I don’t think it could have anything to do with it. But there was a young lady.’

      ‘Yes? A young lady, you say, what was she doing?’

      ‘She was taken faint, sir. A very pleasant young lady. Miss Eileen O’Hara, her name was. A dainty looking lady, not tall, with black hair. Just a little foreign looking.’

      ‘Yes?’ said Tommy, with even greater eagerness.

      ‘As I was saying, she was taken queer. Just outside Mr Wilmott’s cabin. She asked me to fetch the doctor. I helped her to the sofa, and then went off for the doctor. I was some time finding him, and when I found him and brought him back, the young lady was nearly all right again.’

      ‘Oh!’ said Tommy.

      ‘You don’t think, sir –’

      ‘It’s difficult to know what to think,’ said Tommy noncommittally. ‘Was this Miss O’Hara travelling alone?’

      ‘Yes, I think so, sir.’

      ‘You haven’t seen her since you landed?’

      ‘No, sir.’

      ‘Well,’ said Tommy, after a minute or two spent in reflection. ‘I think that’s all. Thank you, Richards.’

      ‘Thank you, sir.’

      Back at the office of the Detective Agency, Tommy retailed his conversation with Richards to Tuppence, who listened attentively.

      ‘What do you think of it, Tuppence?’

      ‘Oh, my dear fellow, we doctors are always sceptical of a sudden faintness! So very convenient. And Eileen as well as O’Hara. Almost too impossibly Irish, don’t you think?’

      ‘It’s something to go upon at last. Do you know what I am going to do, Tuppence? Advertise for the lady.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Yes, any information respecting Miss Eileen O’Hara known to have travelled such and such a ship and such and such a date. Either she’ll answer it herself if she’s genuine, or someone may come forward to give us information about her. So far, it’s the only hope of a clue.’

      ‘You’ll also put her on her guard, remember.’

      ‘Well,’ said Tommy, ‘one’s got to risk something.’

      ‘I still can’t see any sense in the thing,’ said Tuppence, frowning. ‘If a gang of crooks get hold of the Ambassador’s bag for an hour or two, and then send it back, what possible good can it do them. Unless there are papers in it they want to copy, and Mr Wilmott swears there was nothing of the kind.’

      Tommy stared at her thoughtfully.

      ‘You put these things rather well, Tuppence,’ he said at last. ‘You’ve given me an idea.’

      It was two days later. Tuppence was out to lunch. Tommy, alone in the austere office of Mr Theodore Blunt, was improving his mind by reading the latest sensational thriller.

      The door of the office opened and Albert appeared.

      ‘A young lady to see you, sir. Miss Cicely March. She says she has called in answer to an advertisement.’

      ‘Show her in at once,’ cried Tommy, thrusting his novel into a convenient drawer.

      In