The Complete Tommy and Tuppence 5-Book Collection. Agatha Christie

of war” you know, Boris!’

      ‘Money – money! That is always the danger with you, Rita. I believe you would sell your soul for money. I believe –’ He paused, then in a low, sinister voice he said slowly: ‘Sometimes I believe that you would sell – us!’

      Mrs Vandemeyer smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

      ‘The price, at any rate, would have to be enormous,’ she said lightly. ‘It would be beyond the power of anyone but a millionaire to pay.’

      ‘Ah!’ snarled the Russian. ‘You see, I was right.’

      ‘My dear Boris, can you not take a joke?’

      ‘Was it a joke?’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘Then all I can say is that your ideas of humour are peculiar, my dear Rita.’

      Mrs Vandemeyer smiled.

      ‘Let us not quarrel, Boris. Touch the bell. We will have some drinks.’

      Tuppence beat a hasty retreat. She paused a moment to survey herself in Mrs Vandemeyer’s long glass, and be sure that nothing was amiss with her appearance. Then she answered the bell demurely.

      The conversation that she had overheard, although interesting in that it proved beyond doubt the complicity of both Rita and Boris, threw very little light on the present preoccupations. The name of Jane Finn had not even been mentioned.

      The following morning a few brief words with Albert informed her that nothing was waiting for her at the stationer’s. It seemed incredible that Tommy, if all was well with him, should not send any word to her. A cold hand seemed to close round her heart … Supposing … She choked her fears down bravely. It was no good worrying. But she leapt at a chance offered her by Mrs Vandemeyer.

      ‘What day do you usually go out, Prudence?’

      ‘Friday’s my usual day, ma’am.’

      Mrs Vandemeyer lifted her eyebrows.

      ‘And today is Friday! But I suppose you hardly wish to go out today, as you only came yesterday.’

      ‘I was thinking of asking you if I might, ma’am.’

      Mrs Vandemeyer looked at her a minute longer, and then smiled.

      ‘I wish Count Stepanov could hear you. He made a suggestion about you last night.’ Her smile broadened, cat-like. ‘Your request is very – typical. I am satisfied. You do not understand all this – but you can go out today. It makes no difference to me, as I shall not be dining at home.’

      ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

      Tuppence felt a sensation of relief once she was out of the other’s 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 11

       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.’

      ‘Waterloo?’ frowned Tuppence.

      ‘Why, yes. Didn’t he tell you?’

      ‘I haven’t seen him either,’ replied Tuppence impatiently. ‘Go on about Waterloo. What were you doing there?’

      ‘He gave me a call. Over the phone. Told me to get a move on, and