produce the piece of paper, though, and it doesn’t sound a very likely story. Anyway, you and I know he was with her at the Ace of Spades, because we saw him.’
Tuppence nodded and pored over the two photographs.
One was a tiny fragment with the legend DAILY LE – and the rest torn off. The other was the front sheet of the Daily Leader with the small round tear at the top of it. There was no doubt about it. Those two fitted together perfectly.
‘What are all those marks down the side?’ asked Tommy.
‘Stitches,’ said Tuppence. ‘Where it was sewn to the others, you know.’
‘I thought it might be a new scheme of dots,’ said Tommy. Then he gave a slight shiver. ‘My word, Tuppence, how creepy it makes one feel. To think that you and I were discussing dots and puzzling over that advertisement – all as lighthearted as anything.’
Tuppence did not answer. Tommy looked at her and was startled to observe that she was staring ahead of her, her mouth slightly open, and a bewildered expression on her face.
‘Tuppence,’ said Tommy gently, shaking her by the arm, ‘what’s the matter with you? Are you just going to have a stroke or something?’
But Tuppence remained motionless. Presently she said in a faraway voice:
‘Denis Riordan.’
‘Eh?’ said Tommy, staring.
‘It’s just as you said. One simple innocent remark! Find me all this week’s Dally Leaders.’
‘What are you up to?’
‘I’m being McCarty. I’ve been worrying round, and thanks to you, I’ve got a notion at last. This is the front sheet of Tuesday’s paper. I seem to remember that Tuesday’s paper was the one with two dots in the L of LEADER. This has a dot in the D of DAILY – and one in the L too. Get me the papers and let’s make sure.’
They compared them anxiously. Tuppence had been quite right in her remembrance.
‘You see? This fragment wasn’t torn from Tuesday’s paper.’
‘But Tuppence, we can’t be sure. It may merely be different editions.’
‘It may – but at any rate it’s given me an idea. It can’t be coincidence – that’s certain. There’s only one thing it can be if I’m right in my idea. Ring up Sir Arthur, Tommy. Ask him to come round here at once. Say I’ve got important news for him. Then get hold of Marriot. Scotland Yard will know his address if he’s gone home.’
Sir Arthur Merivale, very much intrigued by the summons, arrived at the flat in about half an hour’s time. Tuppence came forward to greet him.
‘I must apologise for sending for you in such a peremptory fashion,’ she said. ‘But my husband and I have discovered something that we think you ought to know at once. Do sit down.’
Sir Arthur sat down, and Tuppence went on.
‘You are, I know, very anxious to clear your friend.’
Sir Arthur shook his head sadly.
‘I was, but even I have had to give in to the overwhelming evidence.’
‘What would you say if I told you that chance has placed in my hands a piece of evidence that will certainly clear him of all complicity?’
‘I should be overjoyed to hear it, Mrs Beresford.’
‘Supposing,’ continued Tuppence, ‘that I had come across a girl who was actually dancing with Captain Hale last night at twelve o’clock – the hour when he was supposed to be at the Ace of Spades.’
‘Marvellous!’ cried Sir Arthur. ‘I knew there was some mistake. Poor Vere must have killed herself after all.’
‘Hardly that,’ said Tuppence. ‘You forget the other man.’
‘What other man?’
‘The one my husband and I saw leave the booth. You see, Sir Arthur, there must have been a second man dressed in newspaper at the ball. By the way, what was your own costume?’
‘Mine? I went as a seventeenth century executioner.’
‘How very appropriate,’ said Tuppence softly.
‘Appropriate, Mrs Beresford. What do you mean by appropriate?’
‘For the part you played. Shall I tell you my ideas on the subject, Sir Arthur? The newspaper dress is easily put on over that of an executioner. Previously a little note has been slipped into Captain Hale’s hand, asking him not to speak to a certain lady. But the lady herself knows nothing of that note. She goes to the Ace of Spades at the appointed time and sees the figure she expects to see. They go into the booth. He takes her in his arms, I think, and kisses her – the kiss of a Judas, and as he kisses he strikes with the dagger. She only utters one faint cry and he covers that with a laugh. Presently he goes away – and to the last, horrified and bewildered, she believes her lover is the man who killed her.
‘But she has torn a small fragment from the costume. The murderer notices that – he is a man who pays great attention to detail. To make the case absolutely clear against his victim the fragment must seem to have been torn from Captain Hale’s costume. That would present great difficulties unless the two men happened to be living in the same house. Then, of course, the thing would be simplicity itself. He makes an exact duplicate of the tear in Captain Hale’s costume – then he burns his own and prepares to play the part of the loyal friend.’
Tuppence paused.
‘Well, Sir Arthur?’
Sir Arthur rose and made her a bow.
‘The rather vivid imagination of a charming lady who reads too much fiction.’
‘You think so?’ said Tommy.
‘And a husband who is guided by his wife,’ said Sir Arthur. ‘I do not fancy you will find anybody to take the matter seriously.’
He laughed out loud, and Tuppence stiffened in her chair.
‘I would swear to that laugh anywhere,’ she said. ‘I heard it last in the Ace of Spades. And you are under a little misapprehension about us both. Beresford is our real name, but we have another.’
She picked up a card from the table and handed it to him. Sir Arthur read it aloud.
‘International Detective Agency . . .’ He drew his breath sharply. ‘So that is what you really are! That was why Marriot brought me here this morning. It was a trap –’
He strolled to the window.
‘A fine view you have from here,’ he said. ‘Right over London.’
‘Inspector Marriot,’ cried Tommy sharply.
In a flash the Inspector appeared from the communicating door in the opposite wall.
A little smile of amusement came to Sir Arthur’s lips.
‘I thought as much,’ he said. ‘But you won’t get me this time, I’m afraid, Inspector. I prefer to take my own way out.’
And putting his hands on the sill, he vaulted clean through the window.
Tuppence shrieked and clapped her hands to her ears to shut out the sound she had already imagined – the sickening thud far beneath. Inspector Marriot uttered an oath.
‘We should have thought of the window,’ he said. ‘Though, mind you, it would have been a difficult thing to prove. I’ll go down and – and – see to things.’
‘Poor devil,’ said Tommy slowly. ‘If he was fond of his wife –’
But the Inspector interrupted him with a snort.
‘Fond of her? That’s as may be. He was