said Tommy, ‘how very few people there are whose real name is Smith. Personally, I don’t know anyone called Smith. But nine men out of ten who wish to conceal their real name give that of Smith. I am writing a monograph upon the subject.’
At that moment a buzzer purred discreetly on his desk. That meant that Tuppence was requesting to take hold. Tommy, who wanted his lunch, and who felt profoundly unsympathetic towards Mr St Vincent, was only too pleased to relinquish the helm.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, and picked up the telephone.
Across his face there shot rapid changes – surprise, consternation, slight elation.
‘You don’t say so,’ he said into the phone. ‘The Prime Minister himself? Of course, in that case, I will come round at once.’
He replaced the receiver on the hook, and turned to his client.
‘My dear sir, I must ask you to excuse me. A most urgent summons. If you will give the facts of the case to my confidential secretary, she will deal with them.’
He strode to the adjoining door.
‘Miss Robinson.’
Tuppence, very neat and demure with smooth black head and dainty collars and cuffs, tripped in. Tommy made the necessary introductions and departed.
‘A lady you take an interest in has disappeared, I understand, Mr St Vincent,’ said Tuppence, in her soft voice, as she sat down and took up Mr Blunt’s pad and pencil. ‘A young lady?’
‘Oh! rather,’ said St Vincent. ‘Young – and – and – awfully good-looking and all that sort of thing.’
Tuppence’s face grew grave.
‘Dear me,’ she murmured. ‘I hope that –’
‘You don’t think anything’s really happened to her?’ demanded Mr St Vincent, in lively concern.
‘Oh! we must hope for the best,’ said Tuppence, with a kind of false cheerfulness which depressed Mr St Vincent horribly.
‘Oh! look here, Miss Robinson. I say, you must do something. Spare no expense. I wouldn’t have anything happen to her for the world. You seem awfully sympathetic, and I don’t mind telling you in confidence that I simply worship the ground that girl walks on. She’s a topper, an absolute topper.’
‘Please tell me her name and all about her.’
‘Her name’s Jeanette – I don’t know her second name. She works in a hat shop – Madame Violette’s in Brook Street – but she’s as straight as they make them. Has ticked me off no end of times – I went round there yesterday – waiting for her to come out – all the others came, but not her. Then I found that she’d never turned up that morning to work at all – sent no message either – old Madame was furious about it. I got the address of her lodgings, and I went round there. She hadn’t come home the night before, and they didn’t know where she was. I was simply frantic. I thought of going to the police. But I knew that Jeanette would be absolutely furious with me for doing that if she were really all right and had gone off on her own. Then I remembered that she herself had pointed out your advertisement to me one day in the paper and told me that one of the women who’d been in buying hats had simply raved about your ability and discretion and all that sort of thing. So I toddled along here right away.’
‘I see,’ said Tuppence. ‘What is the address of her lodgings?’
The young man gave it to her.
‘That’s all, I think,’ said Tuppence reflectively. ‘That is to say – am I to understand that you are engaged to this young lady?’
Mr St Vincent turned a brick red.
‘Well, no – not exactly. I never said anything. But I can tell you this, I mean to ask her to marry me as soon as ever I see her – if I ever do see her again.’
Tuppence laid aside her pad.
‘Do you wish for our special twenty-four hour service?’ she asked in business-like tones.
‘What’s that?’
‘The fees are doubled, but we put all our available staff on to the case. Mr St Vincent, if the lady is alive, I shall be able to tell you where she is by this time tomorrow.’
‘What? I say, that’s wonderful.’
‘We only employ experts – and we guarantee results,’ said Tuppence crisply.
‘But I say, you know. You must have the most topping staff.’
‘Oh! we have,’ said Tuppence. ‘By the way, you haven’t given me a description of the young lady.’
‘She’s got the most marvellous hair – sort of golden but very deep, like a jolly old sunset – that’s it, a jolly old sunset. You know, I never noticed things like sunsets until lately. Poetry too, there’s a lot more in poetry than I ever thought.’
‘Red hair,’ said Tuppence unemotionally, writing it down. ‘What height should you say the lady was?’
‘Oh! tallish, and she’s got ripping eyes, dark blue, I think. And a sort of decided manner with her – takes a fellow up short sometimes.’
Tuppence wrote down a few words more, then closed her notebook and rose.
‘If you will call here tomorrow at two o’clock, I think we shall have news of some kind for you,’ she said. ‘Good-morning, Mr St Vincent.’
When Tommy returned Tuppence was just consulting a page of Debrett.
‘I’ve got all the details,’ she said succinctly. ‘Lawrence St Vincent is the nephew and heir of the Earl of Cheriton. If we pull this through we shall get publicity in the highest places.’
Tommy read through the notes on the pad.
‘What do you really think has happened to the girl?’ he asked.
‘I think,’ said Tuppence, ‘that she has fled at the dictates of her heart, feeling that she loves this young man too well for her peace of mind.’
Tommy looked at her doubtfully.
‘I know they do it in books,’ he said, ‘but I’ve never known any girl who did it in real life.’
‘No?’ said Tuppence. ‘Well, perhaps you’re right. But I dare say Lawrence St Vincent will swallow that sort of slush. He’s full of romantic notions just now. By the way, I guaranteed results in twenty-four hours – our special service.’
‘Tuppence – you congenital idiot, what made you do that?’
‘The idea just came into my head. I thought it sounded rather well. Don’t you worry. Leave it to mother. Mother knows best.’
She went out leaving Tommy profoundly dissatisfied.
Presently he rose, sighed, and went out to do what could be done, cursing Tuppence’s over-fervent imagination.
When he returned weary and jaded at half-past four, he found Tuppence extracting a bag of biscuits from their place of concealment in one of the files.
‘You look hot and bothered,’ she remarked. ‘What have you been doing?’
Tommy groaned.
‘Making a round of the hospitals with that girl’s description.’
‘Didn’t I tell you to leave it to me?’ demanded Tuppence.
‘You can’t find that girl single-handed before two o’clock tomorrow.’
‘I can – and what’s more, I have!’
‘You have? What do you mean?’
‘A simple problem, Watson, very simple indeed.’
‘Where is