‘Very likely. A curious point is that the name is usually mentioned. An idiosyncrasy of genius. Can you describe him at all?’
‘I really didn’t notice. He was quite ordinary—just like anyone else.’
Mr Carter sighed in his tired manner.
‘That is the invariable description of Mr Brown! Brought a telephone message to the man Whittington, did he? Notice a telephone in the outer office?’
Tuppence thought.
‘No, I don’t think I did.’
‘Exactly. That “message” was Mr Brown’s way of giving an order to his subordinate. He overheard the whole conversation of course. Was it after that that Whittington handed you over the money, and told you to come the following day?’
Tuppence nodded.
‘Yes, undoubtedly the hand of Mr Brown!’ Mr Carter paused. ‘Well, there it is, you see what you are pitting yourself against? Possibly the finest criminal brain of the age. I don’t quite like it, you know. You’re such young things, both of you. I shouldn’t like anything to happen to you.’
‘It won’t,’ Tuppence assured him positively.
‘I’ll look after her, sir,’ said Tommy.
‘And I’ll look after you,’ retorted Tuppence, resenting the manly assertion.
‘Well, then, look after each other,’ said Mr Carter, smiling. ‘Now let’s get back to business. There’s something mysterious about this draft treaty that we haven’t fathomed yet. We’ve been threatened with it—in plain and unmistakable terms. The Revolutionary elements as good as declared that it’s in their hands, and that they intend to produce it at a given moment. On the other hand, they are clearly at fault about many of its provisions. The Government consider it as mere bluff on their part, and, rightly or wrongly, have stuck to the policy of absolute denial. I’m not so sure. There have been hints, indiscreet allusions, that seem to indicate that the menace is a real one. The position is much as though they had got hold of an incriminating document, but couldn’t read it because it was in cipher—but we know that the draft treaty wasn’t in cipher—couldn’t be in the nature of things—so that won’t wash. But there’s something. Of course, Jane Finn may be dead for all we know—but I don’t think so. The curious thing is that they’re trying to get information about the girl from us.’
‘What?’
‘Yes. One or two little things have cropped up. And your story, little lady, confirms my idea. They know we’re looking for Jane Finn. Well, they’ll produce a Jane Finn of their own—say at a pensionnat in Paris.’ Tuppence gasped, and Mr Carter smiled. ‘No one knows in the least what she looks like, so that’s all right. She’s primed with a trumped-up tale, and her real business is to get as much information as possible out of us. See the idea?’
‘Then you think’—Tuppence paused to grasp the supposition fully—‘that it was as Jane Finn that they wanted me to go to Paris?’
Mr Carter smiled more wearily than ever.
‘I believe in coincidences, you know,’ he said.
‘Well,’ said Tuppence, recovering herself, ‘it really seems as though it were meant to be.’
Carter nodded.
‘I know what you mean. I’m superstitious myself. Luck, and all that sort of thing. Fate seems to have chosen you out to be mixed up in this.’
Tommy indulged in a chuckle.
‘My word! I don’t wonder Whittington got the wind up when Tuppence plumped out that name! I should have myself. But look here, sir, we’re taking up an awful lot of your time. Have you any tips to give us before we clear out?’
‘I think not. My experts, working in stereotyped ways, have failed. You will bring imagination and an open mind to the task. Don’t be discouraged if that too does not succeed. For one thing there is a likelihood of the pace being forced.’
Tuppence frowned uncomprehendingly.
‘When you had that interview with Whittington, they had time before them. I have information that the big coup was planned for early in the new year. But the Government is contemplating legislative action which will deal effectually with the strike menace. They’ll get wind of it soon, if they haven’t already, and it’s possible that they may bring things to a head. I hope it will myself. The less time they have to mature their plans the better. I’m just warning you that you haven’t much time before you, and that you needn’t be cast down if you fail. It’s not an easy proposition anyway. That’s all.’
Tuppence rose.
‘I think we ought to be business-like. What exactly can we count upon you for, Mr Carter?’
Mr Carter’s lips twitched slightly, but he replied succinctly:
‘Funds within reason, detailed information on any point, and no official recognition. I mean that if you get yourselves into trouble with the police, I can’t officially help you out of it. You’re on your own.’
Tuppence nodded sagely.
‘I quite understand that. I’ll write out a list of the things I want to know when I’ve had time to think. Now—about money—’
‘Yes, Miss Tuppence. Do you want to say how much?’
‘Not exactly. We’ve got plenty to go on with for the present, but when we want more—’
‘It will be waiting for you.’
‘Yes, but—I’m sure I don’t want to be rude about the Government if you’ve got anything to do with it, but you know one really has the devil of a time getting anything out of it! And if we have to fill up a blue form and send it in, and then, after three months, they send us a green one, and so on—well, that won’t be much use, will it?’
Mr Carter laughed outright.
‘Don’t worry, Miss Tuppence. You will send a personal demand to me here, and the money, in notes, shall be sent by return of post. As to salary, shall we say at the rate of three hundred a year? And an equal sum for Mr Beresford, of course.’
Tuppence beamed upon him.
‘How lovely. You are kind. I do love money! I’ll keep beautiful accounts of our expenses—all debit and credit, and the balance on the right side, and a red line drawn sideways with the totals the same at the bottom. I really know how to do it when I think.’
‘I’m sure you do. Well, goodbye, and good luck to you both.’
He shook hands with them and in another minute they were descending the steps of 27 Carshalton Terrace with their heads in a whirl.
‘Tommy! Tell me at once, who is “Mr Carter”?’
Tommy murmured a name in her ear.
‘Oh!’ said Tuppence, impressed.
‘And I can tell you, old bean, he’s IT!’
‘Oh!’ said Tuppence again. Then she added reflectively: ‘I like him, don’t you? He looks so awfully tired and bored, and yet you feel that underneath he’s just like steel, all keen and flashing. Oh!’ She gave a skip. ‘Pinch me, Tommy, do pinch me. I can’t believe it’s real!’
Mr Beresford obliged.
‘Ow!