‘American Detective Force!’ she hissed.
Albert fell for it.
‘Lord!’ he murmured ecstatically.
Tuppence nodded at him with the air of one who has established a thorough understanding.
‘Know who I’m after?’ she inquired genially.
Albert, still round-eyed, demanded breathlessly:
‘One of the flats?’
Tuppence nodded and jerked a thumb up the stairs.
‘No. 20. Calls herself Vandemeyer. Vandemeyer! Ha! ha!’
Albert’s hand stole to his pocket.
‘A crook?’ he queried eagerly.
‘A crook? I should say so. Ready Rita they call her in the States.’
‘Ready Rita,’ repeated Albert deliriously. ‘Oh, ain’t it just like the pictures!’
It was. Tuppence was a great frequenter of the cinema.
‘Annie always said as how she was a bad lot,’ continued the boy.
‘Who’s Annie?’ inquired Tuppence idly.
‘’Ouse-parlourmaid. She’s leaving today. Many’s the time Annie’s said to me: “Mark my words, Albert, I wouldn’t wonder if the police was to come after her one of these days.” Just like that. But she’s a stunner to look at, ain’t she?’
‘She’s some peach,’ allowed Tuppence carefully. ‘Finds it useful in her lay-out, you bet. Has she been wearing any of the emeralds, by the way?’
‘Emeralds? Them’s the green stones, isn’t they?’
Tuppence nodded.
‘That’s what we’re after her for. You know old man Rysdale?’
Albert shook his head.
‘Peter B. Rysdale, the oil king?’
‘It seems sort of familiar to me.’
‘The sparklers belonged to him. Finest collection of emeralds in the world. Worth a million dollars!’
‘Lumme!’ came ecstatically from Albert. ‘It sounds more like the pictures every minute.’
Tuppence smiled, gratified at the success of her efforts.
‘We haven’t exactly proved it yet. But we’re after her. And’ – she produced a long drawn-out wink – ‘I guess she won’t get away with the goods this time.’
Albert uttered another ejaculation indicative of delight.
‘Mind you, sonny, not a word of this,’ said Tuppence suddenly. ‘I guess I oughtn’t to have put you wise, but in the States we know a real smart lad when we see one.’
‘I’ll not breathe a word,’ protested Albert eagerly. ‘Ain’t there anything I could do? A bit of shadowing, maybe, or suchlike?’
Tuppence affected to consider, then shook her head.
‘Not at the moment, but I’ll bear you in mind, son. What’s this about the girl you say is leaving?’
‘Annie? Regular turn up, they ’ad. As Annie said, servants is someone nowadays, and to be treated accordingly, and, what with her passing the word round, she won’t find it so easy to get another.’
‘Won’t she?’ said Tuppence thoughtfully. ‘I wonder –’
An idea was dawning in her brain. She thought a minute or two, then tapped Albert on the shoulder.
‘See here, son, my brain’s got busy. How would it be if you mentioned that you’d got a young cousin, or a friend of yours had, that might suit the place. You get me?’
‘I’m there,’ said Albert instantly. ‘You leave it to me, miss, and I’ll fix the whole thing up in two ticks.’
‘Some lad!’ commented Tuppence, with a nod of approval. ‘You might say that the young woman could come right away. You let me know, and if it’s O.K. I’ll be round tomorrow at eleven o’clock.’
‘Where am I to let you know to?’
‘Ritz,’ replied Tuppence laconically. ‘Name of Cowley.’
Albert eyed her enviously.
‘It must be a good job, this tec business.’
‘It sure is,’ drawled Tuppence, ‘especially when old man Rysdale backs the bill. But don’t fret, son. If this goes well, you shall come in on the ground floor.’
With which promise she took leave of her new ally, and walked briskly away from South Audley Mansions, well pleased with her morning’s work.
But there was no time to be lost. She went straight back to the Ritz and wrote a few brief words to Mr Carter. Having dispatched this, and Tommy not having yet returned – which did not surprise her – she started off on a shopping expedition which, with an interval for tea and assorted creamy cakes, occupied her until well after six o’clock, and she returned to the hotel jaded, but satisfied with her purchases. Starting with a cheap clothing store, and passing through one or two second-hand establishments, she had finished the day at a well-known hairdresser’s. Now, in the seclusion of her bedroom, she unwrapped that final purchase. Five minutes later she smiled contentedly at her reflection in the glass. With an actress’s pencil she had slightly altered the line of her eyebrows, and that, taken in conjunction with the new luxuriant growth of fair hair above, so changed her appearance that she felt confident that even if she came face to face with Whittington he would not recognize her. She would wear elevators in her shoes, and the cap and apron would be an even more valuable disguise. From hospital experience she knew only too well that a nurse out of uniform is frequently unrecognized by her patients.
‘Yes,’ said Tuppence aloud, nodding at the pert reflection in the glass, ‘you’ll do.’ She then resumed her normal appearance.
Dinner was a solitary meal. Tuppence was rather surprised at Tommy’s non-return. Julius, too, was absent – but that to the girl’s mind was more easily explained. His ‘hustling’ activities were not confined to London, and his abrupt appearances and disappearances were fully accepted by the Young Adventurers as part of the day’s work. It was quite on the cards that Julius P. Hersheimmer had left for Constantinople at a moment’s notice if he fancied that a clue to his cousin’s disappearance was to be found there. The energetic young man had succeeded in making the lives of several Scotland Yard men unbearable to them, and the telephone girls at the Admiralty had learned to know and dread the familiar ‘Hullo!’ He had spent three hours in Paris hustling the Prefecture, and had returned from there imbued with the idea, possibly inspired by a weary French official, that the true clue to the mystery was to be found in Ireland.
‘I dare say he’s dashed off there now,’ thought Tuppence. ‘All very well, but this is very dull for me! Here I am bursting with news, and absolutely no one to tell it to! Tommy might have wired, or something. I wonder where he is. Anyway, he can’t have “lost the trail” as they say. That reminds me –’ And Miss Cowley broke off in her meditations, and summoned a small boy.
Ten minutes later the lady was ensconced comfortably on her bed, smoking cigarettes and deep in the perusal of Barnaby Williams, the Boy Detective, which, with other threepenny works of lurid fiction, she had sent out to purchase. She felt, and rightly, that before the strain of attempting further intercourse with Albert, it would be as well to fortify herself with a good supply of local colour.
The morning brought a note from Mr Carter:
Dear Miss Tuppence
You have made a splendid start, and I congratulate