The Complete Tommy and Tuppence by Agatha Christie
“Listen,” said Tuppence. “The servants are all right, I’m sure, but I managed to get something out of the French maid. It seems that when Lady Laura was staying here a year ago, she went out to tea with some friends of the Kingston Bruces, and when she got home a teaspoon fell out of her muff. Everyone thought it must have fallen in by accident. But, talking about similar robberies, I got hold of a lot more. Lady Laura is always staying about with people. She hasn’t got a bean, I gather, and she’s out for comfortable quarters with people to whom a title still means something. It may be a coincidence—or it may be something more, but five distinct thefts have taken place whilst she has been staying in various houses, sometimes trivial things, sometimes valuable jewels.”
“Whew!” said Tommy, and gave vent to a prolonged whistle. “Where’s the old bird’s room, do you know?”
“Just across the passage.”
“Then I think, I rather think, that we’ll just slip across and investigate.”
The room opposite stood with its door ajar. It was a spacious apartment, with white enamelled fitments and rose pink curtains. An inner door led to a bathroom. At the door of this appeared a slim, dark girl, very neatly dressed.
Tuppence checked the exclamation of astonishment on the girl’s lips.
“This is Elise, Mr. Blunt,” she said primly. “Lady Laura’s maid.”
Tommy stepped across the threshold of the bathroom, and approved inwardly its sumptuous and up-to-date fittings. He set to work to dispel the wide stare of suspicion on the French girl’s face.
“You are busy with your duties, eh, Mademoiselle Elise?”
“Yes, Monsieur, I clean Milady’s bath.”
“Well, perhaps you’ll help me with some photography instead. I have a special kind of camera here, and I am photographing the interiors of all the rooms in this house.”
He was interrupted by the communicating door to the bedroom banging suddenly behind him. Elise jumped at the sound.
“What did that?”
“It must have been the wind,” said Tuppence.
“We will come into the other room,” said Tommy.
Elise went to open the door for them, but the door knob rattled aimlessly.
“What’s the matter?” said Tommy sharply.
“Ah, Monsieur, but somebody must have locked it on the other side.” She caught up a towel and tried again. But this time the door handle turned easily enough, and the door swung open.
“Voilà ce qui est curieux. It must have been stuck,” said Elise.
There was no one in the bedroom.
Tommy fetched his apparatus. Tuppence and Elise worked under his orders. But again and again his glance went back to the communicating door.
“I wonder,” he said between his teeth—“I wonder why that door stuck?”
He examined it minutely, shutting and opening it. It fitted perfectly.
“One picture more,” he said with a sigh. “Will you loop back that rose curtain, Mademoiselle Elise? Thank you. Just hold it so.”
The familiar click occurred. He handed a glass slide to Elise to hold, relinquished the tripod to Tuppence, and carefully readjusted and closed the camera.
He made some easy excuse to get rid of Elise, and as soon as she was out of the room, he caught hold of Tuppence and spoke rapidly.
“Look here, I’ve got an idea. Can you hang on here? Search all the rooms—that will take some time. Try and get an interview with the old bird—Lady Laura—but don’t alarm her. Tell her you suspect the parlourmaid. But whatever you do don’t let her leave the house. I’m going off in the car. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“All right,” said Tuppence. “But don’t be too cocksure. You’ve forgotten one thing.
“The girl. There’s something funny about that girl. Listen, I’ve found out the time she started from the house this morning. It took her two hours to get to our office. That’s nonsense. Where did she go before she came to us?”
“There’s something in that,” admitted her husband. “Well, follow up any old clue you like, but don’t let Lady Laura leave the house. What’s that?”
His quick ear had caught a faint rustle outside on the landing. He strode across to the door, but there was no one to be seen.
“Well, so long,” he said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
II
Tuppence watched him drive off in the car with a faint misgiving. Tommy was very sure—she herself was not so sure. There were one or two things she did not quite understand.
She was still standing by the window, watching the road, when she saw a man leave the shelter of a gateway opposite, cross the road and ring the bell.
In a flash Tuppence was out of the room and down the stairs. Gladys Hill, the parlourmaid, was emerging from the back part of the house, but Tuppence motioned her back authoritatively. Then she went to the front door and opened it.
A lanky young man with ill-fitting clothes and eager dark eyes was standing on the step.
He hesitated a moment, and then said:
“Is Miss Kingston Bruce in?”
“Will you come inside?” said Tuppence.
She stood aside to let him enter, closing the door.
“Mr. Rennie, I think?” she said sweetly.
He shot a quick glance at her.
“Er—yes.”
“Will you come in here, please?”
She opened the study door. The room was empty, and Tuppence entered it after him, closing the door behind her. He turned on her with a frown.
“I want to see Miss Kingston Bruce.”
“I am not quite sure that you can,” said Tuppence composedly.
“Look here, who the devil are you?” said Mr. Rennie rudely.
“International Detective Agency,” said Tuppence succinctly—and noticed Mr. Rennie’s uncontrollable start.
“Please sit down, Mr. Rennie,” she went on. “To begin with, we know all about Miss Kingston Bruce’s visit to you this morning.”
It was a bold guess, but it succeeded. Perceiving his consternation, Tuppence went on quickly.
“The recovery of the pearl is the great thing, Mr. Rennie. No one in this house is anxious for—publicity. Can’t we come to some arrangement?”
The young man looked at her keenly.
“I wonder how much you know,” he said thoughtfully. “Let me think for a moment.”
He buried his head in his hands—then asked a most unexpected question.
“I say, is it really true that young St. Vincent is engaged to be married?”
“Quite true,” said Tuppence. “I know the girl.”
Mr. Rennie suddenly became confidential.
“It’s been hell,” he confided. “They’ve been asking her morning, noon and night—chucking Beatrice at his head. All because he’ll come into a title some day. If I had my way—”
“Don’t let’s talk politics,” said Tuppence hastily. “Do you mind telling me, Mr. Rennie, why you think Miss Kingston Bruce took the pearl?”
“I—I don’t.”
“You do,” said Tuppence calmly. “You wait to see the detective, as you think, drive off and the coast clear, and then you come and ask for her. It’s obvious.If you’d taken the pearl yourself, you wouldn’t be half so upset.”
“Her manner was so odd,” said the young man. “She came this morning and told me about the robbery, explaining that she was on her way to a firm of private detectives. She seemed anxious to say something, and yet not able to get it out.”
“Well,” said Tuppence. “All I want is the pearl. You’d better go and talk to her.”
But at that moment Colonel Kingston Bruce opened the door.
“Lunch is ready, Miss Robinson. You will lunch with us, I hope. The—”
Then he stopped and glared at the guest.
“Clearly,” said Mr. Rennie, “you don’t want to ask me to lunch. All right, I’ll go.”
“Come back later,” whispered Tuppence, as he p
Tuppence followed Colonel Kingston Bruce, still growling into his moustache about the pestilential impudence of some people, into a massive dining room where the family was already assembled. Only one person present was unknown to Tuppence.
“This, Lady Laura, is Miss Robinson, who is kindly assisting us.”
Lady Laura bent her head, and then proceeded to stare at Tuppence through her pince-nez. She was a tall, thin woman, with a sad smile, a gentle voice, and very hard shrewd eyes. Tuppence returned her stare, and Lady Laura’s eyes dropped.
After lunch Lady Laura entered into conversation with an air of gentle curiosity. How was the inquiry proceeding? Tuppence laid suitable stress on the suspicion attaching to the parlourmaid, but her mind was not really on Lady Laura. Lady Laura might conceal teaspoons and other articles in her clothing, but Tuppence felt fairly sure that she had not taken the pink pearl.
Presently Tuppence proceeded with her search of the house. Time was going on. There was no sign of Tommy, and, what mattered far more to Tuppence, there was no sign of Mr. Rennie. Suddenly Tuppence came out of a bedroom and collided with Beatrice Kingston Bruce, who was going downstairs. She was fully-dressed for the street.
“I’m afraid,” said Tuppence, “that you mustn’t go out just now.”
The other girl looked at her haughtily.
“Whether I go out or not is no business of yours,” she said coldly.
“It is my business whether I communicate with the police or not, though,” said Tuppence.
In a minute the girl had turned ashy pale.
“You mustn’t—you mustn’t—I won’t go out—but don’t do that.” She clung to Tuppence beseechingly.
“My dear Miss Kingston Bruce,” said Tuppence, smiling, “the case has been perfectly clear to me from the start—I—”
But she was interrupted. In the stress of her encounter with the girl, Tuppence had not heard the front doorbell. Now, to her astonishment, Tommy came bounding up the stairs, and in the hall below she caught sight of a big burly man in the act of removing a bowler hat.
“Detective Inspector Marriot of Scotland Yard,” he said with a grin.
With a cry, Beatrice Kingston Bruce tore herself from Tuppence’s grasp and dashed down the stairs, just as the front door was opened once more to admit Mr. Rennie.
“Now you have torn it,” said Tuppence bitterly.
“Eh?” said Tommy, hurrying into Lady Laura’s room. He passed on into the bathroom and picked up a large cake of soap which he brought out in his hands. The Inspector was just mounting the stairs.
“She went quite quietly,” he announced. “She’s an old hand and knows when the game is up. What about the pearl?”
“I rather fancy,” said Tommy, handing him the soap, “that you’ll find it in here.”
The Inspector’s eyes lit up appreciatively.
“An old trick, and a good one. Cut a cake of soap in half, scoop out a place for the jewel, clap it together again, and smooth the join well over with hot water. A very smart piece of work on your part, sir.”
Tommy accepted the compliment gracefully. He and Tuppence descended the stairs. Colonel Kingston Bruce rushed at him and shook him warmly by the hand.
“My dear sir, I can’t thank you enough. Lady Laura wants to thank you also—”
“I am glad we have given you satisfaction,” said Tommy. “But I’m afraid I can’t stop. I have a most urgent appointment. Member of the Cabinet.”
He hurried out to the car and jumped in. Tuppence jumped in beside him.
“But Tommy,” she cried. “Haven’t they arrested Lady Laura after all?”
“Oh!” said Tommy. “Didn’t I tell you? They’ve not arrested Lady Laura. They’ve arrested Elise.”
“You see,” he went on, as Tuppence sat dumbfounded, “I’ve often tried to open a door with soap on my hands myself. It can’t be done—your hands slip. So I wondered what Elise could have been doing with the soap to get her hands as soapy as all that. She caught up a towel, you remember, so there were no traces of soap on the handle afterwards. But it occurred to me that if you were a professional thief, it wouldn’t be a bad plan to be maid to a lady suspected of kleptomania who stayed about a good deal in different houses. So I managed to get a photo of her as well as of the room, induced her to handle a glass slide and toddled off to dear old Scotland Yard. Lightning development of negative, successful identification of fingerprints—and photo. Elise was a long lost friend. Useful place, Scotland Yard.”
“And to think,” said Tuppence, finding her voice, “that those two young idiots were only suspecting each other in that weak way they do it in books. But why didn’t you tell me what you were up to when you went off?”
“In the first place, I suspected that Elise was listening on the landing, and in the second place—”
“Yes?”
“My learned friend forgets,” said Tommy. “Thorndyke never tells until the last moment. Besides, Tuppence, you and your pal Janet Smith put one over on me last time. This makes us all square.”
Four
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SINISTER STRANGER
“It’s been a darned dull day,” said Tommy, and yawned widely.
“Nearly tea time,” said Tuppence and also yawned.
Business was not brisk in the International Detective Agency. The eagerly expected letter from the ham merchant had not arrived and bona fide cases were not forthcoming.
Albert, the office boy, entered with a sealed package which he laid on the table.
“The Mystery of the Sealed Packet,” murmured Tommy. “Did it contain the fabulous pearls of the Russian Grand Duchess? Or was it an infernal machine destined to blow Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives to pieces?”
“As a matter of fact,” said Tuppence, tearing open the package. “It’s my wedding present to Francis Haviland. Rather nice, isn’t it?”
Tommy took a slender silver cigarette case from her outstretched hand, noted the inscription engraved in her own handwriting, “Francis from Tuppence,” opened and shut the case, and nodded approvingly.
“You do throw your money about, Tuppence,” he remarked. “I’ll have one like it, only in gold, for my birthday next month. Fancy wasting a thing like that on Francis Haviland, who always was and always will be one of the most perfect asses God ever made!”
“You forget I used to drive him about during the war, when he was a General. Ah! those were the good old days.”
“They were,” agreed Tommy. “Beautiful women used to come and squeeze my hand in hospital, I remember. But I don’t send them all wedding presents. I don’t believe the bride will care much for this gift of yours, Tuppence.”
“It’s nice and slim for the pocket, isn’t it?” said Tuppence, disregarding his remarks.
Tommy slipped it into his own pocket.
“Just right,” he said approvingly. “Hullo, here is Albert with the afternoon post. Very possibly the Duchess of Perthshire is commissioning us to find her prize Peke.”
They sorted through the letters together. Suddenly Tommy gave vent to a prolonged whistle and held up one of them in his hand.
“A blue letter with a Russian stamp on it. Do you remember what the Chief said? We were to look out for letters like that.”
“How exciting,” said Tuppence. “Something has happened at last. Open it and see if the contents are up to schedule. A ham merchant, wasn’t it? Half a minute. We shall want some milk for tea. They forgot to leave it this morning. I’ll send Albert out for it.”
She returned from the outer office, after despatching Albert on his errand, to find Tommy holding the blue sheet of paper in his hand.
“As we thought, Tuppence,” he remarked. “Almost word for word what the Chief said.”
Tuppence took the letter from him and read it.
It was couched in careful stilted English, and purported to be from one Gregor Feodorsky, who was anxious for news of his wife. The International Detective Agency was ur
“I wonder what it really means,” said Tuppence thoughtfully, smoothing out the sheet on the table in front of her.
“Code of some kind, I suppose,” said Tommy. “That’s not our business. Our business is to hand it over to the Chief as soon as possible. Better just verify it by soaking off the stamp and seeing if the number 16 is underneath.”
“All right,” said Tuppence. “But I should think—”
She stopped dead, and Tommy, surprised by her sudden pause, looked up to see a man’s burly figure blocking the doorway.
The intruder was a man of commanding presence, squarely built, with a very round head and a powerful jaw. He might have been about forty-five years of age.
“I must beg your pardon,” said the stranger, advancing into the room, hat in hand. “I found your outer office empty and this door open, so I ventured to intrude. This is Blunt’s International Detective Agency, is it not?”
“Certainly it is.”
“And you are, perhaps, Mr. Blunt? Mr. Theodore Blunt?”
“I am Mr. Blunt. You wish to consult me? This is my secretary, Miss Robinson.”
Tuppence inclined her head gracefully, but continued to scrutinise the stranger narrowly through her downcast eyelashes. She was wondering how long he had been standing in the doorway, and how much he had seen and heard. It did not escape her observation that even while he was talking to Tommy, his eyes kept coming back to the blue paper in her hand.
Tommy’s voice, sharp with a warning note, recalled her to the needs of the moment.
“Miss Robinson, please, take notes. Now, sir, will you kindly state the matter on which you wish to have my advice?”
Tuppence reached for her pad and pencil.
The big man began in rather a harsh voice.
“My name is Bower. Dr. Charles Bower. I live in Hampstead, where I have a practice. I have come to you, Mr. Blunt, because several rather strange occurrences have happened lately.”