The Secret Adversary by Agatha Christie
CHAPTER XXII. IN DOWNING STREET
THE Prime Minister tapped the desk in front of him with nervous fingers.His face was worn and harassed. He took up his conversation with Mr.Carter at the point it had broken off. “I don’t understand,” he said.“Do you really mean that things are not so desperate after all?”
“So this lad seems to think.”
“Let’s have a look at his letter again.”
Mr. Carter handed it over. It was written in a sprawling boyish hand.
“DEAR MR. CARTER,
“Something’s turned up that has given me a jar. Of course I may besimply making an awful ass of myself, but I don’t think so. If myconclusions are right, that girl at Manchester was just a plant. Thewhole thing was prearranged, sham packet and all, with the object ofmaking us think the game was up--therefore I fancy that we must havebeen pretty hot on the scent.
“I think I know who the real Jane Finn is, and I’ve even got an ideawhere the papers are. That last’s only a guess, of course, but I’ve asort of feeling it’ll turn out right. Anyhow, I enclose it in a sealedenvelope for what it’s worth. I’m going to ask you not to open it untilthe very last moment, midnight on the 28th, in fact. You’ll understandwhy in a minute. You see, I’ve figured it out that those things ofTuppence’s are a plant too, and she’s no more drowned than I am. The wayI reason is this: as a last chance they’ll let Jane Finn escape inthe hope that she’s been shamming this memory stunt, and that once shethinks she’s free she’ll go right away to the cache. Of course it’san awful risk for them to take, because she knows all about them--butthey’re pretty desperate to get hold of that treaty. _But if they knowthat the papers have been recovered by us_, neither of those two girls’lives will be worth an hour’s purchase. I must try and get hold ofTuppence before Jane escapes.
“I want a repeat of that telegram that was sent to Tuppence at the_Ritz_. Sir James Peel Edgerton said you would be able to manage thatfor me. He’s frightfully clever.
“One last thing--please have that house in Soho watched day and night.
“Yours, etc.,
“THOMAS BERESFORD.”
The Prime Minister looked up.
“The enclosure?”
Mr. Carter smiled dryly.
“In the vaults of the Bank. I am taking no chances.”
“You don’t think”--the Prime Minister hesitated a minute--“that it wouldbe better to open it now? Surely we ought to secure the document, thatis, provided the young man’s guess turns out to be correct, at once. Wecan keep the fact of having done so quite secret.”
“Can we? I’m not so sure. There are spies all round us. Once it’s knownI wouldn’t give that”--he snapped his fingers--“for the life of thosetwo girls. No, the boy trusted me, and I shan’t let him down.”
“Well, well, we must leave it at that, then. What’s he like, this lad?”
“Outwardly, he’s an ordinary clean-limbed, rather block-headed youngEnglishman. Slow in his mental processes. On the other hand, it’s quiteimpossible to lead him astray through his imagination. He hasn’t gotany--so he’s difficult to deceive. He worries things out slowly, andonce he’s got hold of anything he doesn’t let go. The little lady’squite different. More intuition and less common sense. They make apretty pair working together. Pace and stamina.”
“He seems confident,” mused the Prime Minister.
“Yes, and that’s what gives me hope. He’s the kind of diffident youthwho would have to be _very_ sure before he ventured an opinion at all.”
A half smile came to the other’s lips.
“And it is this--boy who will defeat the master criminal of our time?”
“This--boy, as you say! But I sometimes fancy I see a shadow behind.”
“You mean?”
“Peel Edgerton.”
“Peel Edgerton?” said the Prime Minister in astonishment.
“Yes. I see his hand in _this_.” He struck the open letter. “He’sthere--working in the dark, silently, unobtrusively. I’ve always feltthat if anyone was to run Mr. Brown to earth, Peel Edgerton would be theman. I tell you he’s on the case now, but doesn’t want it known. By theway, I got rather an odd request from him the other day.”
“Yes?”
“He sent me a cutting from some American paper. It referred to a man’sbody found near the docks in New York about three weeks ago. He asked meto collect any information on the subject I could.”
“Well?”
Carter shrugged his shoulders.
“I couldn’t get much. Young fellow about thirty-five--poorlydressed--face very badly disfigured. He was never identified.”
“And you fancy that the two matters are connected in some way?”
“Somehow I do. I may be wrong, of course.”
There was a pause, then Mr. Carter continued:
“I asked him to come round here. Not that we’ll get anything out of himhe doesn’t want to tell. His legal instincts are too strong. But there’sno doubt he can throw light on one or two obscure points in youngBeresford’s letter. Ah, here he is!”
The two men rose to greet the new-comer. A half whimsical thoughtflashed across the Premier’s mind. “My successor, perhaps!”
“We’ve had a letter from young Beresford,” said Mr. Carter, coming tothe point at once. “You’ve seen him, I suppose?”
“You suppose wrong,” said the lawyer.
“Oh!” Mr. Carter was a little nonplussed.
Sir James smiled, and stroked his chin.
“He rang me up,” he volunteered.
“Would you have any objection to telling us exactly what passed betweenyou?”
“Not at all. He thanked me for a certain letter which I had written tohim--as a matter of fact, I had offered him a job. Then he remindedme of something I had said to him at Manchester respecting that bogustelegram which lured Miss Cowley away. I asked him if anything untowardhad occurred. He said it had--that in a drawer in Mr. Hersheimmer’s roomhe had discovered a photograph.” The lawyer paused, then continued: “Iasked him if the photograph bore the name and address of a Californianphotographer. He replied: ‘You’re on to it, sir. It had.’ Then he wenton to tell me something I _didn’t_ know. The original of that photographwas the French girl, Annette, who saved his life.”
“What?”
“Exactly. I asked the young man with some curiosity what he had donewith the photograph. He replied that he had put it back where he foundit.” The lawyer paused again. “That was good, you know--distinctlygood. He can use his brains, that young fellow. I congratulated him. Thediscovery was a providential one. Of course, from the moment that thegirl in Manchester was proved to be a plant everything was altered.Young Beresford saw that for himself without my having to tell ithim. But he felt he couldn’t trust his judgment on the subject ofMiss Cowley. Did I think she was alive? I told him, duly weighing theevidence, that there was a very decided chance in favour of it. Thatbrought us back to the telegram.”
“Yes?”
“I advised him to apply to you for a copy of the original wire. Ithad occurred to me as probable that, after Miss Cowley flung it on thefloor, certain words might have been erased and altered with the expressintention of setting searchers on a false trail.”
Carter nodded. He took a sheet from his pocket, and read aloud:
“Come at once, Astley Priors, Gatehouse, Kent. Greatdevelopments--TOMMY.”
“Very simple,” said Sir James, “and very ingenious. Just a few wordsto alter, and the thing was done. And the one important clue theyoverlooked.”
“What was that?”
“The page-boy’s statement that Miss Cowley drove to Charing Cross. Theywere so sure of themselves that they took it for granted he had made amistake.”
“Then young Beresford is now?”
“At Gatehouse, Kent, unless I am much mistaken.”
Mr. Carter looked at him curiously.
“I rather wonder you’re not there too, Peel Edgerton?”
“Ah, I’m busy on a case.”
“I thought you were on your holiday?”
“Oh, I’ve not been briefed. Perhaps it would be more correct to say I’mpreparing a case. Any more facts about that American chap for me?”
“I’m afraid not. Is it important to find out who he was?”
“Oh, I know who he was,” said Sir James easily. “I can’t prove ityet--but I know.”
The other two asked no questions. They had an instinct that it would bemere waste of breath.
“But what I don’t understand,” said the Prime-Minister suddenly, “is howthat photograph came to be in Mr. Hersheimmer’s drawer?”
“Perhaps it never left it,” suggested the lawyer gently.
“But the bogus inspector? Inspector Brown?”
“Ah!” said Sir James thoughtfully. He rose to his feet. “I mustn’t keepyou. Go on with the affairs of the nation. I must get back to--my case.”
Two days later Julius Hersheimmer returned from Manchester. A note fromTommy lay on his table:
“DEAR HERSHEIMMER,
“Sorry I lost my temper. In case I don’t see you again, good-bye. I’vebeen offered a job in the Argentine, and might as well take it.
“Yours,
“TOMMY BERESFORD.”
A peculiar smile lingered for a moment on Julius’s face. He threw theletter into the waste-paper basket.
“The darned fool!” he murmured.