Partners in Crime tat-2 Page 5

  In another minute the Scotland Yard detective was entering the inner office. In appearance, Inspector Dymchurch was of the same type as Inspector Marriot, short and thick set, with shrewd eyes.

  "Good afternoon," said the detective breezily. "Marriot's away in South Wales, but before he went, he asked me to keep an eye on you two, and on this place in general. Oh! bless you, sir," he went on, as Tommy seemed about to interrupt him, "we know all about it. It's not our department, and we don't interfere. But somebody's got wise lately to the fact that all is not what it seems. You've had a gentleman here this afternoon. I don't know what he called himself, and I don't know what his real name is, but I know just a little about him. Enough to want to know more. Am I right in assuming that he made a date with you for some particular spot this evening?"

  "Quite right."

  "I thought as much. 16 Westerham Road, Finsbury Park? Was that it?"

  "You're wrong there," said Tommy with a smile. "Dead wrong. The Larches, Hampstead."

  Dymchurch seemed honestly taken aback. Clearly he had not expected this.

  "I don't understand it," he muttered. "It must be a new layout. The Larches, Hampstead, you said?"

  "Yes. I'm to meet him there at eleven o'clock to-night."

  "Don't you do it, sir."

  "There!" burst from Tuppence.

  Tommy flushed.

  "If you think, Inspector-" he began heatedly.

  But the Inspector raised a soothing hand.

  "I'll tell you what I think, Mr. Blunt. The place you want to be at eleven o'clock to-night is here in this office."

  "What?" cried Tuppence, astonished.

  "Here in this office. Never mind how I know-departments overlap sometimes-but you got one of those famous "Blue" letters to-day. Old what's his name is after that. He lures you up to Hampstead, makes quite sure of your being out of the way, and steps in here at night when all the building is empty and quiet to have a good search round at his leisure."

  "But why should he think the letter would be here? He'd know I should have it on me or else have passed it on."

  "Begging your pardon, sir, that's just what he wouldn't know. He may have tumbled to the fact that you're not the original Mr. Blunt, but he probably thinks that you're a bona fide gentleman who's bought the business. In that case, the letter would be all in the way of regular business and would be filed as such."

  "I see," said Tuppence.

  "And that's just what we've got to let him think. We'll catch him red handed here to-night."

  "So that's the plan, is it?"

  "Yes. It's the chance of a lifetime. Now, let me see, what's the time? Six o'clock. What time do you usually leave here, sir?"

  "About six."

  "You must seem to leave the place as usual. Actually we'll sneak back to it as soon as possible. I don't believe they'll come here till about eleven, but of course they might. If you'll excuse me, I'll just go and take a look round outside and see if I can make out anyone watching the place."

  Dymchurch departed, and Tommy began an argument with Tuppence.

  It lasted some time and was heated and acrimonious. In the end Tuppence suddenly capitulated.

  "All right," she said. "I give in. I'll go home, and sit there like a good little girl whilst you tackle crooks and hob nob with detectives-but you wait, young man. I'll be even with you yet for keeping me out of the fun."

  Dymchurch returned at that moment.

  "Coast seems clear enough," he said. "But you can't tell. Better seem to leave in the usual manner. They won't go on watching the place once you've gone."

  Tommy called Albert, and gave him instructions to lock up.

  Then the four of them made their way to the garage near by where the car was usually left. Tuppence drove and Albert sat beside her. Tommy and the detective sat behind.

  Presently they were held up by a block in the traffic. Tuppence looked over her shoulder and nodded. Tommy and the detective opened the right hand door, and stepped out into the middle of Oxford Street. In a minute or two Tuppence drove on.

  6. The Adventure of the Sinister Stranger (continued)

  6. The Adventure of the Sinister Stranger (continued)

  "Better not go in just yet," said Dymchurch as he and Tommy hurried into Haleham Street. "You've got the key all right?"

  Tommy nodded.

  "Then what about a bite of dinner? It's early, but there's a little place here right opposite. We'll get a table by the window, so that we can watch the place all the time."

  They had a very welcome little meal, in the manner the detective had suggested. Tommy found Inspector Dymchurch quite an entertaining companion. Most of his official work had lain amongst international spies, and he had tales to tell which astonished his simple listener.

  They remained in the little Restaurant until eight o'clock when Dymchurch suggested a move.

  "It's quite dark now, sir," he explained. "We shall be able to slip in without anyone being the wiser."

  It was, as he said, quite dark. They crossed the road looked quickly up and down the deserted street, and slipped inside the entrance. Then they mounted the stairs, and Tommy inserted his key in the lock of the outer office.

  Just as he did so, he heard, as he thought, Dymchurch whistle beside him.

  "What are you whistling for?" he asked sharply.

  "I didn't whistle," said Dymchurch, very much astonished, "I thought you did."

  "Well, someone-" began Tommy.

  He got no further. Strong arms seized him from behind, and before he could cry out, a pad of something sweet and sickly was pressed over his mouth and nose.

  He struggled valiantly, but in vain. The chloroform did its work. His head began to whirl and the floor heaved up and down in front of him. Choking, he lost consciousness…

  He came to himself painfully but in full possession of his faculties. The chloroform had been only a whiff. They had kept him under long enough to force a gag into his mouth and ensure that he did not cry out.

  When he came to himself, he was half lying, half sitting, propped against the wall in a corner of his own inner office. Two men were busily turning out the contents of the desk, and ransacking the cupboards, and as they worked they cursed freely.

  "Swelp me, guvnor," said the taller of the two hoarsely, "we've turned the whole bloody place upside down and inside out. It's not there."

  "It must be here," snarled the other. "It isn't on him. And there's no other place it can be."

  As he spoke he turned, and to Tommy's utter amazement he saw that the last speaker was none other than Inspector Dymchurch. The latter grinned when he saw Tommy's astonished face.

  "So our young friend is awake again," he said. "And a little surprised-yes, a little surprised. But it was so simple. We suspect that all is not as it should be with the International Detective Agency. I volunteer to find out if that is so, or not. If the new Mr. Blunt is indeed a spy, he will be suspicious, so I send first my dear old friend Carl Bauer. Carl is told to act suspiciously and pitch an improbable tale. He does so, and then I appear on the scene. I use the name of Inspector Marriot to gain confidence. The rest is easy."

  He laughed.

  Tommy was dying to say several things, but the gag in his mouth prevented him. Also, he was dying to do several things -mostly with his hands and feet-but alas, that too had been attended to. He was securely bound.

  The thing that amazed him most was the astounding change in the man standing over him. As Inspector Dymchurch, the fellow had been a typical Englishman. Now, no one could have mistaken him for a moment for anything but a well educated foreigner who talked English perfectly without trace of accent.

  "Coggins, my good friend," said the erstwhile Inspector, addressing his ruffianly looking associate. "Take your life preserver and stand by the prisoner. I am going to remove the gag. You understand, my dear Mr. Blunt, do you not, that is would be criminally foolish on your part to cry out? But I am sure you do. For your age, you are quite
an intelligent lad."

  Very deftly he removed the gag, and stepped back.

  Tommy eased his stiff jaws, rolled his tongue round his mouth, swallowed twice-and said nothing at all.

  "I congratulate you on your restraint," said the other. "You appreciate the position, I see. Have you nothing at all to say?"

  "What I have to say will keep," said Tommy. "And it won't spoil by waiting."

  "Ah! What I have to say will not keep. In plain English, Mr. Blunt, where is that letter?"

  "My dear fellow, I don't know," said Tommy cheerfully. "I haven't got it. But you know that as well as I do. I should go on looking about if I were you. I like to see you and friend Coggins playing Hide and Seek together."

  The other's face darkened.

  "You are pleased to be flippant, Mr. Blunt. You see that square box over there. That is Coggins' little outfit. In it there is vitriol… yes, vitriol… and irons that can be heated in the fire, so that they are red hot and burn…"

  Tommy shook his head sadly.

  "An error in diagnosis," he murmured. "Tuppence and I labelled this adventure wrong. It's not a Clubfoot story. It's a Bull Dog Drummond, and you are the inimitable Carl Peterson."

  "What is this nonsense you are talking?" snarled the other.

  "Ah!" said Tommy. "I see you are unacquainted with the Classics. A pity."

  "Ignorant fool? Will you do what we want or will you not? Shall I tell Coggins to get out his tools and begin?"

  "Don't be so impatient," said Tommy. "Of course I'll do what you want, as soon as you tell me what it is. You don't suppose I want to be carved up like a filleted sole and fried on a gridiron? I loathe being hurt."

  Dymchurch looked at him in contempt.

  "Gott! What cowards are these English."

  "Common sense, my dear fellow, merely common sense. Leave the vitriol alone, and let us come down to brass tacks."

  "I want the letter."

  "I've already told you I haven't got it."

  "We know that-we also know who must have it. The girl."

  "Very possibly you're right," said Tommy. "She may have slipped it into her handbag when your pal Carl startled us."

  "Oh, you do not deny. That is wise. Very good, you will write to this Tuppence, as you call her, bidding her bring the letter here immediately."

  "I can't do that," began Tommy.

  The other cut in before he had finished the sentence.

  "Ah! You can't? Well, we shall soon see. Coggins!"

  "Don't be in such a hurry," said Tommy. "And do wait for the end of the sentence. I was going to say that I can't do that unless you untie my arms. Hang it all, I'm not one of those freaks who can write with their noses or their elbows."

  "You are willing to write, then?"

  "Of course. Haven't I been telling you so all along? I'm all out to be pleasant and obliging. You won't do anything unkind to Tuppence, of course. I'm sure you won't. She's such a nice girl."

  "We only want the letter," said Dymchurch, but there was a singularly unpleasant smile on his face.

  At a nod from him, the brutal Coggins knealt down and unfastened Tommy's arms. The latter swung them to and fro.

  "That's better," he said cheerfully. "Will kind Coggins hand me my fountain pen? It's on the table, I think, with my other miscellaneous property."

  Scowling, the man brought it to hire, and provided a sheet of paper.

  "Be careful what you say," Dymchurch said menacingly.

  "We leave it to you, but failure means-death-and slow death at that."

  "In that case," said Tommy, "I will certainly do my best."

  He reflected a minute or two, then began to scribble rapidly.

  "How will this do?" he asked, handing over the completed epistle.

  Dear Tuppence,

  Can you come along at once and bring that blue letter

  with you? We want to decode it here and now.

  In haste

  Francis

  "Francis?" queried the bogus Inspector, with lifted eyebrows. "Was that the name she called you?"

  "As you weren't at my christening," said Tommy, "I don't suppose you can know whether it's my name or not. But I think the cigarette case you took from my pocket is a pretty good proof that I'm speaking the truth."

  The other stepped over to the table and took up the case, read "Francis from Tuppence," with a faint grin and laid it down again.

  "I am glad to find you are behaving so sensibly," he said. "Coggins, give that note to Vassily. He is on guard outside. Tell him to take it at once."

  The next twenty minutes passed slowly, the ten minutes after that more slowly still. Dymchurch was striding up and down with a face that grew darker and darker. Once he turned menacingly on Tommy.

  "If you have dared to double cross us…" he growled.

  "If we'd had a pack of cards here, we might have had a game of picquet to pass the time," drawled Tommy. "Women always keep one waiting. I hope you're not going to be unkind to little Tuppence when she comes?"

  "Oh! no," said Dymchurch. "We shall arrange for you to go to the same place-together."

  "Will you, you swine," said Tommy under his breath.

  Suddenly there was a stir in the outer office. A man whom Tommy had not yet seen poked his head in and growled something in Russian.

  "Good," said Dymchurch. "She is coming-and coming alone."

  For a moment a faint anxiety caught at Tommy's heart.

  The next minute he heard Tuppence's voice.

  "Oh! there you are, Inspector Dymchurch. I've brought the letter. Where is Francis?"

  With the last words she came through the door, and Vassily sprang on her from behind, clapping his hand over her mouth. Dymchurch tore the handbag from her grasp, and turned over its contents in a frenzied search.

  Suddenly he uttered an ejaculation of delight and held up a blue envelope with a Russian stamp on it. Coggins gave a hoarse shout.

  And just in that minute of triumph, the other door, the door into Tuppence's own office, opened noiselessly and Inspector Marriott and two men armed with revolvers stepped into the room, with the sharp command: "Hands Up!"

  There was no fight. The others were taken at a hopeless disadvantage. Dymchurch's automatic lay on the table, and the two others were not armed.

  "A very nice little haul," said Inspector Marriott with approval, as he snapped on the last pair of handcuffs. "And we'll have more as time goes on, I hope."

  White with rage, Dymchurch glared at Tuppence.

  "You little devil," he snarled, "It was you put them on to us."

  "It wasn't all my doing. I ought to have guessed, I admit, when you brought in the number sixteen this afternoon. But it was Tommy's note clinched matters. I rang up Inspector Marriot, got Albert to meet him with the duplicate key of the office, and came along myself with the empty blue envelope in my bag. The letter I forwarded according to my instructions as soon as I had parted from you two this afternoon."

  But one word had caught the other's attention.

  "Tommy?" he queried.

  Tommy who had just been released from his bonds came towards them.

  "Well done, brother Francis," he said to Tuppence, taking both her hands in his. And to Dymchurch: "As I told you, my dear fellow, you really ought to read the Classics."

  7. Finessing the King

  7. Finessing the King

  It was a wet Wednesday in the offices of the International Detective Agency. Tuppence let the Daily Leader fall idly from her hand.

  "Do you know what I've been thinking, Tommy?"

  "It's impossible to say," replied her husband. "You think of so many things, and you think of them all at once."

  "I think it's time we went dancing again."

  Tommy picked up the Daily Leader hastily.

  "Our advertisement looks well," he remarked, his head on one side. "Blunt's Brilliant Detectives. Do you realise, Tuppence, that you and you alone are Blunt's Brilliant Detectives? There's glory for
you, as Humpty Dumpty would say."

  "I was talking about dancing."

  "There's a curious point that I have observed about newspapers. I wonder if you have ever noticed it. Take these three copies of the Daily Leader. Can you tell me how they differ one from the other?"

  Tuppence took them with some curiosity.

  "It seems fairly easy," she remarked witheringly. "One is to-day's, one is yesterday's, and one is the day before's."

  "Positively scintillating, my dear Watson. But that was not my meaning. Observe the headline, 'The Daily Leader.' Compare the three-do you see any difference between them?"

  "No, I don't," said Tuppence, "and what's more, I don't believe there is any."

  Tommy sighed, and brought the tips of his fingers together in the most approved Sherlock Holmes fashion.

  "Exactly. Yet you read the papers as much-in fact, more than I do. But I have observed and you have not. If you will look at today's Daily Leader, you will see that in the middle of the downstroke of the D is a small white dot, and there is another in the L of the same word. But in yesterday's paper the white dot is not in DAILY at all. There are two white dots in the L of LEADER. That of the day before again has two dots in the D of DAILY. In fact, the dot, or dots, are in a different position every day."

  "Why?" asked Tuppence.

  "That's a journalistic secret."

  "Meaning you don't know, and can't guess."

  "I will merely say this-the practice is common to all newspapers."

  "Aren't you clever?" said Tuppence. "Especially at drawing red herrings across the track. Let's go back to what we were talking about before."

  "What were we talking about?"

  "The Three Arts Ball."

  Tommy groaned.

  "No, no, Tuppence. Not the Three Arts Ball. I'm not young enough. I assure you I'm not young enough."

  "When I was a nice young girl," said Tuppence, "I was brought up to believe that men-especially husbands-were dissipated beings, fond of drinking and dancing and staying up late at night. It took an exceptionally beautiful and clever wife to keep them at home. Another illusion gone! All the wives I know are hankering to go out and dance, and weeping because their husbands will wear bedroom slippers and go to bed at half past nine. And you do dance so nicely, Tommy dear."