A POT OF TEA
Mr. and Mrs. Beresford took possession of the offices of the
International Detective Agency a few days later. They were on the
second floor of a somewhat dilapidated building in Bloomsbury. In the
small outer office, Albert relinquished the rôle of a Long Island
butler, and took up that of office boy, a part which he played to
perfection. A paper bag of sweets, inky hands, and a tousled head was
his conception of the character.
From the outer office, two doors led into inner offices. On one door
was painted the legend "Clerks." On the other "Private." Behind
the latter was a small comfortable room furnished with an immense
businesslike desk, a lot of artistically labelled files, all empty,
and some solid leather-seated chairs. Behind the desk sat the pseudo
Mr. Blunt trying to look as though he had run a detective agency all
his life. A telephone, of course, stood at his elbow. Tuppence and he
had rehearsed several good telephone effects, and Albert also had his
instructions.
In the adjoining room was Tuppence, a typewriter, the necessary tables
and chairs of an inferior type to those in the room of the great Chief,
and a gas ring for making tea.
Nothing was wanting, in fact, save clients.
Tuppence, in the first ecstasies of initiation, had a few bright hopes.
"It will be too marvellous," she declared. "We will hunt down
murderers, and discover the missing family jewels, and find people
who've disappeared and detect embezzlers."
At this point Tommy felt it his duty to strike a more discouraging
note.
"Calm yourself, Tuppence, and try and forget the cheap fiction you are
in the habit of reading. Our clientele, if we have any clientele at
all--will consist solely of husbands who want their wives shadowed, and
wives who want their husbands shadowed. Evidence for divorce is the
sole prop of private inquiry agents."
"Ugh!" said Tuppence wrinkling a fastidious nose. "We shan't touch
divorce cases. We must raise the tone of our new profession."
"Ye-es," said Tommy doubtfully.
And now a week after installation they compare notes rather ruefully.
"Three idiotic women whose husbands go away for weekends," sighed
Tommy. "Anyone come whilst I was out at lunch?"
"A fat old man with a flighty wife," sighed Tuppence sadly. "I've read
in the papers for years that the divorce evil was growing, but somehow
I never seemed to realize it until this last week. I'm sick and tired
of saying 'We don't undertake divorce cases.'"
"We've put it in the advertisements now," Tommy reminded her. "So it
won't be so bad."
"I'm sure we advertise in the most tempting way too," said Tuppence,
in a melancholy voice. "All the same, I'm not going to be beaten. If
necessary, I shall commit a crime myself, and you will detect it."
"And what good would that do? Think of my feelings when I bid you a
tender farewell at Bow Street--or is it Vine Street?"
"You are thinking of your bachelor days," said Tuppence pointedly.
"The Old Bailey, that is what I mean," said Tommy.
"Well," said Tuppence, "something has got to be done about it. Here we
are bursting with talent and no chance of exercising it."
"I always like your cheery optimism, Tuppence. You seem to have no
doubt whatever that you have talent to exercise."
"Of course," said Tuppence opening her eyes very wide.
"And yet you have no expert knowledge whatever."
"Well, I have read every detective novel that has been published in the
last ten years."
"So have I," said Tommy, "but I have a sort of feeling that that
wouldn't really help us much."
"You always were a pessimist, Tommy. Belief in oneself--that is the
great thing."
"Well, you have got it all right," said her husband.
"Of course it is all right in detective stories," said Tuppence
thoughtfully, "because one works backwards. I mean if one knows the
solution one can arrange the clues. I wonder now--"
She paused, wrinkling her brows.
"Yes?" said Tommy, inquiringly.
"I have got a sort of an idea," said Tuppence. "It hasn't quite come
yet but it's coming." She rose resolutely. "I think I shall go and buy
that hat I told you about."
"Oh God!" said Tommy. "Another hat!"
"It's a very nice one," said Tuppence with dignity.
She went out with a resolute look on her face.
Once or twice in the following days Tommy inquired curiously about the
idea. Tuppence merely shook her head and told him to give her time.
And then, one glorious morning, the first client arrived, and all else
was forgotten.
There was a knock on the outer door of the office and Albert, who had
just placed an acid drop between his lips, roared out an indistinct
'come in.' He then swallowed the acid drop whole in his surprise and
delight. For this looked like the Real Thing.
A tall young man, exquisitely and beautifully dressed, stood hesitating
in the doorway.
"A toff, if ever there was one," said Albert to himself. His judgment
in such matters was good.
The young man was about twenty-four years of age, had beautifully
slicked-back hair, a tendency to pink rims round the eyes, and
practically no chin to speak of.
In an ecstasy, Albert pressed a button under his desk, and almost
immediately a perfect fusilade of typing broke out from the direction
of 'Clerks.' Tuppence had rushed to the post of duty. The effect of
this hum of industry was to overawe the young man still further.
"I say," he remarked. "Is this the whatnot--detective agency--Blunt's
Brilliant Detectives? All that sort of stuff, you know? Eh?"
"Did you want, sir, to speak to Mr. Blunt himself?" inquired Albert,
with an air of doubt as to whether such a thing could be managed.
"Well--yes, laddie, that was the jolly old idea. Can it be done?"
"You haven't an appointment, I suppose?"
The visitor became more and more apologetic.
"Afraid I haven't."
"It's always wise, sir, to ring up on the phone first. Mr. Blunt is so
terribly busy. He's engaged on the telephone at the moment. Called into
consultation by Scotland Yard."
The young man seemed suitably impressed.
Albert lowered his voice, and imparted information in a friendly
fashion.
"Important theft of documents from a Government Office. They want Mr.
Blunt to take up the case."
"Oh! really. I say. He must be no end of a fellow."
"The Boss, sir," said Albert, "is It."
The young man sat down on a hard chair, completely unconscious of the
fact that he was being subjected to keen scrutiny by two pairs of eyes
looking through cunningly contrived peepholes--those of Tuppence, in
the intervals of frenzied typing, and those of Tommy awaiting the
suitable moment.
Presently a bell rang with violence on Albert's desk.
"The Boss is free now. I will find out whether he can see you," said
Albert, and disappeared through the door marked "Private."
He reappeared immediately.
"Will you come this way, sir?"
The visitor was ushered into the private office, and a pleasant faced
young man with red hair and an air of brisk capability rose to greet
him.
"Sit down. You wished to consult me? I am Mr. Blunt."
"Oh! really. I say, you're awfully young, aren't you?"
"The day of the Old Men is over," said Tommy waving his hand. "Who
caused the War? The Old Men. Who is responsible for the present state
of unemployment? The Old Men. Who is responsible for every single
rotten thing that has happened? Again I say, the Old Men!"
"I expect you are right," said the client. "I know a fellow who is a
poet--at least he says he is a poet--and he always talks like that."
"Let me tell you this, sir, not a person on my highly trained staff is
a day over twenty-five. That is the truth."
Since the highly trained staff consisted of Tuppence and Albert, the
statement was truth itself.
"And now--the facts," said Mr. Blunt.
"I want you to find someone that's missing," blurted out the young man.
"Quite so. Will you give me the details?"
"Well, you see, it's rather difficult. I mean, it's a frightfully
delicate business and all that. She might be frightfully waxy about it.
I mean--well, it's so dashed difficult to explain."
He looked helplessly at Tommy. Tommy felt annoyed. He had been on the
point of going out to lunch, but he foresaw that getting the facts out
of this client would be a long and tedious business.
"Did she disappear of her own free will, or do you suspect abduction?"
he demanded crisply.
"I don't know," said the young man. "I don't know anything."
Tommy reached for a pad and pencil.
"First of all," he said, "will you give me your name? My office boy
is trained never to ask names. In that way consultations can remain
completely confidential."
"Oh! rather," said the young man. "Jolly good idea. My name--er--my
name's Smith."
"Oh! no," said Tommy. "The real one, please."
His visitor looked at him in awe.
"Er--St. Vincent," he said. "Lawrence St. Vincent."
"It's a curious thing," said Tommy, "how very few people there are
whose real name is Smith. Personally, I don't know anyone called Smith.
But nine men out of ten who wish to conceal their real name give that
of Smith. I am writing a monograph upon the subject."
At that moment a buzzer purred discreetly on his desk. That meant that
Tuppence was requesting to take hold. Tommy, who wanted his lunch, and
who felt profoundly unsympathetic towards Mr. St. Vincent, was only too
pleased to relinquish the helm.
"Excuse me," he said, and picked up the telephone.
Across his face there shot rapid changes--surprise, consternation,
slight elation.
"You don't say so," he said into the phone. "The Prime Minister
himself? Of course, in that case, I will come round at once."
He replaced the receiver on the hook, and turned to his client.
"My dear sir, I must ask you to excuse me. A most urgent summons. If
you will give the facts of the case to my confidential secretary, she
will deal with them."
He strode to the adjoining door.
"Miss Robinson."
Tuppence, very neat and demure with smooth black head and dainty collar
and cuffs, tripped in. Tommy made the necessary introductions and
departed.
"A lady you take an interest in has disappeared, I understand, Mr. St.
Vincent," said Tuppence, in her soft voice, as she sat down and took up
Mr. Blunt's pad and pencil. "A young lady?"
"Oh! rather," said Mr. St. Vincent. "Young--and--and--awfully
good-looking and all that sort of thing."
Tuppence's face grew grave.
"Dear me," she murmured. "I hope that--"
"You don't think anything's really happened to her?" demanded Mr. St.
Vincent, in lively concern.
"Oh! we must hope for the best," said Tuppence, with a kind of false
cheerfulness which depressed Mr. St. Vincent horribly.
"Oh! look here, Miss Robinson. I say, you must do something. Spare no
expense. I wouldn't have anything happen to her for the world. You seem
awfully sympathetic, and I don't mind telling you in confidence that
I simply worship the ground that girl walks on. She's a topper, an
absolute topper."
"Please tell me her name and all about her."
"Her name's Janet--I don't know her second name. She works in a hat
shop--Madame Violette's in Brook Street--but she's as straight as
they make them. Has ticked me off no end of times--I went round there
yesterday--waiting for her to come out--all the others came, but not
her. Then I found that she'd never turned up that morning to work at
all--sent no message either--old Madame was furious about it. I got
the address of her lodgings, and I went round there. She hadn't come
home the night before, and they didn't know where she was. I was simply
frantic. I thought of going to the police. But I knew that Janet would
be absolutely furious with me for doing that if she were really all
right and had gone off on her own. Then I remembered that she herself
had pointed out your advertisement to me one day in the paper and told
me that one of the women who'd been in buying hats had simply raved
about your ability and discretion and all that sort of thing. So I
toddled along here right away."
"I see," said Tuppence. "What is the address of her lodgings?"
The young man gave it to her.
"That's all, I think," said Tuppence reflectively. "That is to say--am
I to understand that you are engaged to this young lady?"
Mr. St. Vincent turned a brick red.
"Well, no--not exactly. I never said anything. But I can tell you this,
I mean to ask her to marry me as soon as ever I see her--if I ever do
see her again."
Tuppence laid aside her pad.
"Do you wish for our special twenty-four hour service?" she asked, in
business like tones.
"What's that?"
"The fees are doubled, but we put all our available staff on to the
case. Mr. St. Vincent, if the lady is alive, I shall be able to tell
you where she is by this time to-morrow."
"What? I say, that's wonderful."
"We only employ experts--and we guarantee results," said Tuppence
crisply.
"But I say, you know. You must have the most topping staff."
"Oh! we have," said Tuppence. "By the way, you haven't given me a
description of the young lady."
"She's got the most marvellous hair--sort of golden, but very deep,
like a jolly old sunset--that's it, a jolly old sunset. You know, I
never noticed things like sunsets until lately. Poetry too, there's a
lot more in poetry than I ever thought."
"Red hair," said Tuppence unemotionally, writing it down. "What height
should you say the lady was?"
"Oh! tallish, and she's got ripping eyes, dark blue, I think. And a
sort of decided manner with her--takes a fellow up short sometimes."
Tuppence wrote down a few words more, then closed her note book and
rose.
"If you will call here to-morrow at two o'clock, I think we shall have
news of some kind for you," she said. "Good morning, Mr. St. Vincent."
When Tommy returned Tuppence was just consulting a page of Debrett.
"I've got all the details," she said succinctly. "Lawrence St. Vincent
is the nephew and heir of the Earl of Cheriton. If we pull this through
we shall get publicity in the highest places."
Tommy read through the notes on the pad.
"What do you really think has happened to the girl?" he asked.
"I think," said Tuppence, "that she has fled at the dictates of her
heart, feeling that she loves this young man too well for her peace of
mind."
Tommy looked at her doubtfully.
"I know they do it in books," he said, "but I've never known any girl
who did it in real life."
"No?" said Tuppence. "Well, perhaps you're right. But I daresay
Lawrence St. Vincent will swallow that sort of slush. He's full
of romantic notions just now. By the way, I guaranteed results in
twenty-four hours--our special service."
"Tuppence--you congenital idiot, what made you do that?"
"The idea just came into my head. I thought it sounded rather well.
Don't you worry. Leave it to Mother. Mother knows best."
She went out, leaving Tommy profoundly dissatisfied.
Presently he rose, sighed, and went out to do what could be done,
cursing Tuppence's over fervent imagination.
When he returned weary and jaded at half past four, he found Tuppence
extracting a bag of biscuits from their place of concealment in one of
the files.
"You look hot and bothered," she remarked. "What have you been doing?"
Tommy groaned.
"Making a round of the Hospitals with that girl's description."
"Didn't I tell you to leave it to me?" demanded Tuppence.
"You can't find that girl single handed before two o'clock to-morrow."
"I can--and what's more, I have!"
"You have? What do you mean?"
"A simple problem, Watson, very simple indeed."
"Where is she now?"
Tuppence pointed a hand over her shoulder.
"She's in my office next door."
"What is she doing there?"
Tuppence began to laugh.
"Well," she said, "early training will tell, and with a kettle, a gas
ring, and half a pound of tea staring her in the face, the result is a
foregone conclusion."
"You see," continued Tuppence gently, "Madame Violette's is where I go
for my hats, and the other day I ran across an old pal of Hospital days
amongst the girls there. She gave up nursing after the War and started
a hat shop, failed, and took this job at Madame Violette's. We fixed up
the whole thing between us. She was to rub the advertisement well into
young St. Vincent, and then disappear. Wonderful efficiency of Blunt's
Brilliant Detectives. Publicity for us, and the necessary fillip to
young St. Vincent to bring him to the point of proposing. Janet was in
despair about it."
"Tuppence," said Tommy, "you take my breath away! The whole thing is
the most immoral business I ever heard of. You aid and abet this young
man to marry out of his class--"
"Stuff," said Tuppence. "Janet is a splendid girl--and the queer thing
is that she really adores that weak kneed young man. You can see with
half a glance what _his_ family needs. Some good red blood in it.
Janet will be the making of him. She'll look after him like a mother,
ease down the cocktails and the night clubs and make him lead a good
healthy country gentleman's life. Come and meet her."
Tuppence opened the door of the adjoining office and Tommy followed her.
A tall girl with lovely auburn hair, and a pleasant face, put down the
steaming kettle in her hand, and turned with a smile that disclosed an
even row of white teeth.
"I hope you'll forgive me, Nurse Cowley--Mrs. Beresford, I mean.
I thought that very likely you'd be quite ready for a cup of tea
yourself. Many's the pot of tea you've made for me in the Hospital at
three o'clock in the morning."
"Tommy," said Tuppence. "Let me introduce you to my old friend, Nurse
Smith."
"Smith, did you say? How curious!" said Tommy, shaking hands. "Eh? Oh!
nothing--a little monograph that I was thinking of writing."
"Pull yourself together, Tommy," said Tuppence.
She poured him out a cup of tea.
"Now, then, let's all drink together. Here's to the success of the
International Detective Agency. Blunt's Brilliant Detectives! May they
never know failure!"