THE AMBASSADOR'S BOOTS
"My dear fellow, my dear fellow," said Tuppence and waved a heavily
buttered muffin.
Tommy looked at her for a minute or two, then a broad grin spread over
his face and he murmured.
"We do have to be so very careful."
"That's right," said Tuppence delighted. "You guessed. I am the famous
Dr. Fortune and you are Superintendent Bell."
"Why are you being Reginald Fortune?"
"Well really because I feel like a lot of hot butter."
"That is the pleasant side of it," said Tommy. "But there is another.
You will have to examine horribly smashed faces and very extra dead
bodies a good deal."
In answer Tuppence threw across a letter. Tommy's eyebrows rose in
astonishment.
"Randolph Wilmott, the American Ambassador. I wonder what he wants."
"We shall know to-morrow at eleven o'clock."
Punctually to the time named, Mr. Randolph Wilmott, United States
Ambassador to the Court of St. James, was ushered into Mr. Blunt's
office. He cleared his throat and commenced speaking in a deliberate
and characteristic manner.
"I have come to you, Mr. Blunt--By the way, it is Mr. Blunt himself to
whom I am speaking, is it not?"
"Certainly," said Tommy. "I am Theodore Blunt, the head of the firm."
"I always prefer to deal with heads of departments," said Mr. Wilmott.
"It is more satisfactory in every way. As I was about to say, Mr.
Blunt, this business gets my goat. There's nothing in it to trouble
Scotland Yard about--I'm not a penny the worse in any way, and it's
probably all due to a simple mistake. But all the same, I don't see
just how that mistake arose. There's nothing criminal in it, I daresay,
but I'd like just to get the thing straightened out. It makes me mad
not to see the why and wherefore of a thing."
"Absolutely," said Tommy.
Mr. Wilmott went on. He was slow and given to much detail. At last
Tommy managed to get a word in.
"Quite so," he said, "the position is this. You arrived by the liner
Nomadic a week ago. In some way your kitbag and the kitbag of another
gentleman, Mr. Ralph Westerham whose initials are the same as yours,
got mixed up. You took Mr. Westerham's kitbag, and he took yours. Mr.
Westerham discovered the mistake immediately, sent round your kitbag to
the Embassy, and took away his own. Am I right so far?"
"That is precisely what occurred. The two bags must have been
practically identical, and with the initials R.W. being the same in
both cases, it is not difficult to understand that an error might have
been made. I myself was not aware of what had happened until my valet
informed me of the mistake, and that Mr. Westerham--he is a Senator,
and a man for whom I have a great admiration--had sent round for his
bag and returned mine."
"Then I don't see--"
"But you will see. That's only the beginning of the story. Yesterday,
as it chanced, I ran up against Senator Westerham, and I happened to
mention the matter to him jestingly. To my great surprise, he did not
seem to know what I was talking about, and when I explained, he denied
the story absolutely. He had not taken my bag off the ship in mistake
for his own--in fact, he had not travelled with such an article amongst
his luggage."
"What an extraordinary thing!"
"Mr. Blunt, it _is_ an extraordinary thing. There seems no rhyme or
reason in it. Why, if anyone wanted to steal my kitbag, he could do so
easily enough without resorting to all this round about business! And
anyway, it was _not_ stolen, but returned to me. On the other hand,
if it were taken by mistake, why use Senator Westerham's name? It's a
crazy business--but just for curiosity I mean to get to the bottom of
it. I hope the case is not too trivial for you to undertake?"
"Not at all. It is a very intriguing little problem, capable as you
say, of many simple explanations, but nevertheless baffling on the face
of it. The first thing, of course, is the _reason_ of the substitution,
if substitution it was. You say nothing was missing from your bag when
it came back into your possession?"
"My man says not. He would know."
"What was in it, if I may ask?"
"Mostly boots."
"Boots," said Tommy discouraged.
"Yes," said Mr. Wilmott. "Boots. Odd, isn't it?"
"You'll forgive my asking you," said Tommy, "but you didn't carry any
secret papers, or anything of that sort sewn in the lining of a boot or
screwed into a false heel?"
The Ambassador seemed amused by the question.
"Secret diplomacy hasn't got to that pitch, I hope."
"Only in fiction," said Tommy with an answering smile, and a slightly
apologetic manner. "But you see, we've got to account for the thing
somehow. Who came for the bag--the other bag, I mean?"
"Supposed to be one of Westerham's servants. Quite a quiet ordinary
man, so I understand. My valet saw nothing wrong with him."
"Had it been unpacked, do you know?"
"That I can't say. I presume not. But perhaps you'd like to ask the
valet a few questions? He can tell you more than I can about the
business."
"I think that would be the best plan, Mr. Wilmott."
The Ambassador scribbled a few words on a card and handed it to Tommy.
"I opine that you would prefer to go round to the Embassy and make your
inquiries there? If not, I will have the man,--his name is Richards, by
the way--sent round here."
"No, thank you, Mr. Wilmott. I should prefer to go to the Embassy."
The Ambassador rose, glancing at his watch.
"Dear me, I shall be late for an appointment. Well, good bye, Mr.
Blunt. I leave the matter in your hands."
He hurried away. Tommy looked at Tuppence who had been scribbling
demurely on her pad in the character of the efficient Miss Robinson.
"What about it, old thing?" he asked. "Do you see, as the old bird put
it, any rhyme or reason in the proceeding?"
"None whatever," replied Tuppence cheerily.
"Well, that's a start anyway! It shows that there is really something
very deep at the back of it."
"You think so?"
"It's a generally accepted hypothesis. Remember Sherlock Holmes and the
depth the butter had sunk into the parsley--I mean the other way round.
I've always had a devouring wish to know all about that case. Perhaps
Watson will disinter it from his notebook one of these days. Then I
shall die happy. But we must get busy."
"Quite so," said Tuppence. "Not a quick man, the esteemed Wilmott, but
sure."
"She knows men," said Tommy. "Or do I say _he_ knows men. It is so
confusing when you assume the character of a male detective."
"Oh! my dear fellow, my dear fellow!"
"A little more action, Tuppence, and a little less repetition."
"A classic phrase cannot be repeated too often," said Tuppence with
dignity.
"Have a muffin," said Tommy kindly.
"Not at eleven o'clock in the morning, thank you. Silly case, this.
Boots--you know--Why boots?"
"Well," said Tommy, "why not?"
"It doesn't fit. Boots." She shook her head. "All wrong. Who wants
other people's boots? The whole thing's mad."
"Perhaps they got hold of the wrong bag?" suggested Tommy.
"That's possible. But if they were after papers, a despatch case would
be more likely. Papers are the only things one thinks of in connection
with ambassadors."
"Boots suggest footprints," said Tommy thoughtfully. "Do you think
they wanted to lay a trail of Wilmott's footsteps somewhere?"
Tuppence considered the suggestion, abandoning her rôle, then shook her
head.
"It seems wildly impossible," she said. "No, I believe we shall have to
resign ourselves to the fact that the boots have nothing to do with it."
"Well," said Tommy with a sigh. "The next step is to interview friend
Richards. He may be able to throw some light on the mystery."
On production of the Ambassador's card, Tommy was admitted to the
Embassy, and presently a pale young man, with a respectful manner, and
a subdued voice, presented himself to undergo examination.
"I am Richards, sir, Mr. Wilmott's valet. I understood you wished to
see me?"
"Yes, Richards. Mr. Wilmott called on me this morning, and suggested
that I should come round and ask you a few questions. It is this matter
of the kitbag."
"Mr. Wilmott was rather upset over the affair, I know, sir. I can
hardly see why, since no harm was done. I certainly understood from the
man who called for the other bag that it belonged to Senator Westerham,
but of course I may have been mistaken."
"What kind of a man was he?"
"Middle-aged. Grey hair. Very good class, I should say--most
respectable. I understood he was Senator Westerham's valet. He left Mr.
Wilmott's bag and took away the other."
"Had it been unpacked at all?"
"Which one, sir?"
"Well, I meant the one you brought from the boat. But I should like
to know about the other as well--Mr. Wilmott's own. Had that been
unpacked, do you fancy?"
"I should say not, sir. It was just as I strapped it up on the boat. I
should say the gentleman--whoever he was--just opened it--realised it
wasn't his, and shut it up again."
"Nothing missing? No small article?"
"I don't think so, sir. In fact, I'm quite sure."
"And now the other one. Had you started to unpack that?"
"As a matter of fact, sir, I was just opening it at the very moment
Senator Westerham's man arrived. I'd just undone the straps."
"Did you open it at all?"
"We just unfastened it together, sir, to be sure no mistake had been
made this time. The man said it was all right, and he strapped it up
again and took it away."
"What was inside? Boots also?"
"No, sir, mostly toilet things, I fancy. I know I saw a tin of bath
salts."
Tommy abandoned that line of research.
"You never saw anyone tampering with anything in your master's cabin on
board ship, I suppose?"
"Oh, no, sir."
"Never anything suspicious of any kind?"
"And what do I mean by that, I wonder," he thought to himself with a
trace of amusement. "Anything suspicious--just words!"
But the man in front of him hesitated.
"Now that I remember it--"
"Yes," said Tommy eagerly. "What?"
"I don't think it could have anything to do with it. But there was a
young lady."
"Yes? A young lady, you say, what was she doing?"
"She was taken faint, sir. A very pleasant young lady. Miss Eileen
O'Hara, her name was. A dainty looking lady, not tall, with black hair.
Just a little foreign looking."
"Yes?" said Tommy, with even greater eagerness.
"As I was saying, she was taken queer. Just outside Mr. Wilmott's
cabin. She asked me to fetch the doctor. I helped her to the sofa, and
then went off for the doctor. I was some time finding him, and when I
found him and brought him back, the young lady was nearly all right
again."
"Oh!" said Tommy.
"You don't think, sir--"
"It's difficult to know what to think," said Tommy noncommittally. "Was
this Miss O'Hara travelling alone?"
"Yes, I think so, sir."
"You haven't seen her since you landed?"
"No, sir."
"Well," said Tommy, after a minute or two spent in reflection. "I think
that's all. Thank you, Richards."
"Thank _you_, sir."
Back at the office of the Detective Agency, Tommy retailed his
conversation with Richards to Tuppence who listened attentively.
"What do you think of it, Tuppence?"
"Oh! my dear fellow, we doctors are always sceptical of a sudden
faintness! So very convenient. And Eileen as well as O'Hara. Almost too
impossibly Irish, don't you think?"
"It's something to go upon at last. Do you know what I am going to do,
Tuppence? Advertise for the lady."
"What?"
"Yes. Any information respecting Miss Eileen O'Hara, known to have
travelled such and such a ship and such and such a date. Either she'll
answer it herself if she's genuine, or someone may come forward to give
us information about her. So far, it's the only hope of a clue."
"You'll also put her on her guard, remember."
"Well," said Tommy. "One's got to risk something."
"I still can't see any sense in the thing," said Tuppence, frowning.
"If a gang of crooks get hold of the Ambassador's bag for an hour or
two, and then send it back, what possible good can it do them? Unless
there are papers in it they want to copy, and Mr. Wilmott swears there
was nothing of the kind."
Tommy stared at her thoughtfully.
"You put these things rather well, Tuppence," he said at last. "You've
given me an idea."
* * * * *
It was two days later. Tuppence was out to lunch. Tommy, alone in the
austere office of Mr. Theodore Blunt, was improving his mind by reading
the latest sensational thriller.
The door of the office opened and Albert appeared.
"A young lady to see you, sir. Miss Cicely March. She says she has
called in answer to an advertisement."
"Show her in at once," cried Tommy, thrusting his novel into a
convenient drawer.
In another minute Albert had ushered in the young lady. Tommy had just
time to see that she was fair haired and extremely pretty when the
amazing occurrence happened.
The door through which Albert had just passed out was rudely burst
open. In the doorway stood a picturesque figure--a big dark man,
Spanish in appearance, with a flaming red tie. His features were
distorted with rage, and in his hand was a gleaming pistol.
"So this is the office of Mr. Busybody Blunt," he said in perfect
English. His voice was low and venomous. "Hands up at once--or I shoot."
It sounded no idle threat. Tommy's hands went up obediently. The girl,
crouched against the wall, gave a gasp of terror.
"This young lady will come with me," said the man. "Yes, you will,
my dear. You have never seen me before, but that doesn't matter. I
can't have my plans ruined by a silly little chit like you. I seem to
remember that you were one of the passengers on the Nomadic. You must
have been peering into things that didn't concern you--but I've no
intention of letting you blab any secrets to Mr. Blunt here. A very
clever gentleman, Mr. Blunt, with his fancy advertisements. But as it
happens, I keep an eye on the advertisement columns. That's how I got
wise to his little game."
"You interest me exceedingly," said Tommy. "Won't you go on?"
"Cheek won't help you, Mr. Blunt. From now on, you're a marked man.
Give up this investigation, and we'll leave you alone. Otherwise--God
help you! Death comes swiftly to those who thwart our plans."
Tommy did not reply. He was staring over the intruder's shoulder as
though he saw a ghost.
As a matter of fact he was seeing something that caused him far more
apprehension than any ghost could have done. Up to now, he had not
given a thought to Albert as a factor in the game. He had taken for
granted that Albert had already been dealt with by the mysterious
stranger. If he had thought of him at all, it was as one lying stunned
on the carpet in the outer office.
He now saw that Albert had miraculously escaped the stranger's
attention. But instead of rushing out to fetch a policeman in good
sound British fashion, Albert had elected to play a lone hand. The door
behind the stranger had opened noiselessly, and Albert stood in the
aperture enveloped in a coil of rope.
An agonized yelp of protest burst from Tommy, but too late. Fired with
enthusiasm, Albert flung a loop of rope over the intruder's head, and
jerked him backwards off his feet.
The inevitable happened. The pistol went off with a roar and Tommy
felt the bullet scorch his ear in passing, ere it buried itself in the
plaster behind him.
"I've got him, sir," cried Albert, flushed with triumph. "I've lassoed
him. I've been practising with a lasso in my spare time, sir. Can you
give me a hand? He's very violent."
Tommy hastened to his faithful henchman's assistance, mentally
determining that Albert should have no further spare time.
"You damned idiot," he said. "Why didn't you go for a policeman? Owing
to this fool's play of yours, he as near as anything plugged me through
the head. Whew! I've never had such a near escape."
"Lassoed him in the nick of time, I did," said Albert, his ardor quite
undamped. "It's wonderful what those chaps can do on the prairies, sir."
"Quite so," said Tommy, "but we're not on the prairies. We happen to
be in a highly civilized city. And now, my dear sir," he added to his
prostrate foe. "What are we going to do with you?"
A stream of oaths in a foreign language was his only reply.
"Hush," said Tommy. "I don't understand a word of what you're saying,
but I've got a shrewd idea it's not the kind of language to use before
a lady. You'll excuse him, won't you, Miss--do you know, in the
excitement of this little upset, I've quite forgotten your name?"
"March," said the girl. She was still white and shaken. But she came
forward now and stood by Tommy looking down on the recumbent figure of
the discomfited stranger. "What are you going to do with him?"
"I could fetch a bobby now," said Albert helpfully.
But Tommy, looking up, caught a very faint negative movement of the
girl's head, and took his cue accordingly.
"We'll let him off this time," he remarked. "Nevertheless I shall give
myself the pleasure of kicking him downstairs--if it's only to teach
him manners to a lady."
He removed the rope, hauled the victim to his feet, and propelled him
briskly through the outer office.
A series of shrill yelps was heard and then a thud. Tommy came back,
flushed but smiling.
The girl was staring at him with round eyes.
"Did you--hurt him?"
"I hope so," said Tommy. "But these foreigners make a practise of
crying out before they're hurt--so I can't be quite sure about
it. Shall we come back into my office, Miss March, and resume our
interrupted conversation? I don't think we shall be interrupted again."
"I'll have my lasso ready, sir, in case," said the helpful Albert.
"Put it away," ordered Tommy sternly.
He followed the girl into the inner office, and sat down at his desk
whilst she took a chair facing him.
"I don't quite know where to begin," said the girl. "As you heard that
man say, I was a passenger on the Nomadic. The lady you advertised
about, Miss O'Hara, was also on board."
"Exactly," said Tommy. "That we know already, but I suspect you must
know something about her doings on board that boat or else that
picturesque gentleman would not have been in such a hurry to intervene."
"I will tell you everything. The American Ambassador was on board. One
day, as I was passing his cabin, I saw this woman inside, and she was
doing something so extraordinary that I stopped to watch. She had a
man's boot in her hand--"
"A boot?" cried Tommy excitedly. "I'm sorry, Miss March, go on."
"With a little pair of scissors, she was slitting up the lining. Then
she seemed to push something inside. Just at that minute the doctor and
another man came down the passage, and immediately she dropped back on
the couch and groaned. I waited, and I gathered from what was being
said that she had pretended to feel faint. I say _pretended_--because
when I first caught sight of her, she was obviously feeling nothing of
the kind."
Tommy nodded.
"Well?"
"I rather hate to tell you the next part. I was--curious. And also
I'd been reading silly books, and I wondered if she'd put a bomb or a
poisoned needle or something like that in Mr. Wilmott's boot. I know
it's absurd--but I did think so. Anyway, next time I passed the empty
cabin, I slipped in, and examined the boot. I drew out from the lining
a slip of paper. Just as I had it in my hand, I heard the steward
coming, and I hurried out so as not to be caught. The folded paper was
still in my hand. When I got into my own cabin, I examined it. Mr.
Blunt, it was nothing but some verses from the Bible."
"Verses from the Bible?" said Tommy, very much intrigued.
"At least I thought so at the time. I couldn't understand it, but I
thought perhaps it was the work of a religious maniac. Anyway, I didn't
feel it was worth while replacing it. I kept it without thinking much
about it until yesterday when I used it to make into a boat for my
little nephew to sail in his bath. As the paper got wet, I saw a queer
kind of design coming out all over it. I hastily took it out of the
bath, and smoothed it out flat. The water had brought out the hidden
message. It was a kind of tracing--and looked like the mouth of a
harbor. Immediately after that I read your advertisement."
Tommy sprang from his chair.
"But this is most important. I see it all now. That tracing is probably
the plan of some important harbor defences. It had been stolen by this
woman. She feared someone was on her track, and not daring to conceal
it amongst her own belongings, she contrived this hiding-place. Later,
she obtained possession of the bag in which the boot was packed--only
to discover that the paper had vanished. Tell me, Miss March, you have
brought this paper with you?"
The girl shook her head.
"It's at my place of business. I run a beauty parlor in Bond Street. I
am really an agent for the 'Cyclamen' preparations in New York. That
is why I had been over there. I thought the paper might be important,
so I locked it up in the safe before coming out. Ought not Scotland
Yard to know about it?"
"Yes, indeed."
"Then shall we go there now, get it out, and take it straight to
Scotland Yard?"
"I am very busy this afternoon," said Tommy adopting his professional
manner and consulting his watch. "The Bishop of London wants me to take
up a case for him. A very curious problem, concerning some vestments
and two curates."
"Then in that case," said Miss March, rising, "I will go alone."
Tommy raised a hand in protest.
"As I was about to say," he said, "the Bishop must wait. I will leave
a few words with Albert. I am convinced, Miss March, that until that
paper has been safely deposited with Scotland Yard you are in active
danger."
"Do you think so?" said the girl doubtfully.
"I don't think, I'm sure. Excuse me." He scribbled some words on the
pad in front of him, then tore off the leaf and folded it.
Taking his hat and stick, he intimated to the girl that he was ready
to accompany her. In the outer office, he handed the folded paper to
Albert with an air of importance.
"I am called out on an urgent case. Explain that to his lordship if he
comes. Here are my notes on the case for Miss Robinson."
"Very good, sir," said Albert playing up. "And what about the Duchess's
pearls?"
Tommy waved his hand irritably.
"That must wait also."
He and Miss March hurried out. Half way down the stairs they
encountered Tuppence coming up. Tommy passed her with a brusque: "Late
again, Miss Robinson. I am called out on an important case."
Tuppence stood still on the stairs and stared after them. Then, with
raised eyebrows, she went on up to the office.
As they reached the street, a taxi came sailing up to them. Tommy, on
the point of hailing it, changed his mind.
"Are you a good walker, Miss March?" he asked seriously.
"Yes, why? Hadn't we better take that taxi? It will be quicker."
"Perhaps you did not notice. That taxi driver has just refused a fare a
little lower down the street. He was waiting for us. Your enemies are
on the look out. If you feel equal to it, it would be better for us to
walk to Bond Street. In the crowded streets, they will not be able to
attempt much against us."
"Very well," said the girl, rather doubtfully.
They walked westwards. The streets, as Tommy had said, were crowded,
and progress was slow. Tommy kept a sharp look out. Occasionally he
drew the girl to one side with a quick gesture, though she herself had
seen nothing suspicious.
Suddenly glancing at her, he was seized with compunction.
"I say, you look awfully done up. The shock of that man. Come into this
place and have a good cup of strong coffee. I suppose you wouldn't hear
of a nip of brandy."
The girl shook her head, with a faint smile.
"Coffee be it then," said Tommy. "I think we can safely risk its being
poisoned."
They lingered some time over their coffee, and finally set off at a
brisker pace.
"We've thrown them off, I think," said Tommy, looking over his shoulder.
Cyclamen Ltd. was a small establishment in Bond Street, with pale pink
taffeta curtains, and one or two jars of face cream and a cake of soap
decorating the window.
Cicely March entered, and Tommy followed. The place inside was tiny.
On the left was a glass counter with toilet preparations. Behind
this counter was a middle-aged woman with grey hair and an exquisite
complexion who acknowledged Cicely March's entrance with a faint
inclination of the head before continuing to talk to the customer she
was serving.
This customer was a small dark woman. Her back was to them and they
could not see her face. She was speaking in slow difficult English. On
the right was a sofa and a couple of chairs with some magazines on a
table. Here sat two men--apparently bored husbands waiting for their
wives.
Cicely March passed straight on through a door at the end which she
held ajar for Tommy to follow her. As he did so, the woman customer
exclaimed. "Ah! but I think that is _an amigo_ of mine," and rushed
after them, inserting her foot in the door just in time to prevent its
closing. At the same time, the two men rose to their feet. One followed
her through the door, the other advanced to the shop attendant and
clapped his hand over her mouth to drown the scream rising to her lips.
In the meantime, things were happening rather quickly beyond the swing
door. As Tommy passed through, a cloth was flung over his head, and
a sickly odor assailed his nostrils. Almost as soon however, it was
jerked off again, and a woman's scream rang out.
Tommy blinked a little and coughed as he took in the scene in front of
him. On his right was the mysterious stranger of a few hours ago, and
busily fitting handcuffs upon him was one of the bored men from the
shop parlor. Just in front of him was Cicely March wrestling vainly
to free herself, whilst the woman customer from the shop held her
firmly pinioned. As the latter turned her head, and the veil she wore
unfastened itself and fell off, the well known features of Tuppence
were revealed.
"Well done, Tuppence," said Tommy, moving forward. "Let me give you a
hand. I shouldn't struggle if I were you, Miss O'Hara--or do you prefer
to be called Miss March?"
"This is Inspector Grace, Tommy," said Tuppence. "As soon as I read the
note you left I rang up Scotland Yard, and Inspector Grace and another
man met me outside here."
"Very glad to get hold of this gentleman," said the Inspector,
indicating his prisoner. "He's wanted badly. But we've never had cause
to suspect this place--thought it was a genuine beauty shop."
"You see," explained Tommy gently. "We do have to be so very careful!
Why should anyone want the Ambassador's bag for an hour or so? I put
the question the other way round. Supposing it was the other bag
that was the important one. Someone wanted that bag to be in the
Ambassador's possession for an hour or so. Much more illuminating!
Diplomatic luggage is not subjected to the indignities of a Customs
examination. Clearly smuggling. But smuggling of what? Nothing too
bulky. At once I thought of drugs. Then that picturesque comedy was
enacted in my office. They'd seen my advertisement and wanted to put
me off the scent--or failing that, out of the way altogether. But
I happened to notice an expression of blank dismay in the charming
lady's eyes when Albert did his lasso act. That didn't fit in very well
with her supposed part. The stranger's attack was meant to assure my
confidence in her. I played the part of the credulous sleuth with all
my might--swallowed her rather impossible story and permitted her to
lure me here, carefully leaving behind full instructions for dealing
with the situation. Under various pretexts I delayed our arrival, so as
to give you all plenty of time."
Cicely March was looking at him with a stony expression.
"You are mad. What do you expect to find here?"
"Remembering that Richards saw a tin of bath salts, what do you say
about beginning with the bath salts, eh Inspector?"
"A very sound idea, sir."
He picked up one of the dainty pink tins, and emptied it on the table.
The girl laughed.
"Genuine crystals, eh?" said Tommy. "Nothing more deadly than carbonate
of soda?"
"Try the safe," suggested Tuppence.
There was a small wall safe in the corner. The key was in the lock.
Tommy swung it open and gave a shout of satisfaction. The back of the
safe opened out into a big recess in the wall, and that recess was
stacked with the same elegant tins of bath salts. Rows and rows of
them. He took one out and prised up the lid. The top showed the same
pink crystals, but underneath was a fine white powder.
The Inspector uttered an ejaculation.
"You've got it, sir. Ten to one, that tin's full of pure cocaine. We
knew there was a distributing area somewhere round here, handy to the
West End, but we haven't been able to get a clue to it. This is a fine
coup of yours, sir."
"Rather a triumph for Blunt's Brilliant Detectives," said Tommy to
Tuppence, as they emerged into the street together. "It's a great thing
to be a married man. Your persistent schooling has at last taught me
to recognize peroxide when I see it. Golden hair has got to be the
genuine article to take me in. We will concoct a business like letter
to the Ambassador, informing him that the matter has been dealt with
satisfactorily. And now, my dear fellow, what about tea, and lots of
hot buttered muffins?"