THE MAN WHO WAS NO. 16
Tommy and Tuppence were closeted with the Chief in his private room.
His commendation had been warm and sincere.
"You have succeeded admirably. Thanks to you we have laid our hands
on no less than five very interesting personages, and from them we
have received much valuable information. Meanwhile I learn from a
creditable source that headquarters in Moscow have taken alarm at the
failure of their agents to report. I think, that in spite of all our
precautions, they have begun to suspect that all is not well at what I
may call the distributing centre--the office of Mr. Theodore Blunt--the
International Detective Bureau."
"Well," said Tommy. "I suppose they were bound to tumble to it sometime
or other, sir."
"As you say, it was only to be expected. But I am a little
worried--about Mrs. Tommy."
"I can look after her all right, sir," said Tommy, at exactly the same
minute as Tuppence said, "I can take care of myself."
"H'm," said Mr. Carter. "Excessive self-confidence was always a
characteristic of you two. Whether your immunity is entirely due to
your own superhuman cleverness, or whether a small percentage of
luck creeps in, I'm not prepared to say. But luck changes, you know.
However, I won't argue the point. From my extensive knowledge of Mrs.
Tommy, I suppose it's quite useless to ask her to keep out of the
limelight for the next week or two?"
Tuppence shook her head very energetically.
"Then all I can do is to give you all the information that I can. We
have reason to believe that a special agent has been despatched from
Moscow to this country. We don't know what name he is travelling under,
we don't know when he will arrive. But we do know something about him.
He is a man who gave us great trouble in the War, a ubiquitous kind of
fellow who turned up all over the place where we least wanted him. He
is a Russian by birth, and an accomplished linguist--so much so that he
can pass as half a dozen other nationalities, including our own. He is
also a past master in the art of disguise. And he has brains. It was he
who devised the No. 16 code.
"When and how he will turn up, I do not know. But I am fairly certain
that he _will_ turn up. We do know this--he was not personally
acquainted with the real Mr. Theodore Blunt. I think that he will turn
up at your office, on the pretext of a case which he will wish you to
take up, and will try you with the passwords. The first, as you know,
is the mention of the number sixteen--which is replied to by a sentence
containing the same number. The second, which we have only just learnt,
is an inquiry as to whether you have ever crossed the Channel. The
answer to that is: 'I was in Berlin on the 13th of last month.' As far
as we know, that is all. I would suggest that you reply correctly, and
so endeavor to gain his confidence. Sustain the fiction if you possibly
can. But even if he appears to be completely deceived, remain on your
guard. Our friend is particularly astute, and can play a double game as
well, or better, than you can. But in either case, I hope to get him
through you. From this day forward I am adopting special precautions. A
dictaphone was installed last night in your office, so that one of my
men in the room below will be able to hear everything that passes in
your office. In this way, I shall be immediately informed if anything
arises, and can take the necessary steps to safeguard you and your wife
whilst securing the man I am after."
After a few more instructions, and a general discussion of tactics, the
two young people departed, and made their way as rapidly as possible to
the office of Blunt's Brilliant Detectives.
"It's late," said Tommy, looking at his watch. "Just on twelve
o'clock. We've been a long time with the Chief. I hope we haven't
missed a particularly spicy case."
"On the whole," said Tuppence, "we've not done badly. I was tabulating
results the other day. We've solved four baffling murder mysteries,
rounded up a gang of counterfeiters, ditto gang of smugglers--"
"Actually two gangs," interpolated Tommy. "So we have! I'm glad of
that. 'Gangs' sounds so professional."
Tuppence continued, ticking off the items on her fingers.
"One jewel robbery, two escapes from violent death, one case of
missing lady reducing her figure, one young girl befriended, an alibi
successfully exploded, and alas! one case where we made utter fools of
ourselves. On the whole, jolly good! We're _very_ clever, I think."
"You would think so," said Tommy. "You always do. Now I have a secret
feeling that once or twice we've been rather lucky."
"Nonsense," said Tuppence. "All done by the little grey cells."
"Well, I was damned lucky once," said Tommy. "The day that Albert did
his lasso act! But you speak, Tuppence, as though it was all over?"
"So it is," said Tuppence. She lowered her voice impressively. "This
is our last case. When they have laid the super spy by the heels,
the great detectives intend to retire and take to bee keeping or
vegetable-marrow growing. It's always done."
"Tired of it, eh?"
"Ye-es, I think I am. Besides, we're so successful now--the luck might
change."
"Who's talking about luck now?" asked Tommy triumphantly.
At that moment they turned in at the doorway of the block of buildings
in which the International Detective Bureau had its offices, and
Tuppence did not reply.
Albert was on duty in the outer office, employing his leisure in
balancing, or endeavoring to balance, the office ruler upon his nose.
With a stern frown of reproof, the great Mr. Blunt passed into his own
private office. Divesting himself of his overcoat and hat, he opened
the cupboard, on the shelves of which reposed his classic library of
the great detectives of fiction.
"The choice narrows," murmured Tommy. "On whom shall I model myself
to-day?"
Tuppence's voice, with an unusual note in it, made him turn sharply.
"Tommy," she said. "What day of the month is it?"
"Let me see--the eleventh--why?"
"Look at the calendar."
Hanging on the wall was one of those calendars from which you tear
a leaf every day. It bore the legend of Sunday the 16th. To-day was
Monday.
"By Jove, that's odd. Albert must have torn off too many. Careless
little devil."
"I don't believe he did," said Tuppence. "But we'll ask him."
Albert, summoned and questioned, seemed very astonished. He swore he
had only torn off one leaf--that of the day before. His statement was
presently supported, for whereas the leaf torn off by Albert was found
in the grate, the succeeding ones were lying neatly in the waste paper
basket.
"A neat and methodical criminal," said Tommy. "Who's been here this
morning, Albert? A client of any kind?"
"Just one, sir."
"What was he like?"
"It was a she. A Hospital Nurse. Very upset and anxious to see you.
Said she'd wait until you came. I put her in 'Clerks' because it was
warmer."
"And from there she could walk in here, of course, without your seeing
her. How long has she been gone?"
"About half an hour, sir. Said she'd call again this afternoon. A nice
motherly looking body."
"A nice motherly--oh! get out, Albert."
Albert withdrew, injured.
"Queer start, that," said Tommy. "It seems a little purposeless.
Puts us on our guard. I suppose there isn't a bomb concealed in the
fireplace or anything of that kind?"
He reassured himself on that point, then he seated himself at the desk
and addressed Tuppence.
"Mon ami," he said. "We are here faced with a matter of the utmost
gravity. You recall, do you not, the man who was No. 4. Him whom I
crushed like an egg shell in the Dolomites--with the aid of high
explosives, _bien entendu_. But he was not really dead--ah! no, they
are never really dead, these super criminals. This is the man--but even
more so, if I may so put it. He is the 4 squared--in other words, he is
now the No. 16. You comprehend, my friend?"
"Perfectly," said Tuppence. "You are the great Hercule Poirot."
"Exactly. No moustaches, but lots of grey cells."
"I've a feeling," said Tuppence, "that this particular adventure will
be called the 'Triumph of Hastings.'"
"Never," said Tommy. "It isn't done. Once the idiot friend, always the
idiot friend. There's an etiquette in these matters. By the way, mon
ami, can you not part your hair in the middle instead of one side? The
present effect is unsymmetrical and deplorable."
The buzzer rang sharply on Tommy's desk. He returned the signal and
Albert appeared bearing a card.
"Prince Vladiroffsky," read Tommy, in a low voice. He looked at
Tuppence. "I wonder--Show him in, Albert."
The man who entered was of middle height, graceful in bearing, with a
fair beard, and apparently about thirty-five years of age.
"Mr. Blunt?" he inquired. His English was perfect. "You have been most
highly recommended to me. Will you take up a case for me?"
"If you will give me the details--?"
"Certainly. It concerns the daughter of a friend of mine--a girl of
sixteen. We are anxious for no scandal--you understand."
"My dear sir," said Tommy. "This business has been running successfully
for sixteen years owing to our strict attention to that particular
principle."
He fancied he saw a sudden gleam in the other's eye. If so, it passed
as quickly as it came.
"You have branches, I believe, on the other side of the Channel?"
"Oh! yes. As a matter of fact," he brought out the word with great
deliberation, "I myself was in Berlin on the 13th of last month."
"In that case," said the stranger, "it is hardly necessary to keep
up the little fiction. The daughter of my friend can be conveniently
dismissed. You know who I am--at any rate I see you have had warning of
my coming."
He nodded towards the calendar on the wall.
"Quite so," said Tommy.
"My friends--I have come over here to investigate matters. What has
been happening?"
"Treachery," said Tuppence, no longer able to remain quiescent.
The Russian shifted his attention to her, and raised his eyebrows.
"Ah ha, that is so, is it? I thought as much. Was it Sergius?"
"We think so," said Tuppence unblushingly.
"It would not surprise me. But you yourselves, you are under no
suspicion?"
"I do not think so. We handle a good deal of _bona fide_ business, you
see," explained Tommy.
The Russian nodded.
"That is wise. All the same, I think it would be better if I did not
come here again. For the moment, I am staying at the Blitz. I will take
Marise--this is Marise, I suppose?"
Tuppence nodded.
"What is she known as here?"
"Oh! Miss Robinson."
"Very well, Miss Robinson, you will return with me to the Blitz and
lunch with me there. We will all meet at headquarters at three o'clock.
Is that clear?" He looked at Tommy.
"Perfectly clear," replied Tommy, wondering where on earth headquarters
might be.
But he guessed that it was just those very headquarters that Mr. Carter
was so anxious to discover.
Tuppence rose and slipped on her long black coat with its leopardskin
collar. Then, demurely, she declared herself ready to accompany the
Prince.
They went out together, and Tommy was left behind, a prey to
conflicting emotions.
Supposing something had gone wrong with the dictaphone? Supposing
the mysterious Hospital Nurse had somehow or other learnt of its
installation, and had rendered it useless?
He seized the telephone and called a certain number. There was a
moment's delay, and then a well known voice spoke.
"Quite O.K. Come round to the Blitz at once."
Five minutes later Tommy and Mr. Carter met in the Palm Court of the
Blitz. The latter was crisp and reassuring.
"You've done excellently. The Prince and the little lady are at
lunch in the Restaurant. I've got two of my men in there as waiters.
Whether he suspects, or whether he doesn't--and I'm fairly sure he
doesn't--we've got him on toast. There are two men posted upstairs to
watch his suite, and more outside ready to follow wherever they go.
Don't be worried about your wife. She'll be kept in sight the whole
time. I'm not going to run any risks."
Occasionally one of the Secret Service men came to report progress. The
first time it was a waiter who took their orders for cocktails, the
second time it was a fashionable vacant-faced young man.
"They're coming out," said Mr. Carter. "We'll retire behind this pillar
in case they sit down here, but I fancy he'll take her up to his suite.
Ah! yes, I thought so."
From their post of vantage, Tommy saw the Russian and Tuppence cross
the hall and enter the lift.
The minutes passed and Tommy began to fidget.
"Do you think, sir. I mean, alone in that suite--"
"One of my men's inside--behind the sofa. Don't worry, man."
A waiter crossed the hall and came up to Mr. Carter.
"Got the signal they were coming up, sir--but they haven't come. Is it
all right?"
"What?" Mr. Carter spun around. "I saw them go into the lift myself.
Just"--he glanced up at the clock--"four and a half minutes ago. And
they haven't shown up...."
He hurried across to the lift which had just that minute come down
again, and spoke to the uniformed attendant.
"You took up a gentleman with a fair beard and a young lady a few
minutes ago to the second floor."
"Not the second floor. Third floor the gentleman asked for."
"Oh!" The Chief jumped in, motioning Tommy to accompany him. "Take us
up to the third floor, please."
"I don't understand this," he murmured in a low voice. "But keep calm.
Every exit from the Hotel is watched, and I've got a man on the third
floor as well--on every floor, in fact. I was taking no chances."
The lift door opened on the third floor and they sprang out, hurrying
down the corridor. Half way along it, a man dressed as a waiter came to
meet them.
"It's all right, Chief. They're in No. 318."
Carter breathed a sigh of relief.
"That's all right. No other exit?"
"It's a suite, but there are only these two doors into the corridor,
and to get out from any of these rooms, they'd have to pass us to get
to the staircase or the lifts."
"That's all right, then. Just telephone down and find out who is
supposed to be occupying this suite."
The waiter returned in a minute or two.
"Mrs. Cortlandt Van Snyder of Detroit."
Mr. Carter became very thoughtful.
"I wonder now. Is this Mrs. Van Snyder an accomplice, or is she--"
He left the sentence unfinished.
"Hear any noise from inside?" he asked abruptly.
"Not a thing. But the doors fit well. One couldn't hope to hear much."
Mr. Carter made up his mind suddenly.
"I don't like this business. We're going in. Got the master key?"
"Of course, sir."
"Call up Evans and Clydesly."
Reinforced by the other two men, they advanced towards the door of the
suite. It opened noiselessly when the first man inserted his key.
They found themselves in a small hall. To the right was the open door
of a bathroom, and in front of them was the sitting-room. On the left
was a closed door and from behind it a faint sound--rather like an
asthmatic pug--could be heard. Mr. Carter pushed the door open and
entered.
The room was a bedroom, with a big double bed ornately covered with a
bedspread of rose and gold. On it, bound hand and foot, with her mouth
secured by a gag and her eyes almost starting out of her head with
pain and rage, was a middle-aged fashionably-dressed woman.
On a brief order from Mr. Carter, the other men had covered the whole
suite. Only Tommy and his Chief had entered the bedroom. As he leant
over the bed and strove to unfasten the knots, Carter's eyes went
roving round the room in perplexity. Save for an immense quantity of
truly American luggage, the room was empty. There was no sign of the
Russian or Tuppence.
In another minute the waiter came hurrying in, and reported that the
other rooms were also empty. Tommy went to the window, only to draw
back and shake his head. There was no balcony--nothing but a sheer drop
to the street below.
"Certain it was this room they entered?" asked Carter peremptorily.
"Sure. Besides--" The man indicated the woman on the bed.
With the aid of a pen knife, Carter parted the scarf that was half
choking her, and it was at once clear that whatever her sufferings,
they had not deprived Mrs. Cortlandt Van Snyder of the use of her
tongue.
When she had exhausted her first indignation, Mr. Carter spoke mildly.
"Would you mind telling me exactly what happened--from the beginning?"
"I guess I'll sue the Hotel for this. It's a perfect outrage. I was
just looking for my bottle of 'Killagrippe' when a man sprang on me
from behind and broke a little glass bottle right under my nose, and
before I could get my breath I was all in. When I came to I was lying
here, all trussed up, and goodness knows what's happened to my jewels.
He's gotten the lot, I guess."
"Your jewels are quite safe, I fancy," said Mr. Carter drily. He
wheeled round and picked up something from the floor. "You were
standing just where I am when he sprang upon you?"
"That's so," assented Mrs. Van Snyder.
It was a fragment of thin glass that Mr. Carter had picked up. He
sniffed it and handed it to Tommy.
"Ethyl Chloride," he murmured. "Instant anaesthetic. But it only keeps
one under for a moment or two. Surely he must still have been in the
room when you came to, Mrs. Van Snyder?"
"Isn't that just what I'm telling you? Oh! it drove me half crazy to
see him getting away and me not able to move or do anything at all."
"Getting away?" said Mr. Carter sharply. "Which way?"
"Through that door." She pointed to one in the opposite wall. "He had a
girl with him, but she seemed kind of limp as though she'd had a dose
of the same dope."
Carter looked a question at his henchman.
"Leads into the next suite, sir. But double doors--supposed to be
bolted each side."
Mr. Carter examined the door carefully. Then he straightened himself up
and turned towards the bed.
"Mrs. Van Snyder," he said quietly. "Do you still persist in your
assertion that the man went out this way?"
"Why, certainly he did. Why shouldn't he?"
"Because the door happens to be bolted on this side," said Mr. Carter
drily. He rattled the handle as he spoke.
A look of the utmost astonishment spread over Mrs. Van Snyder's face.
"Unless someone bolted the door behind him," said Mr. Carter, "he
cannot have gone out that way."
He turned to Evans who had just entered the room.
"Sure they're not anywhere in this suite? Any other communicating
doors?"
"No, sir, and I'm quite sure."
Carter turned his gaze this way and that about the room. He opened the
big hanging wardrobe, looked under the bed, up the chimney and behind
all the curtains. Finally, struck by a sudden idea, and disregarding
Mrs. Van Snyder's shrill protests, he opened the large wardrobe trunk
and rummaged swiftly in the interior.
Suddenly Tommy, who had been examining the communicating door, gave an
exclamation.
"Come here, sir, look at this. They did go this way."
The bolt had been very cleverly filed through, so close to the socket
that the join was hardly perceptible.
"The door won't open because it's locked on the other side," explained
Tommy.
In another minute they were out in the corridor again and the waiter
was opening the door of the adjoining suite with his pass key. This
suite was untenanted. When they came to the communicating door, they
saw that the same plan had been adopted. The bolt had been filed
through, and the door was locked, the key having been removed. But
nowhere in the suite was there any sign of Tuppence or the fair-bearded
Russian, and there was no other communicating door, only the one on the
corridor.
"But I'd have seen them come out," protested the waiter. "I couldn't
have helped seeing them. I can take my oath they never did."
"Damn it all," cried Tommy. "They can't have vanished into thin air!"
Carter was calm again now, his keen brain working.
"Telephone down and find who had this suite last, and when."
Evans, who had come with them, leaving Clydesly on guard in the other
suite, obeyed. Presently he raised his head from the telephone.
"An invalid French lad, M. Paul de Varez. He had a Hospital Nurse with
him. They left this morning."
An exclamation burst from the other Secret Service man, the waiter. He
had gone deathly pale.
"The invalid boy--the Hospital Nurse," he stammered. "I--they passed me
in the passage. I never dreamed--I had seen them so often before."
"Are you sure they were the same?" cried Mr. Carter. "Are you sure,
man? You looked at them well?"
The man shook his head.
"I hardly glanced at them. I was waiting, you understand, on the alert
for the others, the man with the fair beard and the girl."
"Of course," said Mr. Carter, with a groan. "They counted on that."
With a sudden exclamation, Tommy stooped down and pulled something out
from under the sofa. It was a small rolled up bundle of black. Tommy
unrolled it and several articles fell out. The outside wrapper was
the long black coat Tuppence had worn that day. Inside was her walking
dress, her hat and a long fair beard.
"It's clear enough now," he said bitterly. "They've got her--got
Tuppence. That Russian devil has given us the slip. The Hospital Nurse
and the boy were accomplices. They stayed here for a day or two to
get the Hotel people accustomed to their presence. The man must have
realised at lunch that he was trapped and proceeded to carry out his
plan. Probably he counted on the room next door being empty since it
was when he fixed the bolts. Anyway he managed to silence both the
woman next door and Tuppence, brought her in here, dressed her in boy's
clothes, altered his own appearance, and walked out as bold as brass.
The clothes must have been hidden ready. But I don't quite see how he
managed Tuppence's acquiescence."
"I can see," said Mr. Carter. He picked up a little shining piece of
steel from the carpet. "That's a fragment of a hypodermic needle. She
was doped."
"My God!" groaned Tommy. "And he's got clear away."
"We won't know that," said Carter quickly. "Remember every exit is
watched."
"For a man and a girl. Not for a Hospital Nurse and an invalid boy.
They'll have left the Hotel by now."
Such, on inquiry, proved to be the case. The nurse and her patient had
driven away in a taxi some five minutes earlier.
"Look here, Beresford," said Mr. Carter. "For God's sake, pull yourself
together. You know that I won't leave a stone unturned to find that
girl. I'm going back to my office at once and in less than five minutes
every resource of the department will be at work. We'll get them yet."
"Will you, sir? He's a clever devil, that Russian. Look at the cunning
of this coup of his. But I know you'll do your best. Only--pray God
it's not too late. They've got it in for us badly."
He left the Blitz Hotel and walked blindly along the street, hardly
knowing where he was going. He felt completely paralyzed. Where to
search? What to do?
He went into the Green Park, and dropped down upon a seat. He hardly
noticed when someone else sat down at the opposite end, and was quite
startled to hear a well known voice.
"If you please, sir, if I might make so bold--"
Tommy looked up.
"Hullo, Albert," he said dully.
"I know all about it, sir--but don't take on so."
"Don't take on--" He gave a short laugh. "Easily said, isn't it?"
"Ah, but think, sir. Blunt's Brilliant Detectives! Never beaten. And
if you'll excuse my saying so, I happen to overhear what you and the
Missus was ragging about this morning. Mr. Poirot, and his little grey
cells. Well, sir, why not use your little grey cells, and see what you
can do?"
"It's easier to use your little grey cells in fiction than it is in
fact, my boy."
"Well," said Albert stoutly, "I don't believe anybody could put
the Missus out, for good and all. You know what she is, sir, just
like one of those rubber bones you buy for little dogs--guaranteed
indestructible."
"Albert," said Tommy, "you cheer me."
"Then what about using your little grey cells, sir?"
"You're a persistent lad, Albert. Playing the fool has served us pretty
well up to now. We'll try it again. Let us arrange our facts neatly,
and with method. At ten minutes past two exactly, our quarry enters the
lift. Five minutes later we speak to the lift man, and having heard
what he says, we also go up to the third floor. At, say, nineteen
minutes past two we enter the suite of Mrs. Van Snyder. And now, what
significant fact strikes us?"
There was a pause, no significant fact striking either of them.
"There wasn't such a thing as a trunk in the room, was there?" asked
Albert, his eyes lighting suddenly.
"Mon ami," said Tommy. "You do not understand the psychology of an
American woman who has just returned from Paris. There were, I should
say, about nineteen trunks in the room."
"What I meantersay is, a trunk's a handy thing if you've got a dead
body about you want to get rid of--not that she _is_ dead, for a
minute."
"We searched the only two that were big enough to contain a body. What
is the next fact in chronological order?"
"You've missed one out--when the Missus and the bloke dressed up as a
Hospital Nurse passed the waiter in the passage."
"It must have been just before we came up in the lift," said Tommy.
"They must have had a narrow escape of meeting us face to face. Pretty
quick work, that. I--"
He stopped.
"What is it, sir?"
"Be silent, mon ami. I have the kind of little idea--colossal,
stupendous--that always comes sooner or later to Hercule Poirot. But if
so--if that's it--Oh! Lord, I hope I'm in time."
He raced out of the Park, Albert hard on his heels, inquiring
breathlessly as he ran. "What's up, sir? I don't understand."
"That's all right," said Tommy. "You're not supposed to. Hastings never
did. If your grey cells weren't of a very inferior order to mine, what
fun do you think I should get out of this game? I'm talking damned
rot--but I can't help it. You're a good lad, Albert. You know what
Tuppence is worth--she's worth a dozen of you and me."
Thus talking breathlessly as he ran, Tommy reëntered the portals of the
Blitz. He caught sight of Evans, and drew him aside with a few hurried
words. The two men entered the lift, Albert with them.
"Third floor," said Tommy.
At the door of No. 318 they paused. Evans had a pass key, and used it
forthwith. Without a word of warning, they walked straight into Mrs.
Van Snyder's bedroom. The lady was still lying on the bed, but was now
arrayed in a becoming negligee. She stared at them in surprise.
"Pardon my failure to knock," said Tommy, pleasantly. "But I want my
wife. Do you mind getting off that bed?"
"I guess you've gone plumb crazy," cried Mrs. Van Snyder.
Tommy surveyed her thoughtfully, his head on one side.
"Very artistic," he pronounced. "But it won't do. We looked _under_
the bed--but not _in_ it. I remember using that hiding-place myself
when young. Horizontally across the bed, underneath the bolster. And
that nice wardrobe trunk all ready to take away the body in later.
But we were a bit too quick for you just now. You'd had time to dope
Tuppence, put her under the bolster, and be gagged and bound by your
accomplices next door, and I'll admit we swallowed your story all
right for the moment. But when one came to think it out--with order
and method--impossible to drug a girl, dress her in boy's clothes, gag
and bind another woman, and change one's own appearance--all in five
minutes. Simply a physical impossibility. The Hospital Nurse and the
boy were to be a decoy. We were to follow that trail, and Mrs. Van
Snyder was to be a pitied victim. Just help the lady off the bed, will
you, Evans? You have your automatic? Good."
Protesting shrilly, Mrs. Van Snyder was hauled from her place of
repose. Tommy tore off the coverings and the bolster.
There, lying horizontally across the top of the bed was Tuppence, her
eyes closed, and her face waxen. For a moment, Tommy felt a sudden
dread, then he saw the slight rise and fall of her breast. She was
drugged, not dead.
He turned to Albert and Evans.
"And now, Messieurs," he said dramatically. "The final _coup_!"
With a swift unexpected gesture, he seized Mrs. Van Snyder by her
elaborately dressed hair. It came off in his hand.
"As I thought," said Tommy. "_No._ 16!"
It was about half an hour later when Tuppence opened her eyes and found
a doctor and Tommy bending over her.
Over the events of the next quarter of an hour a decent veil had better
be drawn, but after that period the doctor departed with the assurance
that all was now well.
"Mon ami, Hastings," said Tommy fondly. "How I rejoice that you are
still alive."
"Have we got No. 16?"
"Once more have I crushed him like an egg shell--In other words,
Carter's got him. The little grey cells! By the way, I'm raising
Albert's wages."
"Tell me all about it."
Tommy gave her a spirited narrative, with certain omissions.
"Weren't you half frantic about me?" asked Tuppence faintly.
"Not particularly. One must keep calm, you know."
"Liar!" said Tuppence. "You look quite haggard still."
"Well, perhaps I was just a little worried, darling. I say--we're going
to give it up now, aren't we?"
"Certainly we are."
Tommy gave a sigh of relief.
"I hoped you'd be sensible. After a shock like this--"
"It's not the shock. You know I never mind shocks."
"A rubber bone--indestructible," murmured Tommy.
"I've got something better to do," continued Tuppence. "Something ever
so much more exciting. Something I've never done before."
Tommy looked at her with lively apprehension.
"I forbid it, Tuppence."
"You can't," said Tuppence. "It's a law of nature."
"What are you talking about, Tuppence?"
"I'm talking," said Tuppence, "of Our Baby. Wives don't whisper
nowadays. They shout. OUR BABY! Tommy, isn't everything marvellous?"