The Secret Adversary (Tommy & Tuppence 1)

Five minutes later the young couple emerged into Piccadilly, and a fewseconds later a taxi was bearing them to The Laurels, Glendower Road,N.7, the residence of Mrs. Edgar Keith, whose name figured first in alist of seven reposing in Tommy’s pocket-book.

The Laurels was a dilapidated house, standing back from the road witha few grimy bushes to support the fiction of a front garden. Tommy paidoff the taxi, and accompanied Tuppence to the front door bell. As shewas about to ring it, he arrested her hand.

“What are you going to say?”

“What am I going to say? Why, I shall say--Oh dear, I don’t know. It’svery awkward.”

“I thought as much,” said Tommy with satisfaction. “How like a woman! Noforesight! Now just stand aside, and see how easily the mere maledeals with the situation.” He pressed the bell. Tuppence withdrew to asuitable spot.

A slatternly looking servant, with an extremely dirty face and a pair ofeyes that did not match, answered the door.

Tommy had produced a notebook and pencil.

“Good morning,” he said briskly and cheerfully. “From the HampsteadBorough Council. The new Voting Register. Mrs. Edgar Keith lives here,does she not?”

“Yaas,” said the servant.

“Christian name?” asked Tommy, his pencil poised.

“Missus’s? Eleanor Jane.”

“Eleanor,” spelt Tommy. “Any sons or daughters over twenty-one?”

“Naow.”

“Thank you.” Tommy closed the notebook with a brisk snap. “Goodmorning.”

The servant

volunteered her first remark:

“I thought perhaps as you’d come about the gas,” she observedcryptically, and shut the door.

Tommy rejoined his accomplice.

“You see, Tuppence,” he observed. “Child’s play to the masculine mind.”

“I don’t mind admitting that for once you’ve scored handsomely. I shouldnever have thought of that.”

“Good wheeze, wasn’t it? And we can repeat it _ad lib_.”

Lunch-time found the young couple attacking a steak and chips in anobscure hostelry with avidity. They had collected a Gladys Mary and aMarjorie, been baffled by one change of address, and had been forced tolisten to a long lecture on universal suffrage from a vivacious Americanlady whose Christian name had proved to be Sadie.

“Ah!” said Tommy, imbibing a long draught of beer, “I feel better.Where’s the next draw?”

The notebook lay on the table between them. Tuppence picked it up.

“Mrs. Vandemeyer,” she read, “20 South Audley Mansions. Miss Wheeler, 43Clapington Road, Battersea. She’s a lady’s maid, as far as I remember,so probably won’t be there, and, anyway, she’s not likely.”

“Then the Mayfair lady is clearly indicated as the first port of call.”

“Tommy, I’m getting discouraged.”

“Buck up, old bean. We always knew it was an outside chance. And,anyway, we’re only starting. If we draw a blank in London, there’s afine tour of England, Ireland and Scotland before us.”

“True,” said Tuppence, her flagging spirits reviving. “And all expensespaid! But, oh, Tommy, I do like things to happen quickly. So far,adventure has succeeded adventure, but this morning has been dull asdull.”

“You must stifle this longing for vulgar sensation, Tuppence. Rememberthat if Mr. Brown is all he is reported to be, it’s a wonder that he hasnot ere now done us to death. That’s a good sentence, quite a literaryflavour about it.”

“You’re really more conceited than I am--with less excuse! Ahem! But itcertainly is queer that Mr. Brown has not yet wreaked vengeance upon us.(You see, I can do it too.) We pass on our way unscathed.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t think us worth bothering about,” suggested the youngman simply.

Tuppence received the remark with great disfavour.

“How horrid you are, Tommy. Just as though we didn’t count.”

“Sorry, Tuppence. What I meant was that we work like moles in the dark,and that he has no suspicion of our nefarious schemes. Ha ha!”

“Ha ha!” echoed Tuppence approvingly, as she rose.

South Audley Mansions was an imposing-looking block of flats just offPark Lane. No. 20 was on the second floor.

Tommy had by this time the glibness born of practice. He rattled offthe formula to the elderly woman, looking more like a housekeeper than aservant, who opened the door to him.

“Christian name?”

“Margaret.”

Tommy spelt it, but the other interrupted him.

“No, _g u e_.”

“Oh, Marguerite; French way, I see.” He paused, then plunged boldly. “Wehad her down as Rita Vandemeyer, but I suppose that’s incorrect?”

“She’s mostly called that, sir, but Marguerite’s her name.”

“Thank you. That’s all. Good morning.”

Hardly able to contain his excitement, Tommy hurried down the stairs.Tuppence was waiting at the angle of the turn.

“You heard?”

“Yes. Oh, _Tommy!_”

Tommy squeezed her arm sympathetically.

“I know, old thing. I feel the same.”

“It’s--it’s so lovely to think of things--and then for them really tohappen!” cried Tuppence enthusiastically.

Her hand was still in Tommy’s. They had reached the entrance hall. Therewere footsteps on the stairs above them, and voices.

Suddenly, to Tommy’s complete surprise, Tuppence dragged him into thelittle space by the side of the lift where the shadow was deepest.

“What the----”

“Hush!”

Two men came down the stairs and passed out through the entrance.Tuppence’s hand closed tighter on Tommy’s arm.

“Quick--follow them. I daren’t. He might recognize me. I don’t know whothe other man is, but the bigger of the two was Whittington.”