The Secret Adversary (Tommy & Tuppence 1)

CHAPTER II. MR. WHITTINGTON’S OFFER

TUPPENCE turned sharply, but the words hovering on the tip of her tongueremained unspoken, for the man’s appearance and manner did not bear outher first and most natural assumption. She hesitated. As if he read herthoughts, the man said quickly:

“I can assure you I mean no disrespect.”

Tuppence believed him. Although she disliked and distrusted himinstinctively, she was inclined to acquit him of the particular motivewhich she had at first attributed to him. She looked him up and down. Hewas a big man, clean shaven, with a heavy jowl. His eyes were small andcunning, and shifted their glance under her direct gaze.

“Well, what is it?” she asked.

The man smiled.

“I happened to overhear part of your conversation with the younggentleman in Lyons’.”

“Well--what of it?”

“Nothing--except that I think I may be of some use to you.”

Another inference forced itself into Tuppence’s mind:

“You followed me here?”

“I took that liberty.”

“And in what way do you think you could be of use to me?”

The man took a card from his pocket and handed it to her with a bow.

Tuppence took it and scrutinized it carefully. It bore the inscription,“Mr. Edward Whittington.” Below the name were the words “EsthoniaGlassware Co.,” and the address of a city office. Mr. Whittington spokeagain:

“If you will call upon me to-morrow morning at eleven o’clock, I willlay the details of my proposition before you.”

“At eleven o’clock?” said Tuppence doubtfully.

“At eleven o’clock.”

Tuppence made up her mind.

“Very well. I’ll be there.”

“Thank you. Good evening.”

He raised his hat with a flourish, and walked away. Tuppence remainedfor some minutes gazing after him. Then she gave a curious movement ofher shoulders, rather as a terrier shakes himself.

“The adventures have begun,” she murmured to herself. “What does he wantme to do, I wonder? There’s something about you, Mr. Whittington, that Idon’t like at all. But, on the other hand, I’m not the least bit afraidof you. And as I’ve said before, and shall doubtless say again, littleTuppence can look after herself, thank you!”

And with a short, sharp nod of her head she walked briskly onward. As aresult of further meditations, however, she turned aside from the directroute and entered a post office. There she pondered for some moments,a telegraph form in her hand. The thought of a possible five shillingsspent unnecessarily spurred her to action, and she decided to risk thewaste of ninepence.

Disdaining the spiky pen and thick, black treacle which a beneficentGovernment had provided, Tuppence drew out Tommy’s pencil which she hadretained and wrote rapidly: “Don’t put in advertisement. Will explainto-morrow.” She addressed it to Tommy at his club, from which in oneshort month he would have to resign, unless a kindly fortune permittedhim to renew his subscription.

“It may catch him,” she murmured. “Anyway, it’s worth trying.”

After handing it over the counter she set out briskly for home, stoppingat a baker’s to buy three penny-worth of new buns.

Later, in her tiny cubicle at the top of the house she munched buns andreflected on the future. What was the Esthonia Glassware Co., and whatearthly need could it have for her services? A pleasurable thrill ofexcitement made Tuppence tingle. At any rate, the country vicarage hadretreated into the background again. The morrow held possibilities.

It was a long time before Tuppence went to sleep that night, and, whenat length she did, she dreamed that Mr. Whittington had set her towashing up a pile of Esthonia Glassware, which bore an unaccountableresemblance to hospital plates!

It wanted some five minutes to eleven when Tuppence reached the blockof buildings in which the offices of the Esthonia Glassware Co. weresituated. To arrive before the time would look over-eager. So Tuppencedecided to walk to the end of the street and back again. She did so. Onthe stroke of eleven she plunged into the recesses of the building.The Esthonia Glassware Co. was on the top floor. There was a lift, butTuppence chose to walk up.

Slightly out of breath, she came to a halt outside the ground glass doorwith the legend painted across it “Esthonia Glassware Co.”

Tuppence knocked. In response to a voice from within, she turned thehandle and walked into a small rather dirty outer office.

A middle-aged clerk got down from a high stool at a desk near the windowand came towards her inquiringly.

“I have an appointment with Mr. Whittington,” said Tuppence.

“Will you come this way, please.” He crossed to a partition door with“Private” on it, knocked, then opened the door and stood aside to lether pass in.

Mr. Whittington was seated behind a large desk covered with papers.Tuppence felt her previous judgment confirmed. There was something wrongabout Mr. Whittington. The combination of his sleek prosperity and hisshifty eye was not attractive.

He looked up and nodded.

“So you’ve turned up all right? That’s good. Sit down, will you?”

Tuppence sat down on the chair facing him. She looked particularly smalland demure this morning. She sat there meekly with downcast eyes whilstMr. Whittington sorted and rustled amongst his papers. Finally he pushedthem away, and leaned over the desk.

“Now, my dear young lady, let us come to business.” His large facebroadened into a smile. “You want work? Well, I have work to offeryou. What should you say now to £100 down, and all expenses paid?” Mr.Whittington leaned back in his chair, and thrust his thumbs into thearm-holes of his waistcoat.

Tuppence eyed him warily.

“And the nature of the work?” she demanded.

“Nominal--purely nominal. A pleasant trip, that is all.”

“Where to?”

Mr. Whittington smiled again.

“Paris.”

“Oh!” said Tuppence thoughtfully. To herself she said: “Of course,if father heard that he would have a fit! But somehow I don’t see Mr.Whittington in the role of the gay deceiver.”

“Yes,” continued Whittington. “What could be more delightful? To put theclock back a few years--a very few, I am sure--and re-enter one of thosecharming _pensionnats de jeunes filles_ with which Paris abounds----”

Tuppence interrupted him.

“A _pensionnat?_”

“Exactly. Madame Colombier’s in the Avenue de Neuilly.”

Tuppence knew the name well. Nothing could have been more select. Shehad had several American friends there. She was more than ever puzzled.

“You want me to go to Madame Colombier’s? For how long?”

“That depends. Possibly three months.”

“And that is all? There are no other conditions?”

“None whatever. You would, of course, go in the character of my ward,and you would hold no communication with your friends. I should haveto request absolute secrecy for the time being. By the way, you areEnglish, are you not?”

“Yes.”

“Yet you speak with a slight American accent?”

“My great pal in hospital was a little American girl. I dare say Ipicked it up from her. I can soon get out of it again.”

“On the contrary, it might be simpler for you to pass as an American.Details about your past life in England might be more difficult tosustain. Yes, I think that would be decidedly better. Then----”

“One moment, Mr. Whittington! You seem to be taking my consent forgranted.”

Whittington looked surprised.

“Surely you are not thinking of refusing? I can assure you that MadameColombier’s is a most high-class and orthodox establishment. And theterms are most liberal.”