Partners in Crime

he was fond of his wife⁠—”

But the Inspector interrupted him with a snort.

“Fond of her? That’s as may be. He was at his wits’ end where to turn for money. Lady Merivale had a large fortune of her own, and it all went to him. If she’d bolted with young Hale, he’d never have seen a penny of it.”

“That was it, was it?”

“Of course, from the very start, I sensed that Sir Arthur was a bad lot, and that Captain Hale was all right. We know pretty well what’s what at the Yard⁠—but it’s awkward when you’re up against facts. I’ll be going down now⁠—I should give your wife a glass of brandy if I were you, Mr. Beresford⁠—it’s been upsetting like for her.”

“Greengrocers,” said Tuppence in a low voice as the door closed behind the imperturbable Inspector. “Butchers. Fishermen. Detectives. I was right, wasn’t I? He knew.”

Tommy, who had been busy at the sideboard, approached her with a large glass.

“Drink this.”

“What is it? Brandy?”

“No, it’s a large cocktail⁠—suitable for a triumphant McCarty. Yes, Marriot’s right all round⁠—that was the way of it. A bold finesse for game and rubber.”

Tuppence nodded.

“But he finessed the wrong way round.”

“And so,” said Tommy. “Exit the King.”

VII

The Case of the Missing Lady

The buzzer on Mr. Blunt’s desk⁠—(International Detective Agency, Manager, Theodore Blunt)⁠—uttered its warning call. Tommy and Tuppence both flew to their respective peepholes which commanded a view of the outer office. There it was Albert’s business to delay the prospective clients with various artistic devices.

“I will see, sir,” he was saying. “But I’m afraid Mr. Blunt is very busy just at present. He is engaged with Scotland Yard on the phone just now.”

“I’ll wait,” said the visitor. “I haven’t got a card with me, but my name is Gabriel Stavansson.”

The client was a magnificent specimen of manhood, standing over six feet high. His face was bronzed and weather beaten, and the extraordinary blue of his eyes made an almost startling contrast to the brown skin.

Tommy swiftly made up his mind. He put on his hat, picked up some gloves, and opened the door. He paused on the threshold.

“This gentleman is waiting to see you, Mr. Blunt,” said Albert.

A quick frown passed over Tommy’s face. He took out his watch.

“I am due at the Duke’s at a quarter to eleven,” he said. Then he looked keenly at the visitor. “I can give you a few minutes if you will come this way.”

The latter followed him obediently into the inner office where Tuppence was sitting demurely with pad and pencil.

“My confidential secretary, Miss Robinson,” said Tommy. “Now, sir, perhaps you will state your business? Beyond the fact that it is urgent, that you came here in a taxi, and that you have lately been in the Arctic⁠—or possibly the Antarctic, I know nothing.”

The visitor stared at him in amazement.

“But this is marvellous,” he cried. “I thought detectives only did such things in books! Your office boy did not even give you my name!”

Tommy sighed deprecatingly.

“Tut tut, all that was very easy,” he said. “The rays of the midnight sun within the Arctic circle have a peculiar action upon the skin⁠—the actinic rays have certain properties. I am writing a little monograph on the subject shortly. But all this is wide of the point. What is it that has brought you to me in such distress of mind?”

“To begin with, Mr. Blunt, my name is Gabriel Stavansson⁠—”

“Ah! of course,” said Tommy. “The well known explorer. You have recently returned from the region of the North Pole, I believe?”

“I landed in England three days ago. A friend who was cruising in Northern waters brought me back on his yacht. Otherwise I should not have got back for another fortnight. Now I must tell you, Mr. Blunt, that before I started on this last expedition two years ago, I had the great good fortune to become engaged to Mrs. Maurice Leigh Gordon⁠—”

Tommy interrupted.

“Mrs. Leigh Gordon was, before her marriage⁠—”

“The Honorable Hermione Crane, second daughter of Lord Lanchester,” reeled off Tuppence glibly.

Tommy threw her a glance of admiration.

“Her first husband was killed in the War,” added Tuppence.

Gabriel Stavansson nodded.

“That is quite correct. As I was saying, Hermione and I became engaged. I offered, of course, to give up this expedition, but she wouldn’t hear of such a thing⁠—bless her! She’s the right kind of woman for an explorer’s wife. Well, my first thought on landing was to see Hermione. I sent a telegram from Southampton, and rushed up to town by the first train. I knew that she was living for the time being with an aunt of hers, Lady Susan Clonray, in Pont Street, and I went straight there. To my great disappointment, I found that Hermy was away visiting some friends in Northumberland. Lady Susan was quite nice about it, after getting over her first surprise at seeing me. As I told you, I wasn’t expected for another fortnight. She said Hermy would be returning in a few days’ time. Then I asked for her address, but the old woman hummed and hawed⁠—said Hermy was staying at one of two different places, and that she wasn’t quite sure what order she was taking them in. I may as well tell you, Mr. Blunt, that Lady Susan and I have never got on very well. She’s one of those fat women with double chins. I loathe fat women⁠—always have⁠—fat women and fat dogs are an abomination unto the Lord⁠—and unfortunately they so often go together! It’s an idiosyncracy of mine, I know⁠—but there it is⁠—I never can get on with a fat woman.”

“Fashion agrees with you, Mr. Stavansson,” said Tommy drily. “And everyone has their own pet aversion⁠—that of the late Lord Roberts was cats.”

“Mind you, I’m not saying that Lady Susan isn’t a perfectly charming woman⁠—she may be, but I’ve never taken to her. I’ve always felt, deep down, that she disapproved of our engagement, and I feel sure that