Partners in Crime

both clean shaven men. Doris Evans probably saw several photographs of the murdered man reproduced in the papers, but as you yourself observed⁠—one can just see that it’s a man and that’s about all.”

“Didn’t she ever see Hollaby in Court?”

“The son never appeared in the case at all. Why should he? He had no evidence to give. It was old Hollaby, with his irreproachable alibi, who stood in the limelight throughout. Nobody has even bothered to inquire what son was doing that particular evening.”

“It all fits in,” admitted Tuppence. She paused a minute, and then asked: “Are you going to tell all this to the police?”

“I don’t know if they’d listen.”

“They’ll listen all right,” said an unexpected voice behind him.

Tommy swung round to confront Inspector Marriot. The Inspector was sitting at the next table. In front of him was a poached egg.

“Often drop in here to lunch,” said Inspector Marriot. “As I was saying, we’ll listen all right⁠—in fact I’ve been listening. I don’t mind telling you that we’ve not been quite satisfied all along over those Porcupine figures. You see, we’ve had our suspicions of those Hollabys. But nothing to go upon. Too sharp for us. Then this murder came, and that seemed to upset all our ideas. But thanks to you and the lady, sir, we’ll confront young Hollaby and Doris Evans and see if she recognizes him. I rather fancy she will. That’s a very ingenious idea of yours about the blue coat. I’ll see that Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives get the credit for it.”

“You are a nice man, Inspector Marriot,” said Tuppence gratefully.

“We think a lot of you two at the Yard,” replied that stolid gentleman. “You’d be surprised. If I may ask you, sir, what’s the meaning of that piece of string?”

“Nothing,” said Tommy, stuffing it into his pocket. “A bad habit of mine. As to the cheese cake and the milk⁠—I’m on a diet. Nervous dyspepsia. Busy men are always martyrs to it.”

“Ah!” said the detective. “I thought perhaps you’d been reading⁠—well, it’s of no consequence.”

But the Inspector’s eyes twinkled.

XII

The House of Lurking Death

I

“What⁠—” began Tuppence, and then stopped.

She had just entered the private office of Mr. Blunt from the adjoining one marked “Clerks,” and was surprised to behold her lord and master with his eye riveted to the private peep hole into the outer office.

“Ssh,” said Tommy, warningly. “Didn’t you hear the buzzer? It’s a girl⁠—rather a nice girl⁠—in fact she looks to me a frightfully nice girl. Albert is telling her all that tosh about my being engaged with Scotland Yard.”

“Let me see,” demanded Tuppence.

Somewhat unwillingly, Tommy moved aside. Tuppence in her turn glued her eye to the peep hole.

“She’s not bad,” admitted Tuppence. “And her clothes are simply the latest shout.”

“She’s perfectly lovely,” said Tommy. “She’s like those girls Mason writes about⁠—you know, frightfully sympathetic, and beautiful, and distinctly intelligent without being too saucy. I think, yes⁠—I certainly think⁠—I shall be the great Hanaud this morning.”

“Hm,” said Tuppence. “If there is one detective out of all the others whom you are most unlike⁠—I should say it was Hanaud. Can you do the lightning changes of personality? Can you be the great comedian, the little gutter boy, the serious and sympathetic friend⁠—all in five minutes?”

“I know this,” said Tommy, rapping sharply on the desk, “I am the Captain of the Ship⁠—and don’t you forget it, Tuppence. I’m going to have her in.”

He pressed the buzzer on his desk. Albert appeared ushering in the client.

The girl stopped in the doorway as though undecided. Tommy came forward.

“Come in, Mademoiselle,” he said kindly, “and seat yourself here.”

Tuppence choked audibly, and Tommy turned upon her with a swift change of manner. His tone was menacing.

“You spoke, Miss Robinson? Ah! no, I thought not.”

He turned back to the girl.

“We will not be serious or formal,” he said. “You will just tell me all about it, and then we will discuss the best way to help you.”

“You are very kind,” said the girl. “Excuse me, but are you a foreigner?”

A fresh choke from Tuppence. Tommy glared in her direction out of the corner of his eye.

“Not exactly,” he said with difficulty. “But of late years I have worked a good deal abroad. My methods are the methods of the Sûreté.”

“Oh!” The girl seemed impressed.

She was, as Tommy had indicated, a very charming girl. Young and slim, with a trace of golden hair peeping out from under her little brown felt hat, and big serious eyes.

That she was nervous could be plainly seen. Her little hands were twisting themselves together, and she kept clasping and unclasping the catch of her lacquer red handbag.

“First of all, Mr. Blunt, I must tell you that my name is Lois Hargreaves. I live in a great rambling old fashioned house called Thurnly Grange. It is in the heart of the country. There is the village of Thurnly near by, but it is very small and insignificant. There is plenty of hunting in winter, and we get tennis in summer, and I have never felt lonely there. Indeed I much prefer country to town life.

“I tell you this so that you may realise that in a country village like ours, everything that happens is of supreme importance. About a week ago, I got a box of chocolates sent through the post. There was nothing inside to indicate who they came from. Now I myself am not particularly fond of chocolates, but the others in the house are, and the box was passed around. As a result, everyone who had eaten any chocolates was taken ill. We sent for the doctor, and after various inquiries as to what other things had been eaten, he took the remains of the chocolates away with him, and had them analysed. Mr. Blunt, those chocolates contained arsenic! Not enough to kill anyone, but enough to make anyone quite ill.”

“Extraordinary,” commented Tommy.

“Dr. Burton was very excited over the matter. It