“That will be all right,” said Tuppence. “I am sure Mr. Blunt will take the case on for you.”
“Certainly, certainly,” said Tommy. “A most refreshing case, most refreshing indeed.”
Mr. Montgomery Jones heaved a sigh of relief and pulled a mass of papers from his pocket and selected one of them. “Here it is,” he said. “She says, ‘I am sending you proof I was in two distinct places at one and the same time. According to one story I dined at the Bon Temps Restaurant in Soho by myself, went to the Duke’s Theatre and had supper with a friend, Mr. le Marchant, at the Savoy—but I was also staying at the Castle Hotel, Torquay, and only returned to London on the following morning. You have got to find out which of the two stories is the true one and how I managed the other.’
“There,” said Mr. Montgomery Jones. “Now you see what it is that I want you to do.”
“A most refreshing little problem,” said Tommy. “Very naive.”
“Here is Una’s photograph,” said Mr. Montgomery Jones. “You will want that.”
“What is the lady’s full name?” inquired Tommy.
“Miss Una Drake. And her address is 180 Clarges Street.”
“Thank you,” said Tommy. “Well, we will look into the matter for you, Mr. Montgomery Jones. I hope we shall have good news for you very shortly.”
“I say you know, I am no end grateful,” said Mr. Jones rising to his feet and shaking Tommy by the hand. “It has taken an awful load off my mind.”
Having seen his client out, Tommy returned to the inner office. Tuppence was at the cupboard that contained the Classic library.
“Inspector French,” said Tuppence.
“Eh?” said Tommy.
“Inspector French of course,” said Tuppence. “He always does alibis. I know the exact procedure. We have to go over everything and check it. At first it will seem all right and then when we examine it more closely we shall find the flaw.”
“There ought not to be much difficulty about that,” agreed Tommy. “I mean, knowing that one of them is a fake to start with makes the thing almost a certainty I should say. That is what worries me.”
“I don’t see anything to worry about in that.”
“I am worrying about the girl,” said Tommy. “She will probably be let in to marry that young man whether she wants to or not.”
“Darling,” said Tuppence, “don’t be foolish. Women are never the wild gamblers they appear. Unless that girl was already perfectly prepared to marry that pleasant but rather empty-headed young man, she would never have let herself in for a wager of this kind. But, Tommy, believe me, she will marry him with more enthusiasm and respect if he wins the wager than if she has to make it easy for him some other way.”
“You do think you know about everything,” said her husband.
“I do,” said Tuppence.
“And now to examine our data,” said Tommy drawing the papers towards him. “First the photograph—hm—quite a nice looking girl—and quite a good photograph I should say. Clear and easily recognisable.”
“We must get some other girls’ photographs,” said Tuppence.
“Why?”
“They always do,” said Tuppence. “You show four or five to waiters and they pick out the right one.”
“Do you think they do?” said Tommy—“pick out the right one I mean.”
“Well, they do in books,” said Tuppence.
“It is a pity that real life is so different from fiction,” said Tommy. “Now then what have we here? Yes, this is the London lot. Dined at the Bon Temps seven thirty. Went to Duke’s Theatre and saw Delphiniums Blue. Counterfoil of theatre ticket enclosed. Supper at the Savoy with Mr. le Marchant. We can, I suppose, interview Mr. le Marchant.”
“That tells us nothing at all,” said Tuppence, “because if he is helping her to do it he naturally won’t give the show away. We can wash out anything he says now.”
“Well, here is the Torquay end,” went on Tommy. “Twelve o’clock train from Paddington, had lunch in the Restaurant Car, receipted bill enclosed. Stayed at Castle Hotel for one night. Again receipted bill.”
“I think this is all rather weak,” said Tuppence. “Anyone can buy a theatre ticket, you need never go near the theatre. The girl just went to Torquay and the London thing is a fake.”
“If so, it is rather a sitter for us,” said Tommy. “Well, I suppose we might as well go and interview Mr. le Marchant.”
Mr. le Marchant proved to be a breezy youth who betrayed no great surprise on seeing them.
“Una has got some little game on, hasn’t she?” he asked. “You never know what that kid is up to.”
“I understand, Mr. le Marchant,” said Tommy, “that Miss Drake had supper with you at the Savoy last Tuesday evening.”
“That’s right,” said Mr. le Marchant. “I know it was Tuesday because Una impressed it on me at the time and what’s more she made me write it down in a little book.”
With some pride he showed an entry faintly pencilled: “Having supper with Una. Savoy. Tuesday 19th.”
“Where had Miss Drake been earlier in the evening? Do you know?”
“She had been to some rotten show called Pink Peonies or something like that. Absolute slosh so she told me.”
“You are quite sure Miss Drake was with you that evening?”
Mr. le Marchant stared at him.
“Why, of course. Haven’t I been telling you?”
“Perhaps she asked you to tell us,” said Tuppence.
“Well, for a matter of fact she did say something that was rather dashed odd. She said, what was it now? ‘You think you are sitting here having supper with me, Jimmy, but really, I am having supper two hundred miles away in Devonshire.’ Now that was a dashed odd thing to say, don’t you think so? Sort of astral body stuff. The funny thing is that a pal of mine, Dicky Rice, thought he saw her there.”
“Who is this Mr. Rice?”
“Oh, just a friend of mine. He had been down in Torquay staying with an aunt. Sort
