“I broke the glass this morning,” he remarked. “That paved the way for its being the crystalless watch which my sensitive fingers touch so lightly.”
“Be careful,” said Tuppence. “You nearly had the short hand off then.”
“Give me your hand,” said Tommy. He held it, one finger feeling for the pulse. “Ah! the keyboard of silence. This woman has not got heart disease.”
“I suppose,” said Tuppence, “that you are Thornley Colton?”
“Just so,” said Tommy. “The blind Problemist. And you’re thingummybob, the black-haired apple-cheeked secretary—”
“The bundle of baby clothes picked up on the banks of the English river,” finished Tuppence.
“And Albert is the Fee, alias Shrimp.”
“We must teach him to say ‘Gee,’ ” said Tuppence. “And his voice isn’t shrill. It’s dreadfully hoarse.”
“Against the wall by the door,” said Tommy, “you perceive the slim hollow cane which held in my sensitive hand tells me so much.”
He rose and cannoned into a chair.
“Damn!” said Tommy. “I forgot that chair was there.”
“It must be beastly to be blind,” said Tuppence with feeling.
“Rather,” agreed Tommy heartily. “I’m sorrier for all those poor devils who lost their eyesight in the War than for anyone else. But they say that when you live in the dark you really do develop special senses. That’s what I want to try and see if one couldn’t do. It would be jolly handy to