“Many people are not aware of the fact,” murmured Tommy. “I am wearing an eyeshade today to save my eyeballs from glare. But without it, quite a host of people have never suspected my infirmity—if you call it that. You see, my eyes cannot mislead me. But enough of all this. Shall we go at once to my office, or will you give me the facts of the case here? The latter would be best, I think.”
A waiter brought up two extra chairs, and the two men sat down. The second man, who had not yet spoken, was shorter, sturdy in build and very dark.
“It is a matter of great delicacy,” said the older man dropping his voice confidentially. He looked uncertainly at Tuppence. Mr. Blunt seemed to feel the glance.
“Let me introduce my confidential secretary,” he said. “Miss Ganges. Found on the banks of the Indian river—a mere bundle of baby clothes. Very sad history. Miss Ganges is my eyes. She accompanies me everywhere.”
The stranger acknowledged the introduction with a bow.
“Then I can speak out. Mr. Blunt, my daughter, a girl of sixteen, has been abducted under somewhat peculiar circumstances. I discovered this half an hour ago. The circumstances of the case were such that I dared not call in the police. Instead I rang up your office. They told me you were out to lunch, but would be back by half past two. I came in here with my friend Captain Harker—”
The short man jerked his head and muttered something.
“By the greatest good fortune you happened to be lunching here also. We must lose no time. You must return with me to my house immediately.”
Tommy demurred cautiously.