“We are,” said Tommy, “and we are out to get The Crackler and we will get him good.”
“Did you say The Cackler or The Crackler?”
“The Crackler.”
“Oh, what is a Crackler?”
“A new word that I have coined,” said Tommy. “Descriptive of one who passes false notes into circulation. Bank notes crackle; therefore he is called a Crackler. Nothing could be more simple.”
“That is rather a good idea,” said Tuppence, “it makes it seem more real. I like the Rustler myself. Much more descriptive and sinister.”
“No,” said Tommy, “I said the Crackler first and I stick to it.”
“I shall enjoy this case,” said Tuppence. “Lots of Night Clubs and cocktails in it. I shall buy some eyelash black tomorrow.”
“Your eyelashes are black already,” objected her husband.
“I could make them blacker,” said Tuppence, “and cherry lipstick would be useful too. That ultra bright kind.”
“Tuppence,” said Tommy, “you’re a real rake at heart. What a good thing it is that you are married to a sober steady middle-aged man like myself.”
“You wait,” said Tuppence. “When you have been to the Python Club a bit you mayn’t be so sober yourself.”
Tommy produced from a cupboard various bottles, two glasses, and a cocktail shaker.
“Let’s start now,” he said. “We are after you, Crackler, and we mean to get you.”