She went out with a resolute look on her face.
Once or twice in the following days Tommy inquired curiously about the idea. Tuppence merely shook her head and told him to give her time.
And then, one glorious morning, the first client arrived, and all else was forgotten.
There was a knock on the outer door of the office and Albert, who had just placed an acid drop between his lips, roared out an indistinct “come in.” He then swallowed the acid drop whole in his surprise and delight. For this looked like the Real Thing.
A tall young man, exquisitely and beautifully dressed, stood hesitating in the doorway.
“A toff, if ever there was one,” said Albert to himself. His judgment in such matters was good.
The young man was about twenty-four years of age, had beautifully slicked-back hair, a tendency to pink rims round the eyes, and practically no chin to speak of.
In an ecstasy, Albert pressed a button under his desk, and almost immediately a perfect fusilade of typing broke out from the direction of “Clerks.” Tuppence had rushed to the post of duty. The effect of this hum of industry was to overawe the young man still further.
“I say,” he remarked. “Is this the whatnot—detective agency—Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives? All that sort of stuff, you know? Eh?”
“Did you want, sir, to speak to Mr. Blunt himself?” inquired Albert, with an air of doubt as to whether such a thing could be managed.
“Well—yes, laddie, that was the jolly old idea. Can it be done?”