“No, not a chop and fried potatoes. This gentleman will have a cheese cake and a glass of milk.”
“A cheese cake and a milk,” said the waitress with even deeper scorn if that were possible. Still thinking of something else, she drifted away again.
“That was uncalled for,” said Tommy coldly.
“But I’m right, aren’t I? You are the Old Man in the Corner? Where’s your piece of string?”
Tommy drew a long twisted mesh of string from his pocket, and proceeded to tie a couple of knots in it.
“Complete to the smallest detail,” he murmured.
“You made a small mistake in ordering your meal, though.”
“Women are so literal minded,” said Tommy. “If there’s one thing I hate it’s milk to drink, and cheese cakes are always so yellow and bilious looking.”
“Be an artist,” said Tuppence. “Watch me attack my cold tongue. Jolly good stuff, cold tongue. Now then, I’m all ready to be Miss Polly Burton. Tie a large knot and begin.”
“First of all,” said Tommy, “speaking in a strictly unofficial capacity, let me point out this. Business is not too brisk lately. If business does not come to us, we must go to business. Apply our minds to one of the great public mysteries of the moment. Which brings me to the point—the Sunningdale Mystery.”
“Ah!” said Tuppence, with deep interest. “The Sunningdale Mystery!”