“What—” began Tuppence, and then stopped.
She had just entered the private office of Mr. Blunt from the adjoining one marked “Clerks,” and was surprised to behold her lord and master with his eye riveted to the private peep hole into the outer office.
“Ssh,” said Tommy, warningly. “Didn’t you hear the buzzer? It’s a girl—rather a nice girl—in fact she looks to me a frightfully nice girl. Albert is telling her all that tosh about my being engaged with Scotland Yard.”
“Let me see,” demanded Tuppence.
Somewhat unwillingly, Tommy moved aside. Tuppence in her turn glued her eye to the peep hole.
“She’s not bad,” admitted Tuppence. “And her clothes are simply the latest shout.”
“She’s perfectly lovely,” said Tommy. “She’s like those girls Mason writes about—you know, frightfully sympathetic, and beautiful, and distinctly intelligent without being too saucy. I think, yes—I certainly think—I shall be the great Hanaud this morning.”
“Hm,” said Tuppence. “If there is one detective out of all the others whom you are most unlike—I should say it was Hanaud. Can you do the lightning changes of personality? Can you be the great comedian, the little gutter boy, the serious and sympathetic friend—all in five minutes?”
“I know this,” said Tommy, rapping sharply on the desk, “I am the Captain of the Ship—and don’t you forget it, Tuppence. I’m going to have her in.”