The visitor was ushered into the private office, and a pleasant faced young man with red hair and an air of brisk capability rose to greet him.
“Sit down. You wished to consult me? I am Mr. Blunt.”
“Oh! really. I say, you’re awfully young, aren’t you?”
“The day of the Old Men is over,” said Tommy waving his hand. “Who caused the War? The Old Men. Who is responsible for the present state of unemployment? The Old Men. Who is responsible for every single rotten thing that has happened? Again I say, the Old Men!”
“I expect you are right,” said the client. “I know a fellow who is a poet—at least he says he is a poet—and he always talks like that.”
“Let me tell you this, sir, not a person on my highly trained staff is a day over twenty-five. That is the truth.”
Since the highly trained staff consisted of Tuppence and Albert, the statement was truth itself.
“And now—the facts,” said Mr. Blunt.
“I want you to find someone that’s missing,” blurted out the young man.
“Quite so. Will you give me the details?”
“Well, you see, it’s rather difficult. I mean, it’s a frightfully delicate business and all that. She might be frightfully waxy about it. I mean—well, it’s so dashed difficult to explain.”
He looked helplessly at Tommy. Tommy felt annoyed. He had been on the point of going out to lunch, but he foresaw that getting the facts out of this client would be a long and tedious business.
“Did she disappear of her own free will, or do you suspect abduction?” he demanded crisply.