“Well,” said Tommy, “perhaps you will—er—state the facts plainly.”
That, however, seemed to be the one thing that Mr. Montgomery Jones could not do.
“It’s a dashed odd sort of thing I have got to ask you,” he said hesitatingly. “I—er—I really don’t know how to set about it.”
“We never touch divorce cases,” said Tommy.
“Oh Lord no,” said Mr. Montgomery Jones. “I don’t mean that. It is just, well—it’s a deuced silly sort of a joke. That’s all.”
“Someone has played a practical joke on you of a mysterious nature?” suggested Tommy.
But Mr. Montgomery Jones once more shook his head.
“Well,” said Tommy retiring gracefully from the position, “take your own time and let us have it in your own words.”
There was a pause.
“You see,” said Mr. Jones at last, “it was at dinner. I sat next to a girl.”
“Yes?” said Tommy encouragingly.
“She was a—oh, well, I really can’t describe her, but she was simply one of the most sporting girls I ever met. She’s an Australian over here with another girl, sharing a flat with her in Clarges Street. She’s simply game for anything. I absolutely can’t tell you the effect that girl had on me.”
“We can quite imagine it, Mr. Jones,” said Tuppence.
She saw clearly that if Mr. Montgomery Jones’ troubles were ever to be extracted a sympathetic feminine touch was needed, as distinct from the business like methods of Mr. Blunt.