“Yes?”
“I told her the theatre, the Pavilion, but in the end she decided not to go and stayed here listening to our orchestra.”
“Oh damn,” said Tommy under his breath.
“You don’t remember what time she had dinner, do you?” said Tuppence.
“She came down a little late. It must have been about eight o’clock.”
“Damn, Blast, and Curse,” said Tuppence as she and Tommy left the dining-room. “Tommy, this is all going wrong. It seemed so clear and lovely.”
“Well, I suppose we ought to have known it wouldn’t all be plain sailing.”
“Is there any train she could have taken after that I wonder?”
“Not one that would have landed her in London in time to go to the Savoy.”
“Well,” said Tuppence, “as a last hope I am going to talk to the chambermaid. Una Drake had a room on the same floor as ours.”
The chambermaid was a voluble and informative woman. Yes, she remembered the young lady quite well. That was her picture right enough. A very nice young lady, very merry and talkative. Had told her a lot about Australia and the kangaroos.
The young lady rang the bell about half past nine and asked for her bottle to be filled and put in her bed and also to be called the next morning at half past seven—with coffee instead of tea.
“You did call her and she was in bed?” asked Tuppence.