murmured to herself, she sought perplexedly through Rail Guides. But in the end they both rose to go to bed with no faint glimmer of light on the problem.
“This is very disheartening,” said Tommy.
“One of the most miserable evenings I have ever spent,” said Tuppence.
“We ought to have gone to a Music Hall,” said Tommy. “A few good jokes about mothers-in-law and twins and bottles of beer would have done us no end of good.”
“No, you will see this concentration will work in the end,” said Tuppence. “How busy our subconscious will have to be in the next eight hours!” And on this hopeful note they went to bed.
“Well,” said Tommy next morning, “has the subconscious worked?”
“I have got an idea,” said Tuppence.
“You have. What sort of an idea?”
“Well, rather a funny idea. Not at all like anything I have ever read in detective stories. As a matter of fact it is an idea that you put into my head.”
“Then it must be a good idea,” said Tommy firmly. “Come on, Tuppence, out with it.”
“I shall have to send a cable to verify it,” said Tuppence. “No, I am not going to tell you. It’s a perfectly wild idea but it’s the only thing that fits the facts.”
“Well,” said Tommy, “I must away to the office. A roomful of disappointed clients must not wait in vain. I leave this case in the hands of my promising subordinate.”