“Didn’t I tell you to leave it to me?” demanded Tuppence.
“You can’t find that girl single handed before two o’clock tomorrow.”
“I can—and what’s more, I have!”
“You have? What do you mean?”
“A simple problem, Watson, very simple indeed.”
“Where is she now?”
Tuppence pointed a hand over her shoulder.
“She’s in my office next door.”
“What is she doing there?”
Tuppence began to laugh.
“Well,” she said, “early training will tell, and with a kettle, a gas ring, and half a pound of tea staring her in the face, the result is a foregone conclusion.”
“You see,” continued Tuppence gently, “Madame Violette’s is where I go for my hats, and the other day I ran across an old pal of Hospital days amongst the girls there. She gave up nursing after the War and started a hat shop, failed, and took this job at Madame Violette’s. We fixed up the whole thing between us. She was to rub the advertisement well into young St. Vincent, and then disappear. Wonderful efficiency of Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives. Publicity for us, and the necessary fillip to young St. Vincent to bring him to the point of proposing. Janet was in despair about it.”
“Tuppence,” said Tommy, “you take my breath away! The whole thing is the most immoral business I ever heard of. You aid and abet this young man to marry out of his class—”