it.”
“It is perfectly simple,” said Mr. Montgomery Jones. “You must be doing this sort of thing all the time. Investigating fake alibis and seeing where they fall down.”
“Oh—er—yes, of course,” said Tommy. “We do a lot of that sort of work.”
“Someone has got to do it for me,” said Montgomery Jones. “I shouldn’t be any good at that sort of thing myself. You have only got to catch her out and everything is all right. I daresay it seems rather a futile business to you but it means a lot to me and I am prepared to pay—er—all necessary whatnots you know.”
“That will be all right,” said Tuppence. “I am sure Mr. Blunt will take the case on for you.”
“Certainly, certainly,” said Tommy. “A most refreshing case, most refreshing indeed.”
Mr. Montgomery Jones heaved a sigh of relief and pulled a mass of papers from his pocket and selected one of them. “Here it is,” he said. “She says, ‘I am sending you proof I was in two distinct places at one and the same time. According to one story I dined at the Bon Temps Restaurant in Soho by myself, went to the Duke’s Theatre and had supper with a friend, Mr. le Marchant, at the Savoy— but I was also staying at the Castle Hotel, Torquay, and only returned to London on the following morning. You have got to find out which of the