“Potatoes aga—” began Tuppence, then stopped. “Oh! Tommy, we’ve got it. It’s only potatoes on top. Look!”
She held up a big old fashioned velvet bag.
“Cut along home,” cried Tommy. “It’s icy cold. Take the bag with you. I must just shovel back the earth. And may a thousand curses light upon your head, Tuppence, if you open that bag before I come!”
“I’ll play fair. Ouch! I’m frozen.” She beat a speedy retreat.
On arrival at the Inn she had not long to wait. Tommy was hard upon her heels, perspiring freely after his digging and the final brisk run.
“Now then,” said Tommy. “The private inquiry agents make good! Open the loot, Mrs. Beresford.”
Inside the bag was a package done up in oil silk and a heavy chamois leather bag. They opened the latter first. It was full of gold sovereigns. Tommy counted them.
“Two hundred pounds. That was all they would let her have, I suppose. Cut open the package.”
Tuppence did so. It was full of closely folded banknotes. Tommy and Tuppence counted them carefully. They amounted to exactly twenty thousand pounds!
“Whew!” said Tommy. “Isn’t it lucky for Monica that we’re both rich and honest? What’s that done up in tissue paper?”
Tuppence unrolled the little parcel and drew out a magnificent string of pearls, exquisitely matched.
“I don’t know much about these things,” said Tommy slowly, “but I’m pretty sure that those pearls are worth another five thousand pounds at