Cicely March entered, and Tommy followed. The place inside was tiny. On the left was a glass counter with toilet preparations. Behind this counter was a middle-aged woman with grey hair and an exquisite complexion who acknowledged Cicely March’s entrance with a faint inclination of the head before continuing to talk to the customer she was serving.
This customer was a small dark woman. Her back was to them and they could not see her face. She was speaking in slow difficult English. On the right was a sofa and a couple of chairs with some magazines on a table. Here sat two men—apparently bored husbands waiting for their wives.
Cicely March passed straight on through a door at the end which she held ajar for Tommy to follow her. As he did so, the woman customer exclaimed. “Ah! but I think that is an amigo of mine,” and rushed after them, inserting her foot in the door just in time to prevent its closing. At the same time, the two men rose to their feet. One followed her through the door, the other advanced to the shop attendant and clapped his hand over her mouth to drown the scream rising to her lips.
In the meantime, things were happening rather quickly beyond the swing door. As Tommy passed through, a cloth was flung over his head, and a sickly odor assailed his nostrils. Almost as soon however, it was jerked off again, and a woman’s scream rang out.
Tommy blinked a little and coughed as he took in the scene in front of him. On his right was the mysterious stranger of a few hours ago, and busily fitting handcuffs upon him was one of the bored men from the shop parlor. Just in front of him was Cicely March wrestling vainly to free herself, whilst the woman customer from the shop held her firmly pinioned. As the latter turned her head, and the veil she wore unfastened itself and fell off, the well known features of Tuppence were revealed.