Five minutes later Tommy and Mr. Carter met in the Palm Court of the Blitz. The latter was crisp and reassuring.
“You’ve done excellently. The Prince and the little lady are at lunch in the Restaurant. I’ve got two of my men in there as waiters. Whether he suspects, or whether he doesn’t—and I’m fairly sure he doesn’t—we’ve got him on toast. There are two men posted upstairs to watch his suite, and more outside ready to follow wherever they go. Don’t be worried about your wife. She’ll be kept in sight the whole time. I’m not going to run any risks.”
Occasionally one of the Secret Service men came to report progress. The first time it was a waiter who took their orders for cocktails, the second time it was a fashionable vacant-faced young man.
“They’re coming out,” said Mr. Carter. “We’ll retire behind this pillar in case they sit down here, but I fancy he’ll take her up to his suite. Ah! yes, I thought so.”
From their post of vantage, Tommy saw the Russian and Tuppence cross the hall and enter the lift.
The minutes passed and Tommy began to fidget.
“Do you think, sir. I mean, alone in that suite—”
“One of my men’s inside—behind the sofa. Don’t worry, man.”
A waiter crossed the hall and came up to Mr. Carter.
“Got the signal they were coming up, sir—but they haven’t come. Is it all right?”
“What?” Mr. Carter spun around. “I saw them go into the lift myself. Just”—he glanced up at the clock—“four and a half minutes ago. And they haven’t shown up. …”