“Third floor,” said Tommy.
At the door of No. 318 they paused. Evans had a pass key, and used it forthwith. Without a word of warning, they walked straight into Mrs. Van Snyder’s bedroom. The lady was still lying on the bed, but was now arrayed in a becoming negligee. She stared at them in surprise.
“Pardon my failure to knock,” said Tommy, pleasantly. “But I want my wife. Do you mind getting off that bed?”
“I guess you’ve gone plumb crazy,” cried Mrs. Van Snyder.
Tommy surveyed her thoughtfully, his head on one side.
“Very artistic,” he pronounced. “But it won’t do. We looked under the bed—but not in it. I remember using that hiding-place myself when young. Horizontally across the bed, underneath the bolster. And that nice wardrobe trunk all ready to take away the body in later. But we were a bit too quick for you just now. You’d had time to dope Tuppence, put her under the bolster, and be gagged and bound by your accomplices next door, and I’ll admit we swallowed your story all right for the moment. But when one came to think it out—with order and method—impossible to drug a girl, dress her in boy’s clothes, gag and bind another woman, and change one’s own appearance—all in five minutes. Simply a physical impossibility. The Hospital Nurse and the boy were to be a decoy. We were to follow that trail, and Mrs. Van Snyder was to be a pitied victim. Just help the lady off the bed, will you, Evans? You have your automatic? Good.”
Protesting shrilly, Mrs. Van Snyder was hauled from her place of repose. Tommy tore off the coverings and the bolster.