grey cells—what does this convey to you?”
He pointed to the bottom shelf of the cupboard. On it lay a somewhat futuristic dressing gown, a turkish slipper, and a violin.
“Obvious, my dear Watson,” said Tuppence.
“Exactly,” said Tommy. “The Sherlock Holmes touch.”
He took up the violin and drew the bow idly across the strings, causing Tuppence to give a wail of agony.
At that moment the buzzer rang on the desk, a sign that a client had arrived in the outer office and was being held in parley by Albert, the office boy.
Tommy hastily replaced the violin in the cupboard and kicked the books behind the desk.
“Not that there’s any great hurry,” he remarked. “Albert will be handing them out the