“I want to see Miss Kingston Bruce.”
“I am not quite sure that you can,” said Tuppence composedly.
“Look here, who the devil are you?” said Mr. Rennie rudely.
“International Detective Agency,” said Tuppence succinctly—and noticed Mr. Rennie’s uncontrollable start.
“Please sit down, Mr. Rennie,” she went on. “To begin with, we know all about Miss Kingston Bruce’s visit to you this morning.”
It was a bold guess, but it succeeded. Perceiving his consternation, Tuppence went on quickly.
“The recovery of the pearl is the great thing, Mr. Rennie. No one in this house is anxious for—publicity. Can’t we come to some arrangement?”
The young man looked at her keenly.
“I wonder how much you know,” he said thoughtfully. “Let me think for a moment.”
He buried his head in his hands—then asked a most unexpected question.
“I say, is it really true that young St. Vincent is engaged to be married?”
“Quite true,” said Tuppence. “I know the girl.”
Mr. Rennie suddenly became confidential.
“It’s been hell,” he confided. “They’ve been asking him here morning, noon and night—chucking Beatrice at his head. All because he’ll come into a title some day. If I had my way—”