“I wonder what it really means,” said Tuppence thoughtfully, smoothing out the sheet on the table in front of her.
“Code of some kind, I suppose,” said Tommy. “That’s not our business. Our business is to hand it over to the Chief as soon as possible. Better just verify it by soaking off the stamp and seeing if the number 16 is underneath.”
“All right,” said Tuppence. “But I should think—”
She stopped dead, and Tommy, surprised by her sudden pause, looked up to see a man’s burly figure blocking the doorway.
The intruder was a man of commanding presence, squarely built, with a very round head and a powerful jaw. He might have been about forty-five years of age.
“I must beg your pardon,” said the stranger, advancing into the room, hat in hand. “I found your outer office empty, and this door open, so I ventured to intrude. This is Blunt’s International Detective Agency, is it not?”
“Certainly it is.”
“And you are, perhaps, Mr. Blunt? Mr. Theodore Blunt?”
“I am Mr. Blunt. You wished to consult me? This is my secretary, Miss Robinson.”
Tuppence inclined her head gracefully, but continued to scrutinise the stranger narrowly through her downcast eyelashes. She was wondering how long he had been standing in the doorway, and how much he had seen and heard. It did not escape her observation that even while he was talking to Tommy, his eyes kept coming back to the blue paper in her hand.