Tommy’s voice, sharp with a warning note, recalled her to the needs of the moment.
“Miss Robinson, please, take notes. Now, sir, will you kindly state the matter on which you wish to have my advice?”
Tuppence reached for her pad and pencil.
The big man began in rather a harsh voice.
“My name is Bower. Dr. Charles Bower. I live in Hampstead where I have a practice. I have come to you, Mr. Blunt, because several rather strange occurrences have happened lately.”
“Yes, Dr. Bower?”
“Twice in the course of the last week, I have been summoned by telephone to an urgent case—in each case to find that the summons has been a fake. The first time I thought a practical joke had been played upon me, but on my return the second time, I found that some of my private papers had been displaced and disarranged, and I now believe that the same thing had happened the first time. I made an exhaustive search and came to the conclusion that my whole desk had been thoroughly ransacked, and the various papers replaced hurriedly.”
Dr. Bower paused, and gazed at Tommy.
“Well, Mr. Blunt?”
“Well, Dr. Bower,” replied the young man smiling.
“What do you think of it, eh?”
“Well, first I should like the facts. What do you keep in your desk?”
“My private papers.”