“You’ve not got it quite right,” said Tommy. “We were to report immediately if anyone came in and mentioned the number 16. Nobody has.”
“That’s a quibble,” said Tuppence.
“It’s no good. I’ve got a fancy for playing a lone hand. My dear old Tuppence, I shall be all right. I shall go armed to the teeth. The essence of the whole thing is that I shall be on my guard and they won’t know it. The Chief will be patting me on the back for a good night’s work.”
“Well,” said Tuppence. “I don’t like it. That man’s as strong as a gorilla.”
“Ah!” said Tommy, “but think of my blue-nosed automatic.”
The door of the outer office opened and Albert appeared. Closing the door behind him, he approached them with an envelope in his hand.
“A gentleman to see you,” said Albert.
“When I began the usual stunt of saying you were engaged with Scotland Yard, he told me he knew all about that. Said he came from Scotland Yard himself! And he wrote something on a card and stuck it up in this envelope.”
Tommy took the envelope and opened it. As he read the card, a grin passed across his face.
“The gentleman was amusing himself at your expense by speaking the truth, Albert,” he remarked.
“Show him in.”
He tossed the card to Tuppence. It bore the name Detective Inspector Dymchurch, and across it was scrawled in pencil—“A friend of Marriot’s.”