V

“Good God!” groaned Tommy. “Have I joined the Wembley fire brigade?”

“Guess again,” said Tuppence. “You haven’t caught the idea yet. Use your little grey cells, mon ami . Scintillate, Watson. Be a bull that has been more than ten minutes in the arena.”

“Wait a minute,” said Tommy. “I begin to see. There is a dark purpose in this. What are you going to wear, Tuppence?”

“An old suit of your clothes, an American hat and some horn spectacles.”

“Crude,” said Tommy. “But I catch the idea. McCarty incog. And I am Riordan.”

“That’s it. I thought we ought to practise American detective methods as well as English ones. Just for once I am going to be the star, and you will be the humble assistant.”

“Don’t forget,” said Tommy warningly, “that it’s always an innocent remark by the simple Denny that puts McCarty on the right track.”

But Tuppence only laughed. She was in high spirits.

It was a most successful evening. The crowds, the music, the fantastic dresses⁠—everything conspired to make the young couple enjoy themselves. Tommy forgot his role of the bored husband dragged out against his will.

At ten minutes to twelve, they drove off in the car to the famous⁠—or infamous⁠—Ace of Spades. As Tuppence had said, it was an underground den, mean and tawdry in appearance, but it was nevertheless crowded with couples in fancy dress. There were closed in booths round the walls, and Tommy and Tuppence secured one of these. They left the doors purposely a little ajar so that they could see what was going on outside.