“The rather vivid imagination of a charming lady who reads too much fiction.”
“You think so?” said Tommy.
“And a husband who is guided by his wife,” said Sir Arthur. “I do not fancy you will find anybody to take the matter seriously.”
He laughed out loud, and Tuppence stiffened in her chair.
“I would swear to that laugh anywhere,” she said. “I heard it last in the Ace of Spades. And you are under a little misapprehension about us both. Beresford is our real name, but we have another.”
She picked up a card from the table and handed it to him. Sir Arthur read it aloud.
“International Detective Agency. …” He drew his breath sharply. “So that is what you really are! That was why Marriot brought me here this morning. It was a trap—”
He strolled to the window.
“A fine view you have from here,” he said. “Right over London.”
“Inspector Marriot,” cried Tommy sharply.
In a flash the Inspector appeared from the communicating door in the opposite wall.
A little smile of amusement came to Sir Arthur’s lips.
“I thought as much,” he said. “But you won’t get me this time, I’m afraid, Inspector. I prefer to take my own way out.”
And, putting his hands on the sill, he vaulted clean through the window.