Tommy spelt it, but the other interrupted him.
“No, g u e .”
“Oh, Marguerite; French way, I see.” He paused, then plunged boldly. “We had her down as Rita Vandemeyer, but I suppose that’s incorrect?”
“She’s mostly called that, sir, but Marguerite’s her name.”
“Thank you. That’s all. Good morning.”
Hardly able to contain his excitement, Tommy hurried down the stairs. Tuppence was waiting at the angle of the turn.
“You heard?”
“Yes. Oh, Tommy !”
Tommy squeezed her arm sympathetically.
“I know, old thing. I feel the same.”
“It’s—it’s so lovely to think of things—and then for them really to happen!” cried Tuppence enthusiastically.
Her hand was still in Tommy’s. They had reached the entrance hall. There were footsteps on the stairs above them, and voices.
Suddenly, to Tommy’s complete surprise, Tuppence dragged him into the little space by the side of the lift where the shadow was deepest.
“What the—”
“Hush!”
Two men came down the stairs and passed out through the entrance. Tuppence’s hand closed tighter on Tommy’s arm.