“What?”

“Yes. One or two little things have cropped up. And your story, little lady, confirms my idea. They know we’re looking for Jane Finn. Well, they’ll produce a Jane Finn of their own⁠—say at a pensionnat in Paris.” Tuppence gasped, and Mr. Carter smiled. “No one knows in the least what she looks like, so that’s all right. She’s primed with a trumped-up tale, and her real business is to get as much information as possible out of us. See the idea?”

“Then you think”⁠—Tuppence paused to grasp the supposition fully⁠—“that it was as Jane Finn that they wanted me to go to Paris?”

Mr. Carter smiled more wearily than ever.

“I believe in coincidences, you know,” he said.