One A FAIRY IN THE FLAT
One A FAIRY IN THE FLAT

Mrs. Thomas Beresford shifted her position on the divan and lookedgloomily out of the window of the flat. The prospect was not an extendedone, consisting solely of a small block of flats on the other side of the road.
Mrs. Beresford sighed and then yawned.
“I wish,” she said, “something would happen.”
Her husband looked up reprovingly.
“Be careful, Tuppence, this craving for vulgar sensation alarms me.”
Tuppence sighed and closed her eyes dreamily.
“So Tommy and Tuppence were married,” she chanted, “and lived hap-pily ever afterwards. And six years later they were still living togetherhappily ever afterwards. It is extraordinary,” she said, “how differenteverything always is from what you think it is going to be.”
“A very profound statement, Tuppence. But not original. Eminent poetsand still more eminent divines have said it before—and if you will excuseme saying so, have said it better.”
“Six years ago,” continued Tuppence, “I would have sworn that with suf-ficient money to buy things with, and with you for a husband, all lifewould have been one grand sweet song, as one of the poets you seem toknow so much about puts it.”
“Is it me or the money that palls upon you?” inquired Tommy coldly.
“Palls isn’t exactly the word,” said Tuppence kindly. “I’m used to myblessings, that’s all. Just as one never thinks what a boon it is to be able tobreathe through one’s nose until one has a cold in the head.”
“Shall I neglect you a little?” suggested Tommy. “Take other womenabout to night clubs. That sort of thing.”
“Useless,” said Tuppence. “You would only meet me there with othermen. And I should know perfectly well that you didn’t care for the otherwomen, whereas you would never be quite sure that I didn’t care for theother men. Women are so much more thorough.”
“It’s only in modesty that men score top marks,” murmured her hus-band. “But what is the matter with you, Tuppence? Why this yearning dis-content?”
“I don’t know. I want things to happen. Exciting things. Wouldn’t youlike to go chasing German spies again, Tommy? Think of the wild days ofperil we went through once. Of course I know you’re more or less in theSecret Service now, but it’s pure office work.”
“You mean you’d like them to send me into darkest Russia disguised as aBolshevik bootlegger, or something of that sort?”
“That wouldn’t be any good,” said Tuppence. “They wouldn’t let me gowith you and I’m the person who wants something to do so badly. Some-thing to do. That is what I keep saying all day long.”
“Women’s sphere,” suggested Tommy, waving his hand.
“Twenty minutes’ work after breakfast every morning keeps the flag go-ing to perfection. You have nothing to complain of, have you?”
“Your housekeeping is so perfect, Tuppence, as to be almost monoton-ous.”
“I do like gratitude,” said Tuppence.
“You, of course, have got your work,” she continued, “but tell me,Tommy, don’t you ever have a secret yearning for excitement, for thingsto happen?”
“No,” said Tommy, “at least I don’t think so. It is all very well to wantthings to happen—they might not be pleasant things.”
“How prudent men are,” sighed Tuppence. “Don’t you ever have a wildsecret yearning for romance—adventure—life?”
“What have you been reading, Tuppence?” asked Tommy.
“Think how exciting it would be,” went on Tuppence, “if we heard a wildrapping at the door and went to open it and in staggered a dead man.”
“If he was dead he couldn’t stagger,” said Tommy critically.
“You know what I mean,” said Tuppence. “They always stagger in justbefore they die and fall at your feet, just gasping out a few enigmaticwords. ‘The Spotted Leopard,’ or something like that.”
“I advise a course of Schopenhauer or Emmanuel Kant,” said Tommy.
“That sort of thing would be good for you,” said Tuppence. “You are get-ting fat and comfortable.”
“I am not,” said Tommy indignantly. “Anyway you do slimming exer-cises yourself.”
“Everybody does,” said Tuppence. “When I said you were getting fat Iwas really speaking metaphorically, you are getting prosperous and sleekand comfortable.”
“I don’t know what has come over you,” said her husband.
“The spirit of adventure,” murmured Tuppence. “It is better than a long-ing for romance anyway. I have that sometimes too. I think of meeting aman, a really handsome man—”
“You have met me,” said Tommy. “Isn’t that enough for you?”
“A brown, lean man, terrifically strong, the kind of man who can rideanything and lassoes wild horses—”
“Complete with sheepskin trousers and a cowboy hat,” interpolatedTommy sarcastically.
“—and has lived in the Wilds,” continued Tuppence. “I should like himto fall simply madly in love with me. I should, of course, rebuff him virtu-ously and be true to my marriage vows, but my heart would secretly goout to him.”
“Well,” said Tommy, “I often wish that I may meet a really beautiful girl.
A girl with corn-coloured hair who will fall desperately in love with me.
Only I don’t think I rebuff her—in fact I am quite sure I don’t.”
“That,” said Tuppence, “is naughty temper.”
“What,” said Tommy, “is really the matter with you, Tuppence? Youhave never talked like this before.”
“No, but I have been boiling up inside for a long time,” said Tuppence.
“You see it is very dangerous to have everything you want — includingenough money to buy things. Of course there are always hats.”
“You have got about forty hats already,” said Tommy, “and they all lookalike.”
“Hats are like that,” said Tuppence. “They are not really alike. There arenuances in them. I saw rather a nice one in Violette’s this morning.”
“If you haven’t anything better to do than going on buying hats youdon’t need—”
“That’s it,” said Tuppence, “that’s exactly it. If I had something better todo. I suppose I ought to take up good works. Oh, Tommy, I do wish some-thing exciting would happen. I feel—I really do feel it would be good forus. If we could find a fairy—”
“Ah!” said Tommy. “It is curious your saying that.”
He got up and crossed the room. Opening a drawer of the writing tablehe took out a small snapshot print and brought it to Tuppence.
“Oh!” said Tuppence, “so you have got them developed. Which is this,the one you took of this room or the one I took?”
“The one I took. Yours didn’t come out. You underexposed it. You alwaysdo.”
“It is nice for you,” said Tuppence, “to think that there is one thing youcan do better than me.”
“A foolish remark,” said Tommy, “but I will let it pass for the moment.
What I wanted to show you was this.”
He pointed to a small white speck on the photograph.
“That is a scratch on the film,” said Tuppence.
“Not at all,” said Tommy. “That, Tuppence, is a fairy.”
“Tommy, you idiot.”
“Look for yourself.”
He handed her a magnifying glass. Tuppence studied the print attent-ively through it. Seen thus by a slight stretch of fancy the scratch on thefilm could be imagined to represent a small- winged creature on thefender.
“It has got wings,” cried Tuppence. “What fun, a real live fairy in ourflat. Shall we write to Conan Doyle about it? Oh, Tommy. Do you thinkshe’ll give us wishes?”
“You will soon know,” said Tommy. “You have been wishing hardenough for something to happen all the afternoon.”
At that minute the door opened, and a tall lad of fifteen who seemed un-decided as to whether he was a butler or a page boy inquired in a trulymagnificent manner.
“Are you at home, madam? The front doorbell has just rung.”
“I wish Albert wouldn’t go to the Pictures,” sighed Tuppence, after shehad signified her assent, and Albert had withdrawn. “He’s copying a LongIsland butler now. Thank goodness I’ve cured him of asking for people’scards and bringing them to me on a salver.”
The door opened again, and Albert announced: “Mr. Carter,” much asthough it were a Royal title.
“The Chief,” muttered Tommy, in great surprise.
Tuppence jumped up with a glad exclamation, and greeted a tall grey-haired man with piercing eyes and a tired smile.
“Mr. Carter, I am glad to see you.”
“That’s good, Mrs. Tommy. Now answer me a question. How’s life gener-ally?”
“Satisfactory, but dull,” replied Tuppence with a twinkle.
“Better and better,” said Mr. Carter. “I’m evidently going to find you inthe right mood.”
“This,” said Tuppence, “sounds exciting.”
Albert, still copying the Long Island butler, brought in tea. When this op-eration was completed without mishap and the door had closed behindhim Tuppence burst out once more.
“You did mean something, didn’t you, Mr. Carter? Are you going to sendus on a mission into darkest Russia?”
“Not exactly that,” said Mr. Carter.
“But there is something.”
“Yes—there is something. I don’t think you are the kind who shrinksfrom risks, are you, Mrs. Tommy?”
Tuppence’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
“There is certain work to be done for the Department—and I fancied—Ijust fancied—that it might suit you two.”
“Go on,” said Tuppence.
“I see that you take the Daily Leader,” continued Mr. Carter, picking upthat journal from the table.
He turned to the advertisement column and indicating a certain advert-isement with his finger pushed the paper across to Tommy.
“Read that out,” he said.
Tommy complied.
“The International Detective Agency, Theodore Blunt,Manager. Private Inquiries. Large staff of confidentialand highly skilled Inquiry Agents. Utmost discretion. Con-sultations free. 118 Haleham St., W.C.”
He looked inquiringly at Mr. Carter. The latter nodded. “That detectiveagency has been on its last legs for some time,” he murmured. “Friend ofmine acquired it for a mere song. We’re thinking of setting it going again—say, for a six months’ trial. And during that time, of course, it will haveto have a manager.”
“What about Mr. Theodore Blunt?” asked Tommy.
“Mr. Blunt has been rather indiscreet, I’m afraid. In fact, Scotland Yardhave had to interfere. Mr. Blunt is being detained at Her Majesty’s ex-pense, and he won’t tell us half of what we’d like to know.”
“I see, sir,” said Tommy. “At least, I think I see.”
“I suggest that you have six months leave from the office. Ill health. And,of course, if you like to run a Detective Agency under the name ofTheodore Blunt, it’s nothing to do with me.”
Tommy eyed his Chief steadily.
“Any instructions, sir?”
“Mr. Blunt did some foreign business, I believe. Look out for blue letterswith a Russian stamp on them. From a ham merchant anxious to find hiswife who came as a refugee to this country some years ago. Moisten thestamp and you’ll find the number 16 written underneath. Make a copy ofthese letters and send the originals on to me. Also if any one comes to theoffice and makes a reference to the number 16, inform me immediately.”
“I understand, sir,” said Tommy. “And apart from these instructions?”
Mr. Carter picked up his gloves from the table and prepared to depart.
“You can run the Agency as you please. I fancied”—his eyes twinkled alittle—“that it might amuse Mrs. Tommy to try her hand at a little detect-ive work.”
第一章 公寓精灵
第一章 公寓精灵
托马斯•贝尔斯福德夫人在长沙发椅上挪动了一下，忧郁地透过公寓窗户朝外望去。窗外的风景并不开阔，只能看见街对面的一片街区。托马斯•贝尔斯福德夫人叹了口气，然后打了个呵欠。
“我觉得，”她说，“有什么事要发生。”
她丈夫抬头瞪了她一眼，以示不赞同。
“小心，塔彭丝，你这个粗俗的说法吓到了我。”
塔彭丝又叹口气，然后神情恍惚地闭上双眼。
“就这样，汤米和塔彭丝结婚了，”她吟诵到，“从此以后幸福地生活在一起。六年后，他们还是一如既往地幸福。这简直不可思议，事情的结局总是和你最初想的大相径庭。”
“一个深刻的结论，塔彭丝。但不是你的原创。许多著名的诗人和杰出的牧师过去也曾说过，而且说得更好——如果你能原谅我这样说的话。”
“六年前，”塔彭丝继续说，“我肯定发过誓，只要有充裕的钱，有你这样一位如意郎君，我的生活就会像一首甜蜜的歌，就像某位你似乎比较熟悉的诗人说的那样。”
“难道是我或者是钱让你厌烦了？”汤米冷冷地问。
“‘厌烦’？你用词不当，”塔彭丝温和地说，“我只是习惯于上天赐予我的福分，仅此而已。就像一个人除非患了感冒，否则是不会感觉到能用鼻子呼吸是多么惬意的事情。”
“您能允许我离开您片刻吗？”汤米提议，“比如说，带上附近的其他女人去夜总会之类的。”
“没用，”塔彭丝说，“你在那儿也只能看见我和其他男人在一起。我清楚地知道你从没在乎过其他女人，而你却不确定，我是否在乎过其他男人。女人就是这样敏感透彻。”
“那只是因为男人的谦虚，给女人那么高的评价。”她的丈夫嘟囔道，“但是你到底怎么了，塔彭丝？为什么老是唉声叹气？”
“我不知道。我只是希望发生点事情，让人兴奋的事情。难道你不再想追踪德国间谍了吗，汤米？想想过去我们经历的那些危险而疯狂的日子。当然，我知道你现在多多少少还在为安全局做事，但那只不过是一份纯粹的坐办公室的工作。”
“你的意思是，你想让我假扮一个布尔什维克走私犯或其他什么人，被他们派到黑暗的俄国去？”
“那也没什么用，”塔彭丝说，“他们不会让我跟你去，而我是个闲不住的人。我要有事做。我一直喋喋不休，说的就是这个。”
“做点女人分内的事。”汤米摇着手，建议道。
“每天早饭后干二十分钟活儿，让一切都井井有条，你没有什么可抱怨的，对吧？”
“你的家务活儿做得无可挑剔，塔彭丝，简直整齐划一。”
“我确实喜欢被人感激。”塔彭丝说。
“当然，你有工作，”她继续说道，“但是告诉我，汤米，难道你从没有热切地渴望过有点刺激，期待有什么事情发生？
“没有，”汤米说，“至少我认为没有。想有事情发生好啊——不过可不见得是什么令人愉快的事情。”
“多么胆小的男人，”塔彭丝叹了口气，“难道你就没有暗暗地渴望过浪漫的、冒险的生活？”
“你一直都看什么书，塔彭丝？”汤米问道。
“想想，这该有多么刺激，”塔彭丝自顾自继续说，“如果我们听到疯狂的敲门声，打开门一看，却晃进来一个死人。”
“如果他死了，怎么晃进来？”汤米反驳道。
“你知道我什么意思，”塔彭丝说，“他们总是在死之前，摇摇晃晃，然后倒在你的脚下，喘息着吐出几个谜一般的单词，‘斑点豹’之类的。”
“我建议你认真学习叔本华或伊曼努尔•康德的课程。”汤米说。
“对，那类事情对你倒有好处，”塔彭丝说，“你越来越大腹便便，安逸舒适。”
“谁说的，”汤米愤愤地说，“倒是你自己，整天做瘦身运动。”
“人皆如此，”塔彭丝说，“说你大腹便便，我只是打了个比方，你现在真是心宽体胖，容光焕发，养尊处优。”
“我不知道你脑子里成天在想什么。”她丈夫说。
“冒险精神，”塔彭丝压低声音说，“总比渴望艳遇强。当然，我有时也会渴望艳遇，梦想邂逅一个男人，一个英俊帅气的男人——”
“你邂逅了我啊，”汤米说，“这还不够？”
“一个棕色皮肤，身材瘦削却十分强健的男人。他可以驾驭一切，可以套住野马——”塔彭丝继续梦呓般地说。
“还应装配上羊皮裤和牛仔帽——”汤米挖苦地插了一句。
“而且他一直生活在荒无人烟的旷野中，”塔彭丝毫不理会他，继续说，“我会让他疯狂地陷入爱河。而我，当然会断然拒绝他，从而信守我的结婚誓言，但我的心却会秘密地随他而去。”
“妙极了，”汤米说，“我经常希望会遇到一位无与伦比的美丽动人的女孩。一个金发女郎，她无可救药地爱上我，只是我不会拒绝她——坦率地说，一定不会。”
“真是玩世不恭。”塔彭丝说。
“你到底怎么了，塔彭丝？”汤米说，“你从来没这样说过话。”
“没怎么，但是我内心一直不平静，”塔彭丝说，“你看，心想事成是很危险的——包括有足够的钱，想买什么就买什么。当然也包括买帽子在内。”
“你已经买了大约四十顶帽子了吧，”汤米说，“而且它们看起来都一样。”
“看起来一样，其实并不一样。它们是有细微差别的，我今天上午就在维奥莱特商店看到了一顶十分漂亮的帽子。”
“除了买自己根本不戴的帽子，你是不是没有更有意义的事情做——”
“是的，”塔彭丝说，“就是如此，如果有更有意义的事做，我想我应该能干好。哎，汤米，我多么希望有令人兴奋的事情发生。我觉得——我真觉得这样会对我们有好处。如果我们能发现一个精灵——”
“啊！”汤米说，“你这话说的，真是莫名其妙！”
他站起来，穿过房间，拉开写字台的一个抽屉，拿出一张小小的快照，递给塔彭丝。
“哦，”塔彭丝说，“看来你已经把它们都冲洗出来了，这是哪张？是你拍的，还是我拍的？”
“我拍的，你拍的没有洗出来，曝光了，你总是这样。”
“高兴吧，”塔彭丝说，“发现有件事你比我做得好。”
“一个愚蠢的评论，”汤米说，“但我不和你计较，我想让你看的是这个。”
他指着照片上一小道白色斑点。
“那是胶片上的划痕。”塔彭丝说。
“根本不是，”汤米说，“塔彭丝，那是个精灵。”
“汤米，你这个白痴！”
“你自己看！”
他递给她一个放大镜，塔彭丝透过镜片仔细审视着那张照片。借助一点儿想象，胶片上的这道划痕确实有点像一种长有双翼的小生物——就在壁炉架上。
“它竟然有翅膀，”塔彭丝喊道，“多么有趣，一个真正的精灵，我们房间的精灵，我们是不是该给柯南•道尔写封信？哦，汤米，你认为她会给我们带来好运吗？”
“你很快就知道了，”汤米说，“你整个下午不都在极力希望有什么事情发生吗？”
这时门开了，一个十五岁的高个儿少年——是男仆还是听差似乎不太好确定——以夸张的语调问道：
“您在吗，夫人？前门门铃刚响了。”
“我希望阿尔伯特别再去看电影了。”塔彭丝叹了口气。她点头示意后，阿尔伯特退了出去。“他现在一副长岛管家的派头。谢天谢地，我终于纠正了他跟客人要名片，再用一个浅托盘送进来的习惯。”
门再次打开，阿尔伯特大声通报“是卡特先生”，似乎那是一个皇室头衔。
“是局长。”汤米小声说，十分吃惊。
塔彭丝欢喜地叫了一声，跳起来去迎接客人。来者高个儿，灰头发，一双眼睛仿佛洞察一切，还加上一脸疲惫的微笑。
“卡特先生，见到你真是太高兴了。”
“非常感谢，汤米夫人，现在回答我一个问题，一向可好？”
“很好，但是太闷了。”塔彭丝答道，眨了下眼睛。
“会越来越好的，”卡特先生说，“很快我就能看到您高兴的样子了。”
“这话，”塔彭丝，“听起来令人兴奋。”
阿尔伯特，仍旧像个长岛男仆那样，端茶进来。当他干净利落地完成任务，随手关上门后，塔彭丝再次大声说：
“您一定有什么事，对不对，卡特先生？您是不是要交给我们一个任务，去黑暗的俄国？”
“并非如此。”卡特先生说。
“但是终归有什么事吧。”
“是的——是有事。我想您不是那种怕事的人，对吧，汤米太太？”
塔彭丝的眼睛兴奋地亮了。
“局里确实有任务——我想——我只是设想——这任务可能适合你们俩。”
“请您接着说。”塔彭丝急切地说。
“我看您订阅了《先导者日报》。”卡特先生继续说，随手从桌上拿起那份报纸。
他翻到了广告栏，把报纸推到汤米面前，用手指着一则广告。
“念念。”他说。
汤米照做。
国际侦探所，所长：西奥多•布兰特，承办私人业务。机密大案及高端业务咨询代理，最大的自由裁量权。免费咨询。黑海姆大街一一八号，华盛顿区。
他疑惑地看着卡特先生。后者点点头：“这个侦探所已经濒临关闭有一段时间了，”他低声说，“我的一个朋友以极低的价格盘下了它，我们想让它再次运转起来——比如，先尝试六个月。在这段时间内，当然，得有一个所长。”
“西奥多•布兰特怎么不接着干呢？”汤米问。
“西奥多•布兰特恐怕不是很谨慎。实际上，苏格兰场已经干预此事。女王陛下已签批将其拘留，对我们想知道的事情，他只字不露。”
“懂了，长官，”汤米说，“至少，我认为懂了。”
“我建议你向你的办公室以生病为由请六个月假。当然，如果你愿意运作一个名叫西奥多•布兰特的私人侦探所，那可和我一毛钱关系也没有。”
汤米平静地望着他的上司。
“还有什么指示吗，先生？”
“我相信布兰特先生做过一些涉外业务，你要留意贴有俄国邮票的蓝色信件。这些信来自一个火腿商人，他急于找到自己的妻子。他的妻子几年前以避难的名义来到这个国家。
弄湿邮票，你就会发现邮票背面的数字：16，复印这些信件，把原件送给我。当然，如果有人来办公室提及数字16，也要立刻向我报告。”
“是，先生，”汤米说，“还有什么任务吗？”
卡特从桌上拿起手套，准备离开。
“你可以随意运作这个侦探所，我想——他的眼睛眨了眨——在一些普通侦探事务中一试身手，可能会让汤米夫人愉快些。”
Two A POT OF TEA
Two A POT OF TEA

Mr. and Mrs. Beresford took possession of the offices of the InternationalDetective Agency a few days later. They were on the second floor of asomewhat dilapidated building in Bloomsbury. In the small outer office,Albert relinquished the role of a Long Island butler, and took up that of of-fice boy, a part which he played to perfection. A paper bag of sweets, inkyhands, and a tousled head was his conception of the character.
From the outer office, two doors led into inner offices. On one door waspainted the legend “Clerks.” On the other “Private.” Behind the latter wasa small comfortable room furnished with an immense business-like desk,a lot of artistically labelled files, all empty, and some solid leather-seatedchairs. Behind the desk sat the pseudo Mr. Blunt trying to look as thoughhe had run a Detective Agency all his life. A telephone, of course, stood athis elbow. Tuppence and he had rehearsed several good telephone effects,and Albert also had his instructions.
In the adjoining room was Tuppence, a typewriter, the necessary tablesand chairs of an inferior type to those in the room of the great Chief, and agas ring for making tea.
Nothing was wanting, in fact, save clients.
Tuppence, in the first ecstasies of initiation, had a few bright hopes.
“It will be too marvellous,” she declared. “We will hunt down murder-ers, and discover the missing family jewels, and find people who’ve disap-peared and detect embezzlers.”
At this point Tommy felt it his duty to strike a more discouraging note.
“Calm yourself, Tuppence, and try to forget the cheap fiction you are inthe habit of reading. Our clientèle, if we have any clientèle at all—will con-sist solely of husbands who want their wives shadowed, and wives whowant their husbands shadowed. Evidence for divorce is the sole prop ofprivate inquiry agents.”
“Ugh!” said Tuppence, wrinkling a fastidious nose. “We shan’t touch di-vorce cases. We must raise the tone of our new profession.”
“Ye-es,” said Tommy doubtfully.
And now a week after installation they compared notes rather ruefully.
“Three idiotic women whose husbands go away for weekends,” sighedTommy. “Anyone come whilst I was out at lunch?”
“A fat old man with a flighty wife,” sighed Tuppence sadly. “I’ve read inthe papers for years that the divorce evil was growing, but somehow Inever seemed to realise it until this last week. I’m sick and tired of saying,‘We don’t undertake divorce cases.’ ”
“We’ve put it in the advertisements now,” Tommy reminded her. “So itwon’t be so bad.”
“I’m sure we advertise in the most tempting way too,” said Tuppence ina melancholy voice. “All the same, I’m not going to be beaten. If necessary,I shall commit a crime myself, and you will detect it.”
“And what good would that do? Think of my feelings when I bid you atender farewell at Bow Street—or is it Vine Street?”
“You are thinking of your bachelor days,” said Tuppence pointedly.
“The Old Bailey, that is what I mean,” said Tommy.
“Well,” said Tuppence, “something has got to be done about it. Here weare bursting with talent and no chance of exercising it.”
“I always like your cheery optimism, Tuppence. You seem to have nodoubt whatever that you have talent to exercise.”
“Of course,” said Tuppence, opening her eyes very wide.
“And yet you have no expert knowledge whatever.”
“Well, I have read every detective novel that has been published in thelast ten years.”
“So have I,” said Tommy, “but I have a sort of feeling that that wouldn’treally help us much.”
“You always were a pessimist, Tommy. Belief in oneself — that is thegreat thing.”
“Well, you have got it all right,” said her husband.
“Of course it is easy in detective stories,” said Tuppence thoughtfully,“because one works backwards. I mean if one knows the solution one canarrange the clues. I wonder now—”
She paused wrinkling her brows.
“Yes?” said Tommy inquiringly.
“I have got a sort of idea,” said Tuppence. “It hasn’t quite come yet, butit’s coming.” She rose resolutely. “I think I shall go and buy that hat I toldyou about.”
“Oh, God!” said Tommy, “another hat!”
“It’s a very nice one,” said Tuppence with dignity.
She went out with a resolute look on her face.
Once or twice in the following days Tommy inquired curiously aboutthe idea. Tuppence merely shook her head and told him to give her time.
And then, one glorious morning, the first client arrived, and all else wasforgotten.
There was a knock on the outer door of the office and Albert, who hadjust placed an acid drop between his lips, roared out an indistinct “Comein.” He then swallowed the acid drop whole in his surprise and delight.
For this looked like the Real Thing.
A tall young man, exquisitely and beautifully dressed, stood hesitatingin the doorway.
“A toff, if ever there was one,” said Albert to himself. His judgement insuch matters was good.
The young man was about twenty- four years of age, had beautifullyslicked back hair, a tendency to pink rims round the eyes, and practicallyno chin to speak of.
In an ecstasy, Albert pressed a button under his desk and almost imme-diately a perfect fusilade of typing broke out from the direction of“Clerks.” Tuppence had rushed to the post of duty. The effect of this humof industry was to overawe the young man still further.
“I say,” he remarked. “Is this the whatnot—detective agency—Blunt’sBrilliant Detectives? All that sort of stuff, you know? Eh?”
“Did you want, sir, to speak to Mr. Blunt himself?” inquired Albert, withan air of doubts as to whether such a thing could be managed.
“Well—yes, laddie, that was the jolly old idea. Can it be done?”
“You haven’t an appointment, I suppose?”
The visitor became more and more apologetic.
“Afraid I haven’t.”
“It’s always wise, sir, to ring up on the phone first. Mr. Blunt is so ter-ribly busy. He’s engaged on the telephone at the moment. Called into con-sultation by Scotland Yard.”
The young man seemed suitably impressed.
Albert lowered his voice, and imparted information in a friendly fash-ion.
“Important theft of documents from a Government Office. They wantMr. Blunt to take up the case.”
“Oh! really. I say. He must be no end of a fellow.”
“The Boss, sir,” said Albert, “is It.”
The young man sat down on a hard chair, completely unconscious of thefact that he was being subjected to keen scrutiny by two pairs of eyes look-ing through cunningly contrived peepholes—those of Tuppence, in the in-tervals of frenzied typing, and those of Tommy awaiting the suitable mo-ment.
Presently a bell rang with violence on Albert’s desk.
“The Boss is free now. I will find out whether he can see you,” said Al-bert, and disappeared through the door marked “Private.”
He reappeared immediately.
“Will you come this way, sir?”
The visitor was ushered into the private office, and a pleasant- facedyoung man with red hair and an air of brisk capability rose to greet him.
“Sit down. You wish to consult me? I am Mr. Blunt.”
“Oh! Really. I say, you’re awfully young, aren’t you?”
“The day of the Old Men is over,” said Tommy, waving his hand. “Whocaused the war? The Old Men. Who is responsible for the present state ofunemployment? The Old Men. Who is responsible for every single rottenthing that has happened? Again I say, the Old Men!”
“I expect you are right,” said the client, “I know a fellow who is a poet—at least he says he is a poet—and he always talks like that.”
“Let me tell you this, sir, not a person on my highly trained staff is a dayover twenty-five. That is the truth.”
Since the highly trained staff consisted of Tuppence and Albert, thestatement was truth itself.
“And now—the facts,” said Mr. Blunt.
“I want you to find someone that’s missing,” blurted out the young man.
“Quite so. Will you give me the details?”
“Well, you see, it’s rather difficult. I mean, it’s a frightfully delicate busi-ness and all that. She might be frightfully waxy about it. I mean—well, it’sso dashed difficult to explain.”
He looked helplessly at Tommy. Tommy felt annoyed. He had been onthe point of going out to lunch, but he foresaw that getting the facts out ofthis client would be a long and tedious business.
“Did she disappear of her own free will, or do you suspect abduction?”
he demanded crisply.
“I don’t know,” said the young man. “I don’t know anything.”
Tommy reached for a pad and pencil.
“First of all,” he said, “will you give me your name? My office boy istrained never to ask names. In that way consultations can remain com-pletely confidential.”
“Oh! rather,” said the young man. “Jolly good idea. My name—er—myname’s Smith.”
“Oh! no,” said Tommy. “The real one, please.”
His visitor looked at him in awe.
“Er—St. Vincent,” he said. “Lawrence St. Vincent.”
“It’s a curious thing,” said Tommy, “how very few people there arewhose real name is Smith. Personally, I don’t know anyone called Smith.
But nine men out of ten who wish to conceal their real name give that ofSmith. I am writing a monograph upon the subject.”
At that moment a buzzer purred discreetly on his desk. That meant thatTuppence was requesting to take hold. Tommy, who wanted his lunch,and who felt profoundly unsympathetic towards Mr. St. Vincent, was onlytoo pleased to relinquish the helm.
“Excuse me,” he said, and picked up the telephone.
Across his face there shot rapid changes—surprise, consternation, slightelation.
“You don’t say so,” he said into the phone. “The Prime Minister himself?
Of course, in that case, I will come round at once.”
He replaced the receiver on the hook, and turned to his client.
“My dear sir, I must ask you to excuse me. A most urgent summons. Ifyou will give the facts of the case to my confidential secretary, she willdeal with them.”
He strode to the adjoining door.
“Miss Robinson.”
Tuppence, very neat and demure with smooth black head and daintycollars and cuffs, tripped in. Tommy made the necessary introductionsand departed.
“A lady you take an interest in has disappeared, I understand, Mr. St.
Vincent,” said Tuppence, in her soft voice, as she sat down and took up Mr.
Blunt’s pad and pencil. “A young lady?”
“Oh! rather,” said St. Vincent. “Young—and—and—awfully good-lookingand all that sort of thing.”
Tuppence’s face grew grave.
“Dear me,” she murmured. “I hope that—”
“You don’t think anything’s really happened to her?” demanded Mr. St.
Vincent, in lively concern.
“Oh! we must hope for the best,” said Tuppence, with a kind of falsecheerfulness which depressed Mr. St. Vincent horribly.
“Oh! look here, Miss Robinson. I say, you must do something. Spare noexpense. I wouldn’t have anything happen to her for the world. You seemawfully sympathetic, and I don’t mind telling you in confidence that Isimply worship the ground that girl walks on. She’s a topper, an absolutetopper.”
“Please tell me her name and all about her.”
“Her name’s Jeanette—I don’t know her second name. She works in ahat shop—Madame Violette’s in Brook Street—but she’s as straight as theymake them. Has ticked me off no end of times—I went round there yester-day—waiting for her to come out—all the others came, but not her. Then Ifound that she’d never turned up that morning to work at all—sent nomessage either—old Madame was furious about it. I got the address of herlodgings, and I went round there. She hadn’t come home the night before,and they didn’t know where she was. I was simply frantic. I thought of go-ing to the police. But I knew that Jeanette would be absolutely furious withme for doing that if she were really all right and had gone off on her own.
Then I remembered that she herself had pointed out your advertisementto me one day in the paper and told me that one of the women who’d beenin buying hats had simply raved about your ability and discretion and allthat sort of thing. So I toddled along here right away.”
“I see,” said Tuppence. “What is the address of her lodgings?”
The young man gave it to her.
“That’s all, I think,” said Tuppence reflectively. “That is to say—am I tounderstand that you are engaged to this young lady?”
Mr. St. Vincent turned a brick red.
“Well, no—not exactly. I never said anything. But I can tell you this, Imean to ask her to marry me as soon as ever I see her—if I ever do see heragain.”
Tuppence laid aside her pad.
“Do you wish for our special twenty-four hour service?” she asked inbusinesslike tones.
“What’s that?”
“The fees are doubled, but we put all our available staff onto the case.
Mr. St. Vincent, if the lady is alive, I shall be able to tell you where she isby this time tomorrow.”
“What? I say, that’s wonderful.”
“We only employ experts—and we guarantee results,” said Tuppencecrisply.
“But I say, you know. You must have the most topping staff.”
“Oh! we have,” said Tuppence. “By the way, you haven’t given me a de-scription of the young lady.”
“She’s got the most marvellous hair—sort of golden but very deep, like ajolly old sunset—that’s it, a jolly old sunset. You know, I never noticedthings like sunsets until lately. Poetry too, there’s a lot more in poetry thanI ever thought.”
“Red hair,” said Tuppence unemotionally, writing it down. “What heightshould you say the lady was?”
“Oh! tallish, and she’s got ripping eyes, dark blue, I think. And a sort ofdecided manner with her—takes a fellow up short sometimes.”
Tuppence wrote down a few words more, then closed her notebook androse.
“If you will call here tomorrow at two o’clock, I think we shall havenews of some kind for you,” she said. “Good morning, Mr. St. Vincent.”
When Tommy returned Tuppence was just consulting a page of Debrett.
“I’ve got all the details,” she said succinctly. “Lawrence St. Vincent is thenephew and heir of the Earl of Cheriton. If we pull this through we shallget publicity in the highest places.”
Tommy read through the notes on the pad.
“What do you really think has happened to the girl?” he asked.
“I think,” said Tuppence, “that she has fled at the dictates of her heart,feeling that she loves this young man too well for her peace of mind.”
Tommy looked at her doubtfully.
“I know they do it in books,” he said, “but I’ve never known any girl whodid it in real life.”
“No?” said Tuppence. “Well, perhaps you’re right. But I dare sayLawrence St. Vincent will swallow that sort of slush. He’s full of romanticnotions just now. By the way, I guaranteed results in twenty-four hours—our special service.”
“Tuppence—you congenital idiot, what made you do that?”
“The idea just came into my head. I thought it sounded rather well.
Don’t you worry. Leave it to mother. Mother knows best.”
She went out leaving Tommy profoundly dissatisfied.
Presently he rose, sighed, and went out to do what could be done, curs-ing Tuppence’s overfervent imagination.
When he returned weary and jaded at half past four, he found Tup-pence extracting a bag of biscuits from their place of concealment in oneof the files.
“You look hot and bothered,” she remarked. “What have you been do-ing?”
Tommy groaned.
“Making a round of the hospitals with that girl’s description.”
“Didn’t I tell you to leave it to me?” demanded Tuppence.
“You can’t find that girl single-handed before two o’clock tomorrow.”
“I can—and what’s more, I have!”
“You have? What do you mean?”
“A simple problem, Watson, very simple indeed.”
“Where is she now?”
Tuppence pointed a hand over her shoulder.
“She’s in my office next door.”
“What is she doing there?”
Tuppence began to laugh.
“Well,” she said, “early training will tell, and with a kettle, a gas ring,and half a pound of tea staring her in the face, the result is a foregone con-clusion.
“You see,” continued Tuppence gently. “Madame Violette’s is where I gofor my hats, and the other day I ran across an old pal of hospital daysamongst the girls there. She gave up nursing after the war and started ahat shop, failed, and took this job at Madame Violette’s. We fixed up thewhole thing between us. She was to rub the advertisement well into youngSt. Vincent, and then disappear. Wonderful efficiency of Blunt’s BrilliantDetectives. Publicity for us, and the necessary fillip to young St. Vincent tobring him to the point of proposing. Janet was in despair about it.”
“Tuppence,” said Tommy. “You take my breath away! The whole thing isthe most immoral business I ever heard of. You aid and abet this youngman to marry out of his class—”
“Stuff,” said Tuppence. “Janet is a splendid girl—and the queer thing isthat she really adores that week-kneed young man. You can see with half aglance what his family needs. Some good red blood in it. Janet will be themaking of him. She’ll look after him like a mother, ease down the cocktailsand the night clubs and make him lead a good healthy country gentle-man’s life. Come and meet her.”
Tuppence opened the door of the adjoining office and Tommy followedher.
A tall girl with lovely auburn hair, and a pleasant face, put down thesteaming kettle in her hand, and turned with a smile that disclosed aneven row of white teeth.
“I hope you’ll forgive me, Nurse Cowley — Mrs. Beresford, I mean. Ithought that very likely you’d be quite ready for a cup of tea yourself.
Many’s the pot of tea you’ve made for me in the hospital at three o’clock inthe morning.”
“Tommy,” said Tuppence. “Let me introduce you to my old friend, NurseSmith.”
“Smith, did you say? How curious!” said Tommy shaking hands. “Eh?
Oh! nothing—a little monograph that I was thinking of writing.”
“Pull yourself together, Tommy,” said Tuppence.
She poured him out a cup of tea.
“Now, then, let’s drink together. Here’s to the success of the Interna-tional Detective Agency. Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives! May they never knowfailure!”
第二章 一壶清茶
第二章 一壶清茶
几天后，贝尔斯福德夫妇接管了那家国际侦探所。他们的办公室在一栋有些破败的建筑物的三楼，地处布卢姆斯伯里大街。在他们办公室外的那个小小的写字间里，阿尔伯特放弃了长岛男仆的角色，摇身一变成为办公室助理，他把这个角色扮演得无可挑剔。一纸袋糖果，墨水染黑的手指，蓬乱的头发，这就是他对这个角色形象的演绎。
穿过外面的写字间，经过两扇门就到了里面的办公室。其中一扇门上用油漆写着“办公重地”几个字，另一扇门上则漆着“非请莫入”。这扇门后，是一个小巧而舒适的房间，里面摆放着一张硕大的办公桌；桌上有许多贴着精美标签的文件袋，里面空空如也；还有几把结实的皮座椅。办公桌后，冒牌的布兰特先生坐在那儿，他竭力摆出一副似乎一辈子都在经营这个侦探所的架势。自然，在他肘边，还有一部电话。塔彭丝和他已经成功地演练过内部通话，阿尔伯特也深谙其妙。
毗邻的房间是塔彭丝的，里面有一台打字机，一对必要的桌椅——和她的顶头上司相比档次就逊色得多；另外还有一个用来煮茶的小煤气炉。
万事俱备，开门揖客。
塔彭丝，正处于一开始的新鲜阶段，内心抱有一些强烈的希望。
“简直太妙了，”她宣告，“我们将追踪谋杀案犯，发现家族的秘密财宝，找到失踪者，侦查贪污公款的罪犯。”
这时汤米觉得有责任给她泼点冷水。
“淡定，塔彭丝，别老想着你平时读的那些廉价小说。我们的委托——如果我们有委托人上门的话——只会是那些想跟踪妻子的丈夫，或是些想盯丈夫梢的妻子。搜集离婚证据是私家侦探的主要业务。”
“啊哈！”塔彭丝挑剔地皱了皱鼻头。
“我们不碰离婚案子，我们要提高新工作的起点。”
“行……行吧。”汤米不置可否地说。
现在开张一个星期了，他们情绪低落地对照着工作记录。
“三个蠢女人，她们的丈夫失踪好几周了，”汤米叹了口气，“我去吃午饭时有人来过吗？”
“一个胖老头和他轻浮的老婆，”塔彭丝悲观地叹着气说，“我从报纸上看到，离婚案连年增长，但是直到上周，我才真正体会到这点。懒得再说‘我们不接离婚案’，都把我嘴皮磨出茧子了。”
“我们现在已经把这条写到广告中，”汤米提醒她，“所以不会再这么糟糕了。”
“我也相信我们的广告有足够的吸引力，”塔彭丝闷闷不乐地说，“同时，我是不会退缩的，实在不行，我就自己犯个案子，你来侦破。”
“那有什么好处？想想我的感受：就是那次，我向你求一个温柔的告别，在布尔大街还是常青藤大街来着？”
“你在怀念单身汉的日子。”塔彭丝尖锐地说。
“老贝利 [1] ，我指的是。”汤米说。
“好吧，”塔彭丝说，“必须得想想办法了，我们有能力，但无用武之地啊。”
“我一直喜欢你的乐观，塔彭丝，你似乎从没怀疑过天生我才必有用啊。”
“当然了。”塔彭丝瞪大了眼睛。
“但是毕竟你没有专业知识啊。”
“啊，我读过近十年来出版的每一本侦探小说。”
“我也读过，”汤米说，“但是我有种感觉，这些侦探小说对我们实际帮助并不大。”
“你总是这么悲观，汤米。自信点——自信很了不起哟。”
“是，你总是这样。”她的丈夫说。
“在侦探小说中，办案当然很容易，”塔彭丝沉思着，“因为作家是逆向追踪，我的意思是，如果一个人知道结果，他就可以按结果安排线索。我在想——”
她住了嘴，皱起眉头。
“什么？”汤米好奇地问。
“我有个主意，”彭塔说，“不过还没想好，正在想。”她一下站起身来，“我想我要出去买和你提过的那顶帽子。”
“哦，老天！”汤米叫道，“又买帽子！”
“那顶帽子不错。”塔彭丝郑重其事地说。
她一脸坚定地出去了。
接下来的几天，汤米时不时地会好奇地问到那个主意。塔彭丝只是摇摇头，说再给她点时间。
接下来，一个美好的早晨，第一个顾客光临了，从此别的一切都被抛诸脑后。
外面的写字间响起了一阵敲门声，阿尔伯特——刚刚把一颗酸味糖果放到双唇之间——冲了过去，同时嘴里迸出“请进”二字。由于惊喜和慌乱，他一下整个吞下了那颗酸味糖果。因为这回看来真的来买卖了。
一个高个子年轻人穿着考究而帅气，踌躇地站在门口。
“一个标准的花花公子。”阿尔伯特自言自语，他在这方面的判断力还是很强的。
这个年轻人大约二十四岁，一头卷曲的漂亮的黑发，眼圈涂成粉红色的圆弧，几乎没有下巴可言。
阿尔伯特一阵狂喜，按下桌上的按钮，几乎同时，一串清脆的打字声从写有“办公重地”的房门方向传来，显然塔彭丝已经冲到了自己岗位上。这种紧张忙碌的气氛更加重了这个年轻人的紧张。
“我说”，他问，“这儿是什么——侦探所——布兰特卓越侦探所？是吗？嗯？”
“您要见布兰特先生本人吗，先生？”阿尔伯特问道，一脸怀疑，似乎不敢肯定这事能不能安排。
“啊——是的，小伙子，这是个好主意，可以吗？”
“您没有预约吧，我想？”
来访者显得更加不安，抱歉地说：
“恐怕没有。”
“事先打个电话是明智之举，先生。布兰特先生总是忙得不可开交，现在他正在接电话，苏格兰场打过来的咨询电话。”
这番话恰到好处地令这个年轻人肃然起敬。
阿尔伯特压低声音，仿佛老朋友般向他透露：
“一件重大的政府部门文件失窃案，他们想让布兰特先生接手这个案子。”
“哦，真的？他一定是个厉害的角色。”
“一点不错，先生，我们老板可以说是个大人物。”
年轻人在一张硬木椅子上坐下来，他完全没有意识到，自己正被两双眼睛窥视着。一双是塔彭丝的，她在急速的打字间歇中，透过两个安装巧妙的偷窥孔窥探。一双是汤米的，好似猎手正在等待合适的时机下手。
这时，阿尔伯特桌上的电话铃急促地响起来。
“老板现在有空。我看看他是否有时间见您。”阿尔伯特说着，消失在写有“非请莫入”大字的门后。
很快他就出来了。
“请随我来，先生。”
来访者被引进那间私人办公室，一个笑容可掬、满头红发的年轻人，带着一副笃定的神情站起来欢迎他。
“请坐，您有事咨询吗？我是布兰特。”
“哦，真的吗？我的意思是，您原来这么年轻，不是吗？”
“老年人的时代已经过去了，”汤米摇着手说，“谁酿成的战争？老年人。谁造成的失业现状？老年人。谁为现在发生的每一桩腐败负责？我不得不再次回答，老年人。”
“我认为您说得对，”客人说，“我认识一个人，他是个诗人——至少他自称是诗人——他和您见地一致。”
“让我来告诉您，先生，在我那些训练有素的员工中，没有一个人比二十五岁大一天，真的。”
既然训练有素的员工由塔彭丝和阿尔伯特组成，这个声明当然是真的。
“现在——请谈谈您的事吧。”布兰特先生说道。
“我想请您寻找一个下落不明的人。”这个年轻人脱口而出。
“那么，您能为我提供细节吗？”
“哦，这事不太好说。我的意思是，这件事十分复杂微妙。她可能是被胁迫的——这真的很难解释。”
他无助地望着汤米。汤米觉得有点厌烦，他本来正要出去吃午饭，但是此时他预感要从这个客人口里获得详情，恐怕既费时间又枯燥无趣。
“她是完全出于自愿呢，还是你怀疑她被诱拐了？”他直截了当地问。
“我不知道，”这个年轻人说，“我一无所知。”
汤米拿起一个便签本和一支铅笔。
“首先，”他说，“能告诉我您的尊姓大名吗？我的办公室助理受过良好训练，从不问顾客姓名。这样咨询谈话才能做到绝对保密。”
“哦，是的，”年轻人说，“这是个好主意，我的名字……呃……我的名字是史密斯。”
“哦，不，”汤米说，“请说真名。”
来访者有些敬畏地看了看汤米。
“呃——圣文森特，”他说，“劳伦斯•圣文森特。”
“很奇怪，”汤米说，“极少有人真名叫史密斯。我自己就不认识一个叫史密斯的人。但是那些隐藏真实姓名的人十有八九却用史密斯来代替真名。我准备以此为专题写篇文章。”
这时，他桌上的蜂鸣器小心翼翼地嘟嘟响起来。这意味着塔彭丝要求上场了。汤米，正想吃午饭，对圣文森特先生又不太喜欢，无疑乐于把这儿的处理权拱手相让。
“请原谅。”他说着拿起话筒。
他的面部表情急遽地变化——惊讶，错愕，得意扬扬。
“您不必客气，”他对着话筒说，“首相先生本人？既然如此，我马上就来。”
他挂好听筒，转身面对他的顾客。
“亲爱的先生，我不得不请您原谅。一个紧急命令。您愿意把案件详情向我的机要秘书陈述一下吗，她会妥善处理一切的。”
他疾步走向旁边的房间。
“鲁宾孙小姐。”
塔彭丝轻快地走进汤米办公室，黑发梳理得一丝不苟，衣领和袖口干净整洁，整个人显得干练而娴静。汤米略作介绍后便离开了。
“一位您感兴趣的女士失踪了，我理解，圣文森特先生，”塔彭丝轻柔地一面安抚来客，一面坐下来，拿起布兰特先生的便签本和铅笔，“一位年轻女士？”
“嗯，十分年轻，”圣文森特说，“年轻……呃……呃……非常漂亮，漂亮极了。”
塔彭丝一脸严肃。
“天啊，”她小声道，“但愿——”
“您不会认为她真的发生什么不测了吧？”圣文森特忧心忡忡地问道。
“哦，我们得往好处想，”塔彭丝说，带着假装的高兴语气，这让文森特先生更加觉得惊恐万分。
“哦，听着，鲁宾孙小姐，我请您一定要帮帮我。不惜代价，无论如何，我只求她别出什么事。您看起来十分有同情心，不瞒您说，我对这个女孩倾慕无比。她是个尤物，绝对的尤物。”
“告诉我她的名字和一切有关她的情况。”
“她叫珍妮特，我不知道她的姓。她在一家帽饰店工作——布鲁克大街的奥维莱特夫人帽店。她正直坦率，曾无数次指出我行为上的错误……昨天我去那儿，等她出来……别人都出来了，唯独没有她。接着我得知她那天上午根本没去上班，也没有请假——老奥维莱特夫人对此很生气。我打听到她的住址，就去那儿找她。她前一天晚上也没回家，家里人也不知道她去了哪里。我都要疯了。我想过报警。但是后来一想，珍妮特如果实际上没什么事，如果她只是出走了，我这样做她势必会很生气。然后我想起来，她曾经指着报纸上你们的广告告诉我，一个来店里买帽子的女人热情地夸赞你们的能力和判断力之类的事情，所以我就立刻找到这儿来了。”
“我明白了，”塔彭丝说，“那么她住在哪儿？”
年轻人给了她那个女孩的地址。
“就这样吧，我想，”塔彭丝沉思着，“这就是说——我能这样理解吗，你和这个年轻女孩订婚了？”
圣文森特先生的脸红了。
“噢，不——还没有，我对任何人都未提及此事。但是可以告诉您，一见到她我就会向她求婚，如果还能再见到她的话。”
塔彭丝把便签本放到一边。
“您需要我们提供二十四小时特殊服务吗？”她问道，显得煞有介事。
“什么样的服务？”
“收费双倍，但是我们会投入最精干的人员到这个案子中。圣文森特先生，如果这位女士还活着，我明天这时候就能告诉您她在哪儿。”
“什么？啊，我是说，太好了。”
“我们只雇用专业人员——并且，我们承诺结果。”塔彭丝爽快地说。
“但是，我说，您知道，你们得有最顶尖的人手吧。”
“哦，当然。”塔彭丝说，“另外，您还没有向我们介绍这位年轻女士的特征。”
“她有一头无与伦比的秀发，金黄色的，深厚浓密，好像宜人的晚霞——是的，宜人的晚霞。你知道，以前我从没有发现过晚霞般美好的东西。她又像首诗，这首诗远比我想象的更有韵味。”
“金发，”塔彭丝毫不动情地说，记在便签本上，“这位女士身材怎样？”
“嗯，高挑的身材，一双美极了的眼睛，深蓝色，我想。常带着果断的神情——有时会让男人自惭形秽。”
塔彭丝又写了几个字，然后合上便签本，站起身来。
“如果您明天两点打电话来，我想我们会有好消息给您，”她说，“再会，圣文森特先生。”
等汤米回来，塔彭丝正在查阅一本《德布雷特家谱大全》。
“我已经掌握了详情，”她简洁地说，“劳伦斯•圣文森特是切瑞顿伯爵的侄子和继承人。
我们如果努力破了这个案子，就能在上层人士中打响名号。”
汤米仔细读着便签本上的记录。
“你认为这个女孩究竟出了什么事？”他问。
“我认为，”塔彭丝说，“这个女孩是自愿出走的。她不能自拔地爱上了这个年轻人，为了让自己平静下来，才不得已出走。”
汤米疑惑地看着她。
“我知道书里会这样写，”他说，“但是我从没见过现实生活中哪个女孩会这样做。”
“没有吗？”塔彭丝说，“好吧，也许你说得对，但是我敢说，劳伦斯•圣文森特会完全相信这种说法。另外，我承诺二十四小时出结果——这是我们的特殊服务。”
“塔彭丝——你这个天生的傻瓜，你怎么能这么承诺？”
“突然灵光一现，我觉得这听起来非常专业。不要担心，让妈咪来，妈咪最有办法。”
她出门去，只留下一肚子不满的汤米。
过了一会儿，他站起来，叹了口气，出去看看有什么能做的，同时诅咒着塔彭丝过于活跃的想象力。
四点半他返回办公室，疲惫不堪，精神不振，他发现塔彭丝正从一堆文件夹后面抽出一袋饼干。
“你看起来焦躁不安，”她评论道，“你干什么去了？”
汤米抱怨道：“去了几家医院，看看能不能遇到有那样特征的女孩。”
“我没告诉你让我来吗？”塔彭丝不满地问道。
“你单枪匹马，在明天两点前是找不到那个女孩的。”
“我能——更确切地说，我已经找到了！”
“已经找到了？！你在说什么？”
“小菜一碟，华生，很简单。”
“那她现在哪儿？”
塔彭丝伸手指指身后。
“她就在你隔壁的办公室里。”
“她在那儿干什么？”
塔彭丝不禁大笑起来。
“好了，”她说，“俗话说，早做准备方可万无一失。她正在摆弄那把壶，那个煤气炉和半磅茶，这个结果早就预料到了。”
“你知道，”塔彭丝继续柔声地说，“我去奥维莱特夫人商店买帽子，几天前我遇到了一个女孩，她是我过去在医院工作时的老相识，战后她不再做护士，开了一家帽店，后来自己的店倒闭，就在奥维莱特夫人帽店找了份工作。是我们两个筹划的整个事件。她故意反复提到我们的那个广告，让圣文森特铭记在心，然后就离家出走。这便是布兰特卓越侦探所的完美业绩。既为我们做了宣传，也给了圣文森特必要的刺激，促使他求婚，不然珍妮特对此简直要心灰意冷了。”
“塔彭丝，”汤米说，“你简直让我大吃一惊！这整个事情是我听到过的最不道德的生意，你帮助并诱迫这个年轻人去娶一个门不当、户不对的姑娘——”
“够了，”塔彭丝打断他，“珍妮特是个极好的女孩——但让人想不明白的是，这个女孩居然真的倾心于那个软脚蟹。你一眼就能看出他那个家族缺少什么，那就是新鲜的血液。
珍妮特将会让他重生。她会像妈妈一样照顾他，让他放下鸡尾酒，离开夜总会，让他过上正常健康的乡村绅士的生活。好了，来见见她吧。”
塔彭丝打开隔壁办公室的门，汤米紧随其后。
一个高个儿女孩，赤褐色头发，愉快的脸庞，放下手中热气腾腾的壶，微笑着转过身来，露出一排整齐洁白的牙齿。
“希望您会原谅我，考利护士——贝雷斯福德夫人，我应该这样称呼您。我想您可能会需要一杯茶。以前在医院工作的时候，每天凌晨三点，您都会给我煮壶茶。”
“汤米，”塔彭丝说，“让我来给你介绍我的老朋友，史密斯护士。”
“史密斯，你是说史密斯？多么奇怪！”汤米说道，摆摆手，“不是吗？哦，没什么——我正打算写一篇小专题文章。”
“振作精神，汤米。”塔彭丝说。
她倒给他一杯茶。
“现在，那么，我们举起杯来，为国际侦探所干杯！布兰特卓越侦探所！祝它无往不胜！”
[1]即中央刑事法院（Central Cniminal Courot），位于英国伦敦，通常以所在街道称为老贝利，负责处理英格兰和威尔士的重大刑事案件。