Twenty-two IN DOWNING STREET

The Prime Minister tapped the desk in front of him with nervous fingers.
His face was worn and harassed¹. He took up his conversation with Mr.
Carter at the point it had broken off.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “Do you really mean that things are not sodesperate after all?”
“So this lad seems to think.”
“Let’s have a look at his letter again.”
Mr. Carter handed it over. It was written in a sprawling³ boyish hand.
Dear Mr. Carter,
Something’s turned up that has given me a jar. Ofcourse I may be simply making an awful ass² of myself,but I don’t think so. If my conclusions are right, that girlat Manchester was just a plant. The whole thing wasprearranged, sham⁴ packet and all, with the object ofmaking us think the game was up—therefore I fancythat we must have been pretty hot on the scent⁵.
I think I know who the real Jane Finn is, and I’ve evengot an idea where the papers are. That last’s only aguess, of course, but I’ve a sort of feeling it’ll turn outright⁶. Anyhow, I enclose it in a sealed envelope for whatit’s worth. I’m going to ask you not to open it until thevery last moment, midnight on the 28th, in fact. You’llunderstand why in a minute. You see, I’ve figured it outthat those things of Tuppence’s are a plant too, andshe’s no more drowned than I am. The way I reason isthis: as a last chance they’ll let Jane Finn escape in thehope that she’s been shamming⁷ this memory stunt⁸, andthat once she thinks she’s free she’ll go right away tothe cache. Of course it’s an awful risk for them to take,because she knows all about them—but they’re prettydesperate to get hold of that treaty. But if they knowthat the papers have been recovered by us, neither ofthose two girls’ lives will be worth an hour’s purchase. Imust try and get hold of Tuppence before Jane escapes.

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