of Mrs. Vandemeyer’s whose mind was affected by the shock of the
_Lusitania_. There was no one I could appeal to for help without
giving myself away to _them_, and if I risked it and failed--and Mrs.
Vandemeyer looked so rich, and so beautifully dressed, that I felt
convinced they’d take her word against mine, and think it was part of my
mental trouble to think myself ‘persecuted’--I felt that the horrors in
store for me would be too awful once they knew I’d been only shamming.”

Sir James nodded comprehendingly.

“Mrs. Vandemeyer was a woman of great personality. With that and her
social position she would have had little difficulty in imposing her
point of view in preference to yours. Your sensational accusations
against her would not easily have found credence.”

“That’s what I thought. It ended in my being sent to a sanatorium at
Bournemouth. I couldn’t make up my mind at first whether it was a sham
affair or genuine. A hospital nurse had charge of me. I was a special
patient. She seemed so nice and normal that at last I determined to
confide in her. A merciful providence just saved me in time from falling
into the trap. My door happened to be ajar, and I heard her talking to
some one in the passage. _She was one of them!_ They still fancied it
might be a bluff on my part, and she was put in charge of me to make
sure! After that, my nerve went completely. I dared trust nobody.

“I think I almost hypnotized myself. After a while, I almost forgot
that I was really Jane Finn. I was so bent on playing the part of Janet
Vandemeyer that my nerves began to play me tricks. I became really
ill--for months I sank into a sort of stupor. I felt sure I should
die soon, and that nothing really mattered. A sane person shut up in a
lunatic asylum often ends by becoming insane, they say. I guess I was
like that. Playing my part had become second nature to me. I wasn’t even
unhappy in the end--just apathetic. Nothing seemed to matter. And the
years went on.

“And then suddenly things seemed to change. Mrs. Vandemeyer came down
from London. She and the doctor asked me questions, experimented with
various treatments. There was some talk of sending me to a specialist in
Paris. In the end, they did not dare risk it. I overheard something that
seemed to show that other people--friends--were looking for me. I
learnt later that the nurse who had looked after me went to Paris,
and consulted a specialist, representing herself to be me. He put her
through some searching tests, and exposed her loss of memory to be
fraudulent; but she had taken a note of his methods and reproduced
them on me. I dare say I couldn’t have deceived the specialist for a
minute--a man who has made a lifelong study of a thing is unique--but
I managed once again to hold my own with them. The fact that I’d not
thought of myself as Jane Finn for so long made it easier.

“One night I was whisked off to London at a moment’s notice. They took
me back to the house in Soho. Once I got away from the sanatorium I felt
different--as though something in me that had been buried for a long
time was waking up again.

“They sent me in to wait on Mr. Beresford. (Of course I didn’t know
his name then.) I was suspicious--I thought it was another trap. But he
looked so honest, I could hardly believe it. However, I was careful in
all I said, for I knew we could be overheard. There’s a small hole, high
up in the wall.

“But on the Sunday afternoon a message was brought to the house. They
were all very disturbed. Without their knowing, I listened. Word had
come that he was to be killed. I needn’t tell the next part, because
you know it. I thought I’d have time to rush up and get the papers from
their hiding-place, but I was caught. So I screamed out that he was
escaping, and I said I wanted to go back to Marguerite. I shouted the
name three times very loud. I knew the others would think I meant
Mrs. Vandemeyer, but I hoped it might make Mr. Beresford think of the
picture. He’d unhooked one the first day--that’s what made me hesitate
to trust him.”

She paused.

“Then the papers,” said Sir James slowly, “are still at the back of the
picture in that room.”

“Yes.” The girl had sunk back on the sofa exhausted with the strain of
the long story.

Sir James rose to his feet. He looked at his watch.

“Come,” he said, “we must go at once.”

“To-night?” queried Tuppence, surprised.

“To-morrow may be too late,” said Sir James gravely. “Besides, by
going to-night we have the chance of capturing that great man and
super-criminal--Mr. Brown!”

There was dead silence, and Sir James continued:

“You have been followed here--not a doubt of it. When we leave the house
we shall be followed again, but not molested, _for it is Mr. Brown’s
plan that we are to lead him_. But the Soho house is under police
supervision night and day. There are several men watching it. When we
enter that house, Mr. Brown will not draw back--he will risk all, on the
chance of obtaining the spark to fire his mine. And he fancies the risk
not great--since he will enter in the guise of a friend!”

Tuppence flushed, then opened her mouth impulsively.

“But there’s something you don’t know--that we haven’t told you.” Her
eyes dwelt on Jane in perplexity.

“What is that?” asked the other sharply. “No hesitations, Miss Tuppence.
We need to be sure of our going.”

But Tuppence, for once, seemed tongue-tied.

“It’s so difficult--you see, if I’m wrong--oh, it would be dreadful.”
 She made a grimace at the unconscious Jane. “Never forgive me,” she
observed cryptically.

“You want me to help you out, eh?”

“Yes, please. _You_ know who Mr. Brown is, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Sir James gravely. “At last I do.”

“At last?” queried Tuppence doubtfully. “Oh, but I thought----” She
paused.

“You thought correctly, Miss Tuppence. I have been morally certain of
his identity for some time--ever since the night of Mrs. Vandemeyer’s
mysterious death.”

“Ah!” breathed Tuppence.

“For there we are up against the logic of facts. There are only two
solutions. Either the chloral was administered by her own hand, which
theory I reject utterly, or else----”

“Yes?”

“Or else it was administered in the brandy you gave her. Only three
people touched that brandy--you, Miss Tuppence, I myself, and one
other--Mr. Julius Hersheimmer!”

Jane Finn stirred and sat up, regarding the speaker with wide astonished
eyes.

“At first, the thing seemed utterly impossible. Mr. Hersheimmer, as the
son of a prominent millionaire, was a well-known figure in America. It
seemed utterly impossible that he and Mr. Brown could be one and the
same. But you cannot escape from the logic of facts. Since the thing
was so--it must be accepted. Remember Mrs. Vandemeyer’s sudden and
inexplicable agitation. Another proof, if proof was needed.

“I took an early opportunity of giving you a hint. From some words of
Mr. Hersheimmer’s at Manchester, I gathered that you had understood and
acted on that hint. Then I set to work to prove the impossible possible.
Mr. Beresford rang me up and told me, what I had already suspected,
that the photograph of Miss Jane Finn had never really been out of Mr.
Hersheimmer’s possession----”

But the girl interrupted. Springing to her feet, she cried out angrily:

“What do you mean? What are you trying to suggest? That Mr. Brown is
_Julius?_ Julius--my own cousin!”

“No, Miss Finn,” said Sir James unexpectedly. “Not your cousin. The man
who calls himself Julius Hersheimmer is no relation to you whatsoever.”

CHAPTER XXVI. MR. BROWN

SIR James’s words came like a bomb-shell. Both girls looked equally
puzzled. The lawyer went across to his desk, and returned with a small
newspaper cutting, which he handed to Jane. Tuppence read it over
her shoulder. Mr. Carter would have recognized it. It referred to the
mysterious man found dead in New York.

“As I was saying to Miss Tuppence,” resumed the lawyer, “I set to work
to prove the impossible possible. The great stumbling-block was the
undeniable fact that Julius Hersheimmer was not an assumed name. When I
came across this paragraph my problem was solved. Julius Hersheimmer set
out to discover what had become of his cousin. He went out West, where
he obtained news of her and her photograph to aid him in his search. On
the eve of his departure from New York he was set upon and murdered. His
body was dressed in shabby clothes, and the face disfigured to prevent
identification. Mr. Brown took his place. He sailed immediately for
England. None of the real Hersheimmer’s friends or intimates saw him
before he sailed--though indeed it would hardly have mattered if they
had, the impersonation was so perfect. Since then he had been hand and
glove with those sworn to hunt him down. Every secret of theirs has been
known to him. Only once did he come near disaster. Mrs. Vandemeyer knew
his secret. It was no part of his plan that that huge bribe should ever
be offered to her. But for Miss Tuppence’s fortunate change of plan, she
would have been far away from the flat when we arrived there. Exposure
stared him in the face. He took a desperate step, trusting in his
assumed character to avert suspicion. He nearly succeeded--but not
quite.”

“I can’t believe it,” murmured Jane. “He seemed so splendid.”

“The real Julius Hersheimmer _was_ a splendid fellow! And Mr. Brown is
a consummate actor. But ask Miss Tuppence if she also has not had her
suspicions.”

Jane turned mutely to Tuppence. The latter nodded.

“I didn’t want to say it, Jane--I knew it would hurt you. And, after
all, I couldn’t be sure. I still don’t understand why, if he’s Mr.
Brown, he rescued us.”

“Was it Julius Hersheimmer who helped you to escape?”

Tuppence recounted to Sir James the exciting events of the evening,
ending up: “But I can’t see _why!_”

“Can’t you? I can. So can young Beresford, by his actions. As a last
hope Jane Finn was to be allowed to escape--and the escape must be
managed so that she harbours no suspicions of its being a put-up job.
They’re not averse to young Beresford’s being in the neighbourhood, and,
if necessary, communicating with you. They’ll take care to get him out
of the way at the right minute. Then Julius Hersheimmer dashes up and
rescues you in true melodramatic style. Bullets fly--but don’t hit
anybody. What would have happened next? You would have driven straight
to the house in Soho and secured the document which Miss Finn would
probably have entrusted to her cousin’s keeping. Or, if he conducted the
search, he would have pretended to find the hiding-place already rifled.
He would have had a dozen ways of dealing with the situation, but the
result would have been the same. And I rather fancy some accident would
have happened to both of you. You see, you know rather an inconvenient
amount. That’s a rough outline. I admit I was caught napping; but
somebody else wasn’t.”

“Tommy,” said Tuppence softly.

“Yes. Evidently when the right moment came to get rid of him--he was too
sharp for them. All the same, I’m not too easy in my mind about him.”

“Why?”

“Because Julius Hersheimmer is Mr. Brown,” said Sir James dryly. “And it
takes more than one man and a revolver to hold up Mr. Brown....”

Tuppence paled a little.

“What can we do?”

“Nothing until we’ve been to the house in Soho. If Beresford has still
got the upper hand, there’s nothing to fear. If otherwise, our enemy
will come to find us, and he will not find us unprepared!” From a drawer
in the desk, he took a service revolver, and placed it in his coat
pocket.

“Now we’re ready. I know better than even to suggest going without you,
Miss Tuppence----”

“I should think so indeed!”

“But I do suggest that Miss Finn should remain here. She will be
perfectly safe, and I am afraid she is absolutely worn out with all she
has been through.”

But to Tuppence’s surprise Jane shook her head.

“No. I guess I’m going too. Those papers were my trust. I must go
through with this business to the end. I’m heaps better now anyway.”

Sir James’s car was ordered round. During the short drive Tuppence’s
heart beat tumultuously. In spite of momentary qualms of uneasiness
respecting Tommy, she could not but feel exultation. They were going to
win!

The car drew up at the corner of the square and they got out. Sir James
went up to a plain-clothes man who was on duty with several others, and
spoke to him. Then he rejoined the girls.

“No one has gone into the house so far. It is being watched at the back
as well, so they are quite sure of that. Anyone who attempts to enter
after we have done so will be arrested immediately. Shall we go in?”

A policeman produced a key. They all knew Sir James well. They had also
had orders respecting Tuppence. Only the third member of the party was
unknown to them. The three entered the house, pulling the door to behind
them. Slowly they mounted the rickety stairs. At the top was the ragged
curtain hiding the recess where Tommy had hidden that day. Tuppence had
heard the story from Jane in her character of “Annette.” She looked at
the tattered velvet with interest. Even now she could almost swear it
moved--as though _some one_ was behind it. So strong was the illusion
that she almost fancied she could make out the outline of a form....
Supposing Mr. Brown--Julius--was there waiting....

Impossible of course! Yet she almost went back to put the curtain aside
and make sure....

Now they were entering the prison room. No place for anyone to hide
here, thought Tuppence, with a sigh of relief, then chided herself
indignantly. She must not give way to this foolish fancying--this
curious insistent feeling that _Mr. Brown was in the house_.... Hark!
what was that? A stealthy footstep on the stairs? There _was_ some one
in the house! Absurd! She was becoming hysterical.

Jane had gone straight to the picture of Marguerite. She unhooked it
with a steady hand. The dust lay thick upon it, and festoons of cobwebs
lay between it and the wall. Sir James handed her a pocket-knife, and
she ripped away the brown paper from the back.... The advertisement
page of a magazine fell out. Jane picked it up. Holding apart the frayed
inner edges she extracted two thin sheets covered with writing!

No dummy this time! The real thing!

“We’ve got it,” said Tuppence. “At last....”

The moment was almost breathless in its emotion. Forgotten the faint
creakings, the imagined noises of a minute ago. None of them had eyes
for anything but what Jane held in her hand.

Sir James took it, and scrutinized it attentively.

“Yes,” he said quietly, “this is the ill-fated draft treaty!”

“We’ve succeeded,” said Tuppence. There was awe and an almost wondering
unbelief in her voice.

Sir James echoed her words as he folded the paper carefully and put it
away in his pocket-book, then he looked curiously round the dingy room.

“It was here that our young friend was confined for so long, was
it not?” he said. “A truly sinister room. You notice the absence of
windows, and the thickness of the close-fitting door. Whatever took
place here would never be heard by the outside world.”

Tuppence shivered. His words woke a vague alarm in her. What if there
_was_ some one concealed in the house? Some one who might bar that door
on them, and leave them to die like rats in a trap? Then she realized
the absurdity of her thought. The house was surrounded by police who,
if they failed to reappear, would not hesitate to break in and make a
thorough search. She smiled at her own foolishness--then looked up with
a start to find Sir James watching her. He gave her an emphatic little
nod.

“Quite right, Miss Tuppence. You scent danger. So do I. So does Miss
Finn.”

“Yes,” admitted Jane. “It’s absurd--but I can’t help it.”

Sir James nodded again.

“You feel--as we all feel-- _the presence of Mr. Bown_. Yes”--as
Tuppence made a movement--“not a doubt of it-- _Mr. Brown is here_....”

“In this house?”

“In this room.... You don’t understand? _I am Mr. Brown_....”

Stupefied, unbelieving, they stared at him. The very lines of his face
had changed. It was a different man who stood before them. He smiled a
slow cruel smile.

“Neither of you will leave this room alive! You said just now we had
succeeded. _I_ have succeeded! The draft treaty is mine.” His smile grew
wider as he looked at Tuppence. “Shall I tell you how it will be? Sooner
or later the police will break in, and they will find three victims of
Mr. Brown--three, not two, you understand, but fortunately the third
will not be dead, only wounded, and will be able to describe the attack
with a wealth of detail! The treaty? It is in the hands of Mr. Brown. So
no one will think of searching the pockets of Sir James Peel Edgerton!”

He turned to Jane.

“You outwitted me. I make my acknowledgments. But you will not do it
again.”

There was a faint sound behind him, but, intoxicated with success, he
did not turn his head.

He slipped his hand into his pocket.

“Checkmate to the Young Adventurers,” he said, and slowly raised the big
automatic.

But, even as he did so, he felt himself seized from behind in a grip of
iron. The revolver was wrenched from his hand, and the voice of Julius
Hersheimmer said drawlingly:

“I guess you’re caught redhanded with the goods upon you.”

The blood rushed to the K.C.’s face, but his self-control was
marvellous, as he looked from one to the other of his two captors. He
looked longest at Tommy.

“You,” he said beneath his breath. “_You!_ I might have known.”

Seeing that he was disposed to offer no resistance, their grip
slackened. Quick as a flash his left hand, the hand which bore the big
signet ring, was raised to his lips....

“‘_Ave, Cæsar! te morituri salutant_,’” he said, still looking at
Tommy.

Then his face changed, and with a long convulsive shudder he fell
forward in a crumpled heap, whilst an odour of bitter almonds filled the
air.

CHAPTER XXVII. A SUPPER PARTY AT THE _SAVOY_

THE supper party given by Mr. Julius Hersheimmer to a few friends on the
evening of the 30th will long be remembered in catering circles. It took
place in a private room, and Mr. Hersheimmer’s orders were brief and
forcible. He gave carte blanche--and when a millionaire gives carte
blanche he usually gets it!

Every delicacy out of season was duly provided. Waiters carried bottles
of ancient and royal vintage with loving care. The floral decorations
defied the seasons, and fruits of the earth as far apart as May and
November found themselves miraculously side by side. The list of guests
was small and select. The American Ambassador, Mr. Carter, who had taken
the liberty, he said, of bringing an old friend, Sir William Beresford,
with him, Archdeacon Cowley, Dr. Hall, those two youthful adventurers,
Miss Prudence Cowley and Mr. Thomas Beresford, and last, but not least,
as guest of honour, Miss Jane Finn.

Julius had spared no pains to make Jane’s appearance a success. A
mysterious knock had brought Tuppence to the door of the apartment she
was sharing with the American girl. It was Julius. In his hand he held a
cheque.

“Say, Tuppence,” he began, “will you do me a good turn? Take this, and
get Jane regularly togged up for this evening. You’re all coming to
supper with me at the _Savoy_. See? Spare no expense. You get me?”

“Sure thing,” mimicked Tuppence. “We shall enjoy ourselves. It will be a
pleasure dressing Jane. She’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s so,” agreed Mr. Hersheimmer fervently.

His fervour brought a momentary twinkle to Tuppence’s eye.

“By the way, Julius,” she remarked demurely, “I--haven’t given you my
answer yet.”

“Answer?” said Julius. His face paled.

“You know--when you asked me to--marry you,” faltered Tuppence, her
eyes downcast in the true manner of the early Victorian heroine, “and
wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’ve thought it well over----”

“Yes?” said Julius. The perspiration stood on his forehead.

Tuppence relented suddenly.

“You great idiot!” she said. “What on earth induced you to do it? I
could see at the time you didn’t care a twopenny dip for me!”

“Not at all. I had--and still have--the highest sentiments of esteem and
respect--and admiration for you----”

“H’m!” said Tuppence. “Those are the kind of sentiments that very soon
go to the wall when the other sentiment comes along! Don’t they, old
thing?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Julius stiffly, but a large and
burning blush overspread his countenance.

“Shucks!” retorted Tuppence. She laughed, and closed the door, reopening
it to add with dignity: “Morally, I shall always consider I have been
jilted!”

“What was it?” asked Jane as Tuppence rejoined her.

“Julius.”

“What did he want?”

“Really, I think, he wanted to see you, but I wasn’t going to let him.
Not until to-night, when you’re going to burst upon every one like King
Solomon in his glory! Come on! _We’re going to shop!_”

To most people the 29th, the much-heralded “Labour Day,” had passed much
as any other day. Speeches were made in the Park and Trafalgar Square.
Straggling processions, singing the _Red Flag_, wandered through the
streets in a more or less aimless manner. Newspapers which had hinted at
a general strike, and the inauguration of a reign of terror, were forced
to hide their diminished heads. The bolder and more astute among
them sought to prove that peace had been effected by following their
counsels. In the Sunday papers a brief notice of the sudden death of Sir
James Peel Edgerton, the famous K.C., had appeared. Monday’s paper
dealt appreciatively with the dead man’s career. The exact manner of his
sudden death was never made public.

Tommy had been right in his forecast of the situation. It had been a
one-man show. Deprived of their chief, the organization fell to pieces.
Kramenin had made a precipitate return to Russia, leaving England early
on Sunday morning. The gang had fled from Astley Priors in a panic,
leaving behind, in their haste, various damaging documents which
compromised them hopelessly. With these proofs of conspiracy in their
hands, aided further by a small brown diary taken from the pocket of the
dead man which had contained a full and damning résumé of the whole
plot, the Government had called an eleventh-hour conference. The Labour
leaders were forced to recognize that they had been used as a cat’s
paw. Certain concessions were made by the Government, and were eagerly
accepted. It was to be Peace, not War!

But the Cabinet knew by how narrow a margin they had escaped utter
disaster. And burnt in on Mr. Carter’s brain was the strange scene which
had taken place in the house in Soho the night before.

He had entered the squalid room to find that great man, the friend of
a lifetime, dead--betrayed out of his own mouth. From the dead man’s
pocket-book he had retrieved the ill-omened draft treaty, and then
and there, in the presence of the other three, it had been reduced to
ashes.... England was saved!

And now, on the evening of the 30th, in a private room at the _Savoy_,
Mr. Julius P. Hersheimmer was receiving his guests.

Mr. Carter was the first to arrive. With him was a choleric-looking old
gentleman, at sight of whom Tommy flushed up to the roots of his hair.
He came forward.

“Ha!” said the old gentleman, surveying him apoplectically. “So you’re
my nephew, are you? Not much to look at--but you’ve done good work, it
seems. Your mother must have brought you up well after all. Shall we
let bygones be bygones, eh? You’re my heir, you know; and in future I
propose to make you an allowance--and you can look upon Chalmers Park as
your home.”

“Thank you, sir, it’s awfully decent of you.”

“Where’s this young lady I’ve been hearing such a lot about?”

Tommy introduced Tuppence.

“Ha!” said Sir William, eyeing her. “Girls aren’t what they used to be
in my young days.”

“Yes, they are,” said Tuppence. “Their clothes are different, perhaps,
but they themselves are just the same.”

“Well, perhaps you’re right. Minxes then--minxes now!”

“That’s it,” said Tuppence. “I’m a frightful minx myself.”

“I believe you,” said the old gentleman, chuckling, and pinched her ear
in high good-humour. Most young women were terrified of the “old bear,”
 as they termed him. Tuppence’s pertness delighted the old misogynist.

Then came the timid archdeacon, a little bewildered by the company in
which he found himself, glad that his daughter was considered to have
distinguished herself, but unable to help glancing at her from time
to time with nervous apprehension. But Tuppence behaved admirably. She
forbore to cross her legs, set a guard upon her tongue, and steadfastly
refused to smoke.

Dr. Hall came next, and he was followed by the American Ambassador.

“We might as well sit down,” said Julius, when he had introduced all his
guests to each other. “Tuppence, will you----”

He indicated the place of honour with a wave of his hand.

But Tuppence shook her head.

“No--that’s Jane’s place! When one thinks of how she’s held out all
these years, she ought to be made the queen of the feast to-night.”

Julius flung her a grateful glance, and Jane came forward shyly to the
allotted seat. Beautiful as she had seemed before, it was as nothing to
the loveliness that now went fully adorned. Tuppence had performed her
part faithfully. The model gown supplied by a famous dressmaker had been
entitled “A tiger lily.” It was all golds and reds and browns, and out
of it rose the pure column of the girl’s white throat, and the bronze
masses of hair that crowned her lovely head. There was admiration in
every eye, as she took her seat.

Soon the supper party was in full swing, and with one accord Tommy was
called upon for a full and complete explanation.

“You’ve been too darned close about the whole business,” Julius accused
him. “You let on to me that you were off to the Argentine--though I
guess you had your reasons for that. The idea of both you and Tuppence
casting me for the part of Mr. Brown just tickles me to death!”

“The idea was not original to them,” said Mr. Carter gravely. “It was
suggested, and the poison very carefully instilled, by a past-master in
the art. The paragraph in the New York paper suggested the plan to him,
and by means of it he wove a web that nearly enmeshed you fatally.”

“I never liked him,” said Julius. “I felt from the first that there was
something wrong about him, and I always suspected that it was he who
silenced Mrs. Vandemeyer so appositely. But it wasn’t till I heard that
the order for Tommy’s execution came right on the heels of our interview
with him that Sunday that I began to tumble to the fact that he was the
big bug himself.”

“I never suspected it at all,” lamented Tuppence. “I’ve always thought
I was so much cleverer than Tommy--but he’s undoubtedly scored over me
handsomely.”

Julius agreed.

“Tommy’s been the goods this trip! And, instead of sitting there as dumb
as a fish, let him banish his blushes, and tell us all about it.”

“Hear! hear!”

“There’s nothing to tell,” said Tommy, acutely uncomfortable. “I was an
awful mug--right up to the time I found that photograph of Annette, and
realized that she was Jane Finn. Then I remembered how persistently she
had shouted out that word ‘Marguerite’--and I thought of the pictures,
and--well, that’s that. Then of course I went over the whole thing to
see where I’d made an ass of myself.”

“Go on,” said Mr. Carter, as Tommy showed signs of taking refuge in
silence once more.

“That business about Mrs. Vandemeyer had worried me when Julius told me
about it. On the face of it, it seemed that he or Sir James must have
done the trick. But I didn’t know which. Finding that photograph in the
drawer, after that story of how it had been got from him by Inspector
Brown, made me suspect Julius. Then I remembered that it was Sir James
who had discovered the false Jane Finn. In the end, I couldn’t make up
my mind--and just decided to take no chances either way. I left a note
for Julius, in case he was Mr. Brown, saying I was off to the Argentine,
and I dropped Sir James’s letter with the offer of the job by the desk
so that he would see it was a genuine stunt. Then I wrote my letter to
Mr. Carter and rang up Sir James. Taking him into my confidence would
be the best thing either way, so I told him everything except where I
believed the papers to be hidden. The way he helped me to get on the
track of Tuppence and Annette almost disarmed me, but not quite. I kept
my mind open between the two of them. And then I got a bogus note from
Tuppence--and I knew!”

“But how?”

Tommy took the note in question from his pocket and passed it round the
table.

“It’s her handwriting all right, but I knew it wasn’t from her because
of the signature. She’d never spell her name ‘Twopence,’ but anyone
who’d never seen it written might quite easily do so. Julius _had_ seen
it--he showed me a note of hers to him once--but _Sir James hadn’t!_
After that everything was plain sailing. I sent off Albert post-haste to
Mr. Carter. I pretended to go away, but doubled back again. When Julius
came bursting up in his car, I felt it wasn’t part of Mr. Brown’s
plan--and that there would probably be trouble. Unless Sir James was
actually caught in the act, so to speak, I knew Mr. Carter would never
believe it of him on my bare word----”

“I didn’t,” interposed Mr. Carter ruefully.

“That’s why I sent the girls off to Sir James. I was sure they’d fetch
up at the house in Soho sooner or later. I threatened Julius with the
revolver, because I wanted Tuppence to repeat that to Sir James, so that
he wouldn’t worry about us. The moment the girls were out of sight I
told Julius to drive like hell for London, and as we went along I told
him the whole story. We got to the Soho house in plenty of time and met
Mr. Carter outside. After arranging things with him we went in and hid
behind the curtain in the recess. The policemen had orders to say, if
they were asked, that no one had gone into the house. That’s all.”

And Tommy came to an abrupt halt.

There was silence for a moment.

“By the way,” said Julius suddenly, “you’re all wrong about that
photograph of Jane. It _was_ taken from me, but I found it again.”

“Where?” cried Tuppence.

“In that little safe on the wall in Mrs. Vandemeyer’s bedroom.”

“I knew you found something,” said Tuppence reproachfully. “To tell you
the truth, that’s what started me off suspecting you. Why didn’t you
say?”

“I guess I was a mite suspicious too. It had been got away from me once,
and I determined I wouldn’t let on I’d got it until a photographer had
made a dozen copies of it!”

“We all kept back something or other,” said Tuppence thoughtfully. “I
suppose secret service work makes you like that!”

In the pause that ensued, Mr. Carter took from his pocket a small shabby
brown book.

“Beresford has just said that I would not have believed Sir James Peel
Edgerton to be guilty unless, so to speak, he was caught in the act.
That is so. Indeed, not until I read the entries in this little book
could I bring myself fully to credit the amazing truth. This book will
pass into the possession of Scotland Yard, but it will never be publicly
exhibited. Sir James’s long association with the law would make it
undesirable. But to you, who know the truth, I propose to read certain
passages which will throw some light on the extraordinary mentality of
this great man.”

He opened the book, and turned the thin pages.

“... It is madness to keep this book. I know that. It is documentary
evidence against me. But I have never shrunk from taking risks. And I
feel an urgent need for self-expression.... The book will only be taken
from my dead body....

“... From an early age I realized that I had exceptional abilities. Only
a fool underestimates his capabilities. My brain power was greatly above
the average. I know that I was born to succeed. My appearance was
the only thing against me. I was quiet and insignificant--utterly
nondescript....

“... When I was a boy I heard a famous murder trial. I was deeply
impressed by the power and eloquence of the counsel for the defence.
For the first time I entertained the idea of taking my talents to that
particular market.... Then I studied the criminal in the dock.... The
man was a fool--he had been incredibly, unbelievably stupid. Even
the eloquence of his counsel was hardly likely to save him. I felt
an immeasurable contempt for him.... Then it occurred to me that the
criminal standard was a low one. It was the wastrels, the failures, the
general riff-raff of civilization who drifted into crime....
Strange that men of brains had never realized its extraordinary
opportunities.... I played with the idea.... What a magnificent
field--what unlimited possibilities! It made my brain reel....

“... I read standard works on crime and criminals. They all confirmed my
opinion. Degeneracy, disease--never the deliberate embracing of a career
by a far-seeing man. Then I considered. Supposing my utmost ambitions
were realized--that I was called to the bar, and rose to the height of
my profession? That I entered politics--say, even, that I became Prime
Minister of England? What then? Was that power? Hampered at every turn
by my colleagues, fettered by the democratic system of which I should
be the mere figurehead! No--the power I dreamed of was absolute! An
autocrat! A dictator! And such power could only be obtained by working
outside the law. To play on the weaknesses of human nature, then on the
weaknesses of nations--to get together and control a vast organization,
and finally to overthrow the existing order, and rule! The thought
intoxicated me....

“... I saw that I must lead two lives. A man like myself is bound to
attract notice. I must have a successful career which would mask my true
activities.... Also I must cultivate a personality. I modelled myself
upon famous K.C.’s. I reproduced their mannerisms, their magnetism. If I
had chosen to be an actor, I should have been the greatest actor living!
No disguises--no grease paint--no false beards! Personality! I put it
on like a glove! When I shed it, I was myself, quiet, unobtrusive, a man
like every other man. I called myself Mr. Brown. There are hundreds of
men called Brown--there are hundreds of men looking just like me....

“... I succeeded in my false career. I was bound to succeed. I shall
succeed in the other. A man like me cannot fail....

“... I have been reading a life of Napoleon. He and I have much in
common....

“... I make a practice of defending criminals. A man should look after
his own people....

“... Once or twice I have felt afraid. The first time was in Italy.
There was a dinner given. Professor D----, the great alienist, was
present. The talk fell on insanity. He said, ‘A great many men are
mad, and no one knows it. They do not know it themselves.’ I do not
understand why he looked at me when he said that. His glance was
strange.... I did not like it....

“... The war has disturbed me.... I thought it would further my plans.
The Germans are so efficient. Their spy system, too, was excellent.
The streets are full of these boys in khaki. All empty-headed young
fools.... Yet I do not know.... They won the war.... It disturbs me....

“... My plans are going well.... A girl butted in--I do not think she
really knew anything.... But we must give up the Esthonia.... No risks
now....

“.... All goes well. The loss of memory is vexing. It cannot be a fake.
No girl could deceive ME!...

“...The 29th.... That is very soon....” Mr. Carter paused.

“I will not read the details of the _coup_ that was planned. But there
are just two small entries that refer to the three of you. In the light
of what happened they are interesting.

“... By inducing the girl to come to me of her own accord, I have
succeeded in disarming her. But she has intuitive flashes that might be
dangerous.... She must be got out of the way.... I can do nothing with
the American. He suspects and dislikes me. But he cannot know. I fancy
my armour is impregnable.... Sometimes I fear I have underestimated
the other boy. He is not clever, but it is hard to blind his eyes to
facts....”

Mr. Carter shut the book.

“A great man,” he said. “Genius, or insanity, who can say?”

There was silence.

Then Mr. Carter rose to his feet.

“I will give you a toast. The Joint Venture which has so amply justified
itself by success!”

It was drunk with acclamation.

“There’s something more we want to hear,” continued Mr. Carter. He
looked at the American Ambassador. “I speak for you also, I know. We’ll
ask Miss Jane Finn to tell us the story that only Miss Tuppence has
heard so far--but before we do so we’ll drink her health. The health of
one of the bravest of America’s daughters, to whom is due the thanks and
gratitude of two great countries!”

CHAPTER XXVIII. AND AFTER

“THAT was a mighty good toast, Jane,” said Mr. Hersheimmer, as he and
his cousin were being driven back in the Rolls-Royce to the _Ritz_.

“The one to the joint venture?”

“No--the one to you. There isn’t another girl in the world who could
have carried it through as you did. You were just wonderful!”

Jane shook her head.

“I don’t feel wonderful. At heart I’m just tired and lonesome--and
longing for my own country.”

“That brings me to something I wanted to say. I heard the Ambassador
telling you his wife hoped you would come to them at the Embassy right
away. That’s good enough, but I’ve got another plan. Jane--I want you to
marry me! Don’t get scared and say no at once. You can’t love me right
away, of course, that’s impossible. But I’ve loved you from the very
moment I set eyes on your photo--and now I’ve seen you I’m simply crazy
about you! If you’ll only marry me, I won’t worry you any--you shall
take your own time. Maybe you’ll never come to love me, and if that’s
the case I’ll manage to set you free. But I want the right to look after
you, and take care of you.”

“That’s what I want,” said the girl wistfully. “Some one who’ll be good
to me. Oh, you don’t know how lonesome I feel!”

“Sure thing I do. Then I guess that’s all fixed up, and I’ll see the
archbishop about a special license to-morrow morning.”

“Oh, Julius!”

“Well, I don’t want to hustle you any, Jane, but there’s no sense in
waiting about. Don’t be scared--I shan’t expect you to love me all at
once.”

But a small hand was slipped into his.

“I love you now, Julius,” said Jane Finn. “I loved you that first moment
in the car when the bullet grazed your cheek....”

Five minutes later Jane murmured softly:

“I don’t know London very well, Julius, but is it such a very long way
from the _Savoy_ to the _Ritz?_”

“It depends how you go,” explained Julius unblushingly. “We’re going by
way of Regent’s Park!”

“Oh, Julius--what will the chauffeur think?”

“At the wages I pay him, he knows better than to do any independent
thinking. Why, Jane, the only reason I had the supper at the _Savoy_ was
so that I could drive you home. I didn’t see how I was ever going to
get hold of you alone. You and Tuppence have been sticking together
like Siamese twins. I guess another day of it would have driven me and
Beresford stark staring mad!”

“Oh. Is he----?”

“Of course he is. Head over ears.”

“I thought so,” said Jane thoughtfully.

“Why?”

“From all the things Tuppence didn’t say!”

“There you have me beat,” said Mr. Hersheimmer. But Jane only laughed.

In the meantime, the Young Adventurers were sitting bolt upright,
very stiff and ill at ease, in a taxi which, with a singular lack of
originality, was also returning to the _Ritz_ via Regent’s Park.

A terrible constraint seemed to have settled down between them. Without
quite knowing what had happened, everything seemed changed. They were
tongue-tied--paralysed. All the old _camaraderie_ was gone.

Tuppence could think of nothing to say.

Tommy was equally afflicted.

They sat very straight and forbore to look at each other.

At last Tuppence made a desperate effort.

“Rather fun, wasn’t it?”

“Rather.”

Another silence.

“I like Julius,” essayed Tuppence again.

Tommy was suddenly galvanized into life.

“You’re not going to marry him, do you hear?” he said dictatorially. “I
forbid it.”

“Oh!” said Tuppence meekly.

“Absolutely, you understand.”

“He doesn’t want to marry me--he really only asked me out of kindness.”

“That’s not very likely,” scoffed Tommy.

“It’s quite true. He’s head over ears in love with Jane. I expect he’s
proposing to her now.”

“She’ll do for him very nicely,” said Tommy condescendingly.

“Don’t you think she’s the most lovely creature you’ve ever seen?”

“Oh, I dare say.”

“But I suppose you prefer sterling worth,” said Tuppence demurely.

“I--oh, dash it all, Tuppence, you know!”

“I like your uncle, Tommy,” said Tuppence, hastily creating a diversion.
“By the way, what are you going to do, accept Mr. Carter’s offer of
a Government job, or accept Julius’s invitation and take a richly
remunerated post in America on his ranch?”

“I shall stick to the old ship, I think, though it’s awfully good of
Hersheimmer. But I feel you’d be more at home in London.”

“I don’t see where I come in.”

“I do,” said Tommy positively.

Tuppence stole a glance at him sideways.

“There’s the money, too,” she observed thoughtfully.

“What money?”

“We’re going to get a cheque each. Mr. Carter told me so.”

“Did you ask how much?” inquired Tommy sarcastically.

“Yes,” said Tuppence triumphantly. “But I shan’t tell you.”

“Tuppence, you are the limit!”

“It has been fun, hasn’t it, Tommy? I do hope we shall have lots more
adventures.”

“You’re insatiable, Tuppence. I’ve had quite enough adventures for the
present.”

“Well, shopping is almost as good,” said Tuppence dreamily. “Think of
buying old furniture, and bright carpets, and futurist silk curtains,
and a polished dining-table, and a divan with lots of cushions.”

“Hold hard,” said Tommy. “What’s all this for?”

“Possibly a house--but I think a flat.”

“Whose flat?”

“You think I mind saying it, but I don’t in the least! _Ours_, so
there!”

“You darling!” cried Tommy, his arms tightly round her. “I was
determined to make you say it. I owe you something for the relentless
way you’ve squashed me whenever I’ve tried to be sentimental.”

Tuppence raised her face to his. The taxi proceeded on its course round
the north side of Regent’s Park.

“You haven’t really proposed now,” pointed out Tuppence. “Not what our
grandmothers would call a proposal. But after listening to a rotten one
like Julius’s, I’m inclined to let you off.”

“You won’t be able to get out of marrying me, so don’t you think it.”

“What fun it will be,” responded Tuppence. “Marriage is called all sorts
of things, a haven, and a refuge, and a crowning glory, and a state of
bondage, and lots more. But do you know what I think it is?”

“What?”

“A sport!”

“And a damned good sport too,” said Tommy.