By the Pricking of My Thumbs

‘What are you writing about?’

‘The Paper I’m reading next at the I.U.A.S. and I do wish you’d let me do it in peace.’

‘Sorry.’

Tuppence removed herself. Tommy continued to write sentences and then scratch them out. His face was just brightening, as the pace of his writing increased—when once more the door opened.

‘Here it is,’ said Tuppence. ‘Partingdale, Harris, Lockeridge and Partingdale, 32 Lincoln Terrace, W.C.2. Tel. Holborn 051386. The operative member of the firm is Mr Eccles.’ She placed a sheet of paper by Tommy’s elbow. ‘Now you take on.’

‘No!’ said Tommy firmly.

‘Yes! She’s your Aunt Ada.’

‘Where does Aunt Ada come in? Mrs Lancaster is no aunt of mine.’

‘But it’s lawyers,’ Tuppence insisted. ‘It’s a man’s job always to deal with lawyers. They just think women are silly and don’t pay attention—’

‘A very sensible point of view,’ said Tommy.

‘Oh! Tommy—do help. You go and telephone and I’ll find the dictionary and look how to spell contingency.’

Tommy gave her a look, but departed.

He returned at last and spoke firmly—‘This matter is now closed, Tuppence.’

‘You got Mr Eccles?’

‘Strictly speaking I got a Mr Wills who is doubtless the dogsbody of the firm of Partingford, Lockjaw and Harrison. But he was fully informed and glib. All letters and communications go via the Southern Counties Bank, Hammersmith branch, who will forward all communications. And there, Tuppence, let me tell you, the trail stops. Banks will forward things—but they won’t yield any addresses to you or anyone else who asks. They have their code of rules and they’ll stick to them—Their lips are sealed like our more pompous Prime Ministers.’

‘All right, I’ll send a letter care of the Bank.’

‘Do that—and for goodness’ sake, leave me alone—or I shall never get my speech done.’

‘Thank you, darling,’ said Tuppence. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’ She kissed the top of his head.

‘It’s the best butter,’ said Tommy.

It was not until the following Thursday evening that Tommy asked suddenly, ‘By the way, did you ever get any answer to the letter you sent care of the Bank to Mrs Johnson—’

‘It’s nice of you to ask,’ said Tuppence sarcastically. ‘No, I didn’t.’ She added meditatively, ‘I don’t think I shall, either.’

‘Why not?’

‘You’re not really interested,’ said Tuppence coldly.

‘Look here, Tuppence—I know I’ve been rather preoccupied—It’s all this I.U.A.S.—It’s only once a year, thank goodness.’

‘It starts on Monday, doesn’t it? For five days—’

‘Four days.’

‘And you all go down to a Hush Hush, top secret house in the country somewhere, and make speeches and read Papers and vet young men for Super Secret assignments in Europe and beyond. I’ve forgotten what I.U.A.S. stands for. All these initials they have nowadays—’

‘International Union of Associated Security.’

‘What a mouthful! Quite ridiculous. And I expect the whole place is bugged, and everybody knows everybody else’s most secret conversations.’

‘Highly likely,’ said Tommy with a grin.

‘And I suppose you enjoy it?’

‘Well, I do in a way. One sees a lot of old friends.’

‘All quite ga-ga by now, I expect. Does any of it do any good?’

‘Heavens, what a question! Can one ever let oneself believe that you can answer that by a plain Yes or No—’

‘And are any of the people any good?’

‘I’d answer Yes to that. Some of them are very good indeed.’

‘Will old Josh be there?’

‘Yes, he’ll be there.’

‘What is he like nowadays?’

‘Extremely deaf, half blind, crippled with rheumatism—and you’d be surprised at the things that don’t get past him.’

‘I see,’ said Tuppence. She meditated. ‘I wish I were in it, too.’

Tommy looked apologetic.

‘I expect you’ll find something to do while I’m away.’

‘I might at that,’ said Tuppence meditatively.

Her husband looked at her with the vague apprehension that Tuppence could always arouse in him.

‘Tuppence—what are you up to?’

‘Nothing, yet—So far I’m only thinking.’

‘What about?’

‘Sunny Ridge. And a nice old lady sipping milk and talking in a scatty kind of way about dead children and fireplaces. It intrigued me. I thought then that I’d try and find out more from her next time we came to see Aunt Ada—But there wasn’t a next time because Aunt Ada died—And when we were next in Sunny Ridge—Mrs Lancaster had—disappeared!’

‘You mean her people had taken her away? That’s not a disappearance—it’s quite natural.’