Detectives and Young Adventurers: The Complete Short Stories

‘You are pleased to be flippant, Mr Blunt. You see that square box over there. That is Coggins’s little outfit. In it there is vitriol . . . yes, vitriol . . . and irons that can be heated in the fire, so that they are red hot and burn ...’

Tommy shook his head sadly.

‘An error in diagnosis,’ he murmured. ‘Tuppence and I labelled this adventure wrong. It’s not a Clubfoot story. It’s a Bull-dog Drummond, and you are the inimitable Carl Peterson.’

‘What is this nonsense you are talking,’ snarled the other.

‘Ah!’ said Tommy. ‘I see you are unacquainted with the classics. A pity.’

‘Ignorant fool! Will you do what we want or will you not? Shall I tell Coggins to get out his tools and begin?’

‘Don’t be so impatient,’ said Tommy. ‘Of course I’ll do what you want, as soon as you tell me what it is. You don’t suppose I want to be carved up like a filleted sole and fried on a gridiron? I loathe being hurt.’

Dymchurch looked at him in contempt.

‘Gott! What cowards are these English.’

‘Common sense, my dear fellow, merely common sense. Leave the vitriol alone and let us come down to brass tacks.’

‘I want the letter.’

‘I’ve already told you I haven’t got it.’

‘We know that – we also know who must have it. The girl.’

‘Very possibly you’re right,’ said Tommy. ‘She may have slipped it into her handbag when your pal Carl startled us.’

‘Oh, you do not deny. That is wise. Very good, you will write to this Tuppence, as you call her, bidding her bring the letter here immediately.’

‘I can’t do that,’ began Tommy.

The other cut in before he had finished the sentence.

‘Ah! You can’t? Well, we shall soon see. Coggins!’

‘Don’t be in such a hurry,’ said Tommy. ‘And do wait for the end of the sentence. I was going to say that I can’t do that unless you untie my arms. Hang it all, I’m not one of those freaks who can write with their noses or their elbows.’

‘You are willing to write, then?’

‘Of course. Haven’t I been telling you so all along? I’m all out to be pleasant and obliging. You won’t do anything unkind to Tuppence, of course. I’m sure you won’t. She’s such a nice girl.’

‘We only want the letter,’ said Dymchurch, but there was a singularly unpleasant smile on his face.

At a nod from him the brutal Coggins knelt down and unfastened Tommy’s arms. The latter swung them to and fro.

‘That’s better,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Will kind Coggins hand me my fountain pen? It’s on the table, I think, with my other miscellaneous property.’

Scowling, the man brought it to him, and provided a sheet of paper.

‘Be careful what you say,’ Dymchurch said menacingly. ‘We leave it to you, but failure means – death – and slow death at that.’

‘In that case,’ said Tommy, ‘I will certainly do my best.’

He reflected a minute or two, then began to scribble rapidly.

‘How will this do?’ he asked, handing over the completed epistle.

Dear Tuppence,

Can you come along at once and bring that blue letter with you? We want to decode it here and now.

In haste,

Francis.

‘Francis?’ queried the bogus Inspector, with lifted eyebrows. ‘Was that the name she called you?’

‘As you weren’t at my christening,’ said Tommy, ‘I don’t suppose you can know whether it’s my name or not. But I think the cigarette case you took from my pocket is a pretty good proof that I’m speaking the truth.’

The other stepped over to the table and took up the case, read ‘Francis from Tuppence’ with a faint grin and laid it down again.

‘I am glad to find you are behaving so sensibly,’ he said. ‘Coggins, give that note to Vassilly. He is on guard outside. Tell him to take it at once.’

The next twenty minutes passed slowly, the ten minutes after that more slowly still. Dymchurch was striding up and down with a face that grew darker and darker. Once he turned menacingly on Tommy.

‘If you have dared to double-cross us,’ he growled.

‘If we’d had a pack of cards here, we might have had a game of picquet to pass the time,’ drawled Tommy. ‘Women always keep one waiting. I hope you’re not going to be unkind to little Tuppence when she comes?’

‘Oh, no,’ said Dymchurch. ‘We shall arrange for you to go to the same place – together.’

‘Will you, you swine,’ said Tommy under his breath.

Suddenly there was a stir in the outer office. A man whom Tommy had not yet seen poked his head in and growled something in Russian.

‘Good,’ said Dymchurch. ‘She is coming – and coming alone.’

For a moment a faint anxiety caught at Tommy’s heart.

The next minute he heard Tuppence’s voice.

‘Oh! there you are, Inspector Dymchurch. I’ve brought the letter. Where is Francis?’

With the last words she came through the door, and Vassilly sprang on her from behind, clapping his hand over her mouth. Dymchurch tore the handbag from her grasp and turned over its contents in a frenzied search.

Suddenly he uttered an ejaculation of delight and held up a blue envelope with a Russian stamp on it. Coggins gave a hoarse shout.

And just in that minute of triumph the other door, the door into Tuppence’s own office, opened noiselessly and Inspector Marriot and two men armed with revolvers stepped into the room, with the sharp command: ‘Hands up.’