Detectives and Young Adventurers: The Complete Short Stories

Tuppence flung herself upon Hannah, but the woman managed to set fire to the curtains of the bed before Tuppence could get the torch from her and stamp on it. Tommy, however, had rushed in from the landing outside. He tore down the bed hangings and managed to stifle the flames with a rug. Then he rushed to Tuppence’s assistance, and between them they subdued Hannah just as Dr Burton came hurrying in.

A very few words sufficed to put him au courant of the situation.

He hurried to the bedside, lifted Miss Logan’s hand, then uttered a sharp exclamation.

‘The shock of fire has been too much for her. She’s dead. Perhaps it is as well under the circumstances.’

He paused, and then added, ‘There was Ricin in the cocktail glass as well.’

‘It’s the best thing that could have happened,’ said Tommy, when they had relinquished Hannah to the doctor’s care, and were alone together. ‘Tuppence, you were simply marvellous.’

‘There wasn’t much Hanaud about it,’ said Tuppence.

‘It was too serious for play-acting. I still can’t bear to think of that girl. I won’t think of her. But, as I said before, you were marvellous. The honours are with you. To use a familiar quotation, “It is a great advantage to be intelligent and not to look it.”’

‘Tommy,’ said Tuppence, ‘you’re a beast.’

Chapter 11

The Unbreakable Alibi

‘The Unbreakable Alibi’ was originally the last Tommy and Tuppence story, appearing in Holly Leaves (published by Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News), 1 December 1928. Inspector French was created by Freeman Wills Croft (1879–1957).

Tommy and Tuppence were busy sorting correspondence. Tuppence gave an exclamation and handed a letter across to Tommy.

‘A new client,’ she said importantly.

‘Ha!’ said Tommy. ‘What do we deduce from this letter, Watson? Nothing much, except the somewhat obvious fact that Mr – er – Montgomery Jones is not one of the world’s best spellers, thereby proving that he has been expensively educated.’

‘Montgomery Jones?’ said Tuppence. ‘Now what do I know about a Montgomery Jones? Oh, yes, I have got it now. I think Janet St Vincent mentioned him. His mother was Lady Aileen Montgomery, very crusty and high church, with gold crosses and things, and she married a man called Jones who is immensely rich.’

‘In fact the same old story,’ said Tommy. ‘Let me see, what time does this Mr M. J. wish to see us? Ah, eleven-thirty.’

At eleven-thirty precisely, a very tall young man with an amiable and ingenuous countenance entered the outer office and addressed himself to Albert, the office boy.

‘Look here – I say. Can I see Mr – er – Blunt?’

‘Have you an appointment, sir?’ said Albert.

‘I don’t quite know. Yes, I suppose I have. What I mean is, I wrote a letter –’

‘What name, sir?’

‘Mr Montgomery Jones.’

‘I will take your name in to Mr Blunt.’

He returned after a brief interval.

‘Will you wait a few minutes please, sir. Mr Blunt is engaged on a very important conference at present.’

‘Oh – er – yes – certainly,’ said Mr Montgomery Jones.

Having, he hoped, impressed his client sufficiently Tommy rang the buzzer on his desk, and Mr Montgomery Jones was ushered into the inner office by Albert.

Tommy rose to greet him, and shaking him warmly by the hand motioned towards the vacant chair.

‘Now, Mr Montgomery Jones,’ he said briskly. ‘What can we have the pleasure of doing for you?’

Mr Montgomery Jones looked uncertainly at the third occupant of the office.

‘My confidential secretary, Miss Robinson,’ said Tommy. ‘You can speak quite freely before her. I take it that this is some family matter of a delicate kind?’

‘Well – not exactly,’ said Mr Montgomery Jones.

‘You surprise me,’ said Tommy. ‘You are not in trouble of any kind yourself, I hope?’

‘Oh, rather not,’ said Mr Montgomery Jones.

‘Well,’ said Tommy, ‘perhaps you will – er – state the facts plainly.’

That, however, seemed to be the one thing that Mr Montgomery Jones could not do.

‘It’s a dashed odd sort of thing I have got to ask you,’ he said hesitatingly. ‘I – er – I really don’t know how to set about it.’

‘We never touch divorce cases,’ said Tommy.

‘Oh Lord, no,’ said Mr Montgomery Jones. ‘I don’t mean that. It is just, well – it’s a deuced silly sort of a joke. That’s all.’

‘Someone has played a practical joke on you of a mysterious nature?’ suggested Tommy.

But Mr Montgomery Jones once more shook his head.

‘Well,’ said Tommy, retiring gracefully from the position, ‘take your own time and let us have it in your own words.’

There was a pause.

‘You see,’ said Mr Jones at last, ‘it was at dinner. I sat next to a girl.’

‘Yes?’ said Tommy encouragingly.

‘She was a – oh well, I really can’t describe her, but she was simply one of the most sporting girls I ever met. She’s an Australian, over here with another girl, sharing a flat with her in. Clarges Street. She’s simply game for anything. I absolutely can’t tell you the effect that girl had on me.’

‘We can quite imagine it, Mr Jones,’ said Tuppence.

She saw clearly that if Mr Montgomery Jones’s troubles were ever to be extracted a sympathetic feminine touch was needed, as distinct from the businesslike methods of Mr Blunt.

‘We can understand,’ said Tuppence encouragingly.