N or M?

‘Why not?’

‘It seems such an odd name to choose.’

‘It was the first one I thought of and it’s handy for underclothes.’

‘What do you mean, Tuppence?’

‘B, you idiot. B for Beresford. B for Blenkensop. Embroidered on my camiknickers. Patricia Blenkensop. Prudence Beresford. Why did you choose Meadowes? It’s a silly name.’

‘To begin with,’ said Tommy, ‘I don’t have large B’s embroidered on my pants. And to continue, I didn’t choose it. I was told to call myself Meadowes. Mr Meadowes is a gentleman with a respectable past—all of which I’ve learnt by heart.’

‘Very nice,’ said Tuppence. ‘Are you married or single?’

‘I’m a widower,’ said Tommy with dignity. ‘My wife died ten years ago at Singapore.’

‘Why at Singapore?’

‘We’ve all got to die somewhere. What’s wrong with Singapore?’

‘Oh, nothing. It’s probably a most suitable place to die. I’m a widow.’

‘Where did your husband die?’

‘Does it matter? Probably in a nursing home. I rather fancy he died of cirrhosis of the liver.’

‘I see. A painful subject. And what about your son Douglas?’

‘Douglas is in the Navy.’

‘So I heard last night.’

‘And I’ve got two other sons. Raymond is in the Air Force and Cyril, my baby, is in the Territorials.’

‘And suppose someone takes the trouble to check up on these imaginary Blenkensops?’

‘They’re not Blenkensops. Blenkensop was my second husband. My first husband’s name was Hill. There are three pages of Hills in the telephone book. You couldn’t check up on all the Hills if you tried.’

Tommy sighed.

‘It’s the old trouble with you, Tuppence. You will overdo things. Two husbands and three sons. It’s too much. You’ll contradict yourself over the details.’

‘No, I shan’t. And I rather fancy the sons may come in useful. I’m not under orders, remember. I’m a freelance. I’m in this to enjoy myself and I’m going to enjoy myself.’

‘So it seems,’ said Tommy. He added gloomily: ‘If you ask me the whole thing’s a farce.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well, you’ve been at Sans Souci longer than I have. Can you honestly say you think any of these people who were there last night could be a dangerous enemy agent?’

Tuppence said thoughtfully:

‘It does seem a little incredible. There’s the young man, of course.’

‘Carl von Deinim. The police check up on refugees, don’t they?’

‘I suppose so. Still, it might be managed. He’s an attractive young man, you know.’

‘Meaning, the girls will tell him things? But what girls? No Generals’ or Admirals’ daughters floating around here. Perhaps he walks out with a Company Commander in the ATS.’

‘Be quiet, Tommy. We ought to be taking this seriously.’

‘I am taking it seriously. It’s just that I feel we’re on a wild-goose chase.’

Tuppence said seriously:

‘It’s too early to say that. After all, nothing’s going to be obvious about this business. What about Mrs Perenna?’

‘Yes,’ said Tommy thoughtfully. ‘There’s Mrs Perenna, I admit—she does want explaining.’

Tuppence said in a business-like tone:

‘What about us? I mean, how are we going to cooperate?’

Tommy said thoughtfully:

‘We mustn’t be seen about too much together.’

‘No, it would be fatal to suggest we know each other better than we appear to do. What we want to decide is the attitude. I think—yes, I think—pursuit is the best angle.’

‘Pursuit?’

‘Exactly. I pursue you. You do your best to escape, but being a mere chivalrous male don’t always succeed. I’ve had two husbands and I’m on the look-out for a third. You act the part of the hunted widower. Every now and then I pin you down somewhere, pen you in a café, catch you walking on the front. Everyone sniggers and thinks it very funny.’

‘Sounds feasible,’ agreed Tommy.

Tuppence said: ‘There’s a kind of age-long humour about the chased male. That ought to stand us in good stead. If we are seen together, all anyone will do is to snigger and say, “Look at poor old Meadowes.”’

Tommy gripped her arm suddenly.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘Look ahead of you.’

By the corner of one of the shelters a young man stood talking to a girl. They were both very earnest, very wrapped up in what they were saying.

Tuppence said softly:

‘Carl von Deinim. Who’s the girl, I wonder?’

‘She’s remarkably good-looking, whoever she is.’