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Home -> Agatha Christie -> The Secret Adversary -> Chapter 21 - Tommy Makes a Discovery

The Secret Adversary - Chapter 21 - Tommy Makes a Discovery

1. Prologue

2. Chapter 1 - The Young Adventurers, Ltd.

3. Chapter 2 - Mr. Whittington's Offer

4. Chapter 3 - A Set Back

5. Chapter 4 - Who is Jane Finn?

6. Chapter 5 - Mr. Julius P. Hersheimmer

7. Chapter 6 - A Plan of Campaign

8. Chapter 7 - The House in Soho

9. Chapter 8 - The Adventures of Tommy

10. Chapter 9 - Tuppence Enters Domestic Service

11. Chapter 10 - Enter Sir James Peel Edgerton

12. Chapter 11 - Julius Tells a Story

13. Chapter 12 - A Friend in Need

14. Chapter 13 - The Vigil

15. Chapter 14 - A Consultation

16. Chapter 15 - Tuppence Receives a Proposal

17. Chapter 16 - Further Adventures of Tommy

18. Chapter 17 - Annette

19. Chapter 18 - The Telegram

20. Chapter 19 - Jane Finn

21. Chapter 20 - Too Late

22. Chapter 21 - Tommy Makes a Discovery

23. Chapter 22 - In Downing Street

24. Chapter 23 - A Rage Against Time

25. Chapter 24 - Julius Takes a Hand

26. Chapter 25 - Jane's Story

27. Chapter 26 - Mr. Brown

28. Chapter 27 - A Supper Party at the Savoy

29. Chapter 28 - And After

FOR a moment or two they stood staring at each other stupidly,
dazed with the shock. Somehow, inexplicably, Mr. Brown had
forestalled them. Tommy accepted defeat quietly. Not so Julius.

"How in tarnation did he get ahead of us? That's what beats me!"
he ended up.

Tommy shook his head, and said dully:

"It accounts for the stitches being new. We might have

"Never mind the darned stitches. How did he get ahead of us? We
hustled all we knew. It's downright impossible for anyone to get
here quicker than we did. And, anyway, how did he know? Do you
reckon there was a dictaphone in Jane's room? I guess there must
have been."

But Tommy's common sense pointed out objections.

"No one could have known beforehand that she was going to be in
that house--much less that particular room."

"That's so," admitted Julius. "Then one of the nurses was a
crook and listened at the door. How's that?"

"I don't see that it matters anyway," said Tommy wearily. "He may
have found out some months ago, and removed the papers,
then----No, by Jove, that won't wash! They'd have been published
at once."

"Sure thing they would! No, some one's got ahead of us to-day by
an hour or so. But how they did it gets my goat."

"I wish that chap Peel Edgerton had been with us," said Tommy

"Why?" Julius stared. "The mischief was done when we came."

"Yes----" Tommy hesitated. He could not explain his own
feeling--the illogical idea that the K.C.'s presence would
somehow have averted the catastrophe. He reverted to his former
point of view. "It's no good arguing about how it was done. The
game's up. We've failed. There's only one thing for me to do."

"What's that?"

"Get back to London as soon as possible. Mr. Carter must be
warned. It's only a matter of hours now before the blow falls.
But, at any rate, he ought to know the worst."

The duty was an unpleasant one, but Tommy had no intention of
shirking it. He must report his failure to Mr. Carter. After
that his work was done. He took the midnight mail to London.
Julius elected to stay the night at Holyhead.

Half an hour after arrival, haggard and pale, Tommy stood before
his chief.

"I've come to report, sir. I've failed--failed badly."

Mr. Carter eyed him sharply.

"You mean that the treaty----"

"Is in the hands of Mr. Brown, sir."

"Ah!" said Mr. Carter quietly. The expression on his face did
not change, but Tommy caught the flicker of despair in his eyes.
It convinced him as nothing else had done that the outlook was

"Well," said Mr. Carter after a minute or two, "we mustn't sag at
the knees, I suppose. I'm glad to know definitely. We must do
what we can."

Through Tommy's mind flashed the assurance: "It's hopeless, and
he knows it's hopeless!"

The other looked up at him.

"Don't take it to heart, lad," he said kindly. "You did your
best. You were up against one of the biggest brains of the
century. And you came very near success. Remember that."

"Thank you, sir. It's awfully decent of you."

"I blame myself. I have been blaming myself ever since I heard
this other news."

Something in his tone attracted Tommy's attention. A new fear
gripped at his heart.

"Is there--something more, sir?"

"I'm afraid so," said Mr. Carter gravely. He stretched out his
hand to a sheet on the table.

"Tuppence----?" faltered Tommy.

"Read for yourself."

The typewritten words danced before his eyes. The description of
a green toque, a coat with a handkerchief in the pocket marked
P.L.C. He looked an agonized question at Mr. Carter. The latter
replied to it:

"Washed up on the Yorkshire coast--near Ebury. I'm afraid--it
looks very much like foul play."

"My God!" gasped Tommy. "TUPPENCE! Those devils--I'll never
rest till I've got even with them! I'll hunt them down!

The pity on Mr. Carter's face stopped him.

"I know what you feel like, my poor boy. But it's no good.
You'll waste your strength uselessly. It may sound harsh, but my
advice to you is: Cut your losses. Time's merciful. You'll

"Forget Tuppence? Never!"

Mr. Carter shook his head.

"So you think now. Well, it won't bear thinking of--that brave
little girl! I'm sorry about the whole business--confoundedly

Tommy came to himself with a start.

"I'm taking up your time, sir," he said with an effort. "There's
no need for you to blame yourself. I dare say we were a couple
of young fools to take on such a job. You warned us all right.
But I wish to God I'd been the one to get it in the neck.
Good-bye, sir."

Back at the Ritz, Tommy packed up his few belongings
mechanically, his thoughts far away. He was still bewildered by
the introduction of tragedy into his cheerful commonplace
existence. What fun they had had together, he and Tuppence! And
now--oh, he couldn't believe it--it couldn't be true!
TUPPENCE--DEAD! Little Tuppence, brimming over with life! It was
a dream, a horrible dream. Nothing more.

They brought him a note, a few kind words of sympathy from Peel
Edgerton, who had read the news in the paper. (There had been a
large headline: EX-V.A.D. FEARED DROWNED.) The letter ended with
the offer of a post on a ranch in the Argentine, where Sir James
had considerable interests.

"Kind old beggar," muttered Tommy, as he flung it aside.

The door opened, and Julius burst in with his usual violence. He
held an open newspaper in his hand.

"Say, what's all this? They seem to have got some fool idea
about Tuppence."

"It's true," said Tommy quietly.

"You mean they've done her in?"

Tommy nodded.

"I suppose when they got the treaty she--wasn't any good to them
any longer, and they were afraid to let her go."

"Well, I'm darned!" said Julius. "Little Tuppence. She sure was
the pluckiest little girl----"

But suddenly something seemed to crack in Tommy's brain. He rose
to his feet.

"Oh, get out! You don't really care, damn you! You asked her to
marry you in your rotten cold-blooded way, but I LOVED her. I'd
have given the soul out of my body to save her from harm. I'd
have stood by without a word and let her marry you, because you
could have given her the sort of time she ought to have had, and
I was only a poor devil without a penny to bless himself with.
But it wouldn't have been because I didn't care!"

"See here," began Julius temperately.

"Oh, go to the devil! I can't stand your coming here and talking
about 'little Tuppence.' Go and look after your cousin.
Tuppence is my girl! I've always loved her, from the time we
played together as kids. We grew up and it was just the same. I
shall never forget when I was in hospital, and she came in in
that ridiculous cap and apron! It was like a miracle to see the
girl I loved turn up in a nurse's kit----"

But Julius interrupted him.

"A nurse's kit! Gee whiz! I must be going to Colney Hatch! I
could swear I've seen Jane in a nurse's cap too. And that's
plumb impossible! No, by gum, I've got it! It was her I saw
talking to Whittington at that nursing home in Bournemouth. She
wasn't a patient there! She was a nurse!"

"I dare say," said Tommy angrily, "she's probably been in with
them from the start. I shouldn't wonder if she stole those
papers from Danvers to begin with."

"I'm darned if she did!" shouted Julius. "She's my cousin, and
as patriotic a girl as ever stepped."

"I don't care a damn what she is, but get out of here!" retorted
Tommy also at the top of his voice.

The young men were on the point of coming to blows. But
suddenly, with an almost magical abruptness, Julius's anger

"All right, son," he said quietly, "I'm going. I don't blame you
any for what you've been saying. It's mighty lucky you did say
it. I've been the most almighty blithering darned idiot that
it's possible to imagine. Calm down"--Tommy had made an impatient
gesture--"I'm going right away now--going to the London and North
Western Railway depot, if you want to know."

"I don't care a damn where you're going," growled Tommy.

As the door closed behind Julius, he returned to his suit-case.

"That's the lot," he murmured, and rang the bell.

"Take my luggage down."

"Yes, sir. Going away, sir?"

"I'm going to the devil," said Tommy, regardless of the menial's

That functionary, however, merely replied respectfully:

"Yes, sir. Shall I call a taxi?"

Tommy nodded.

Where was he going? He hadn't the faintest idea. Beyond a fixed
determination to get even with Mr. Brown he had no plans. He
re-read Sir James's letter, and shook his head. Tuppence must be
avenged. Still, it was kind of the old fellow.

"Better answer it, I suppose." He went across to the
writing-table. With the usual perversity of bedroom stationery,
there were innumerable envelopes and no paper. He rang. No one
came. Tommy fumed at the delay. Then he remembered that there
was a good supply in Julius's sitting-room. The American had
announced his immediate departure, there would be no fear of
running up against him. Besides, he wouldn't mind if he did. He
was beginning to be rather ashamed of the things he had said. Old
Julius had taken them jolly well. He'd apologize if he found him

But the room was deserted. Tommy walked across to the
writing-table, and opened the middle drawer. A photograph,
carelessly thrust in face upwards, caught his eye. For a moment
he stood rooted to the ground. Then he took it out, shut the
drawer, walked slowly over to an arm-chair, and sat down still
staring at the photograph in his hand.

What on earth was a photograph of the French girl Annette doing
in Julius Hersheimmer's writing-table?

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