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CHAPTER IV. WHO IS JANE FINN?

THE next day passed slowly. It was necessary to curtail expenditure. Carefully

husbanded, forty pounds will last a long time. Luckily the weather was fine, and

walking is cheap," dictated Tuppence. An outlying picture house provided them

with recreation for the evening.

The day of disillusionment had been a Wednesday. On Thursday the

advertisement had duly appeared. On Friday letters might be expected to arrive at

Tommy's rooms.

He had been bound by an honourable promise not to open any such letters if

they did arrive, but to repair to the National Gallery, where his colleague would

meet him at ten o'clock.

Tuppence was first at the rendezvous. She ensconced herself on a red velvet seat,

and gazed at the Turners with unseeing eyes until she saw the familiar figure

enter the room.

Well?"

Well," returned Mr. Beresford provokingly. "Which is your favourite picture?"

Don't be a wretch. Aren't there ANY answers?"

Tommy shook his head with a deep and somewhat overacted melancholy.

I didn't want to disappoint you, old thing, by telling you right off. It's too bad.

Good money wasted." He sighed. "Still, there it is. The advertisement has

appeared, and--there are only two answers!"

Tommy, you devil!" almost screamed Tuppence. "Give them to me. How could

you be so mean!"

"Your language, Tuppence, your language! They're very particular at the National

Gallery. Government show, you know. And do remember, as I have pointed out to

you before, that as a clergyman's daughter----"

"I ought to be on the stage!" finished Tuppence with a snap.

The Secret Adversary