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Fancied he might be sweet on the missus, that's all," explained the girl, adding

with an appearance of sulkiness: "How you do take one up!"

"I'm not quite easy in my mind about the souffle," explained the other.

You know something," thought Tuppence to herself, but aloud she only said:

Going to dish up now? Right-o."

Whilst waiting at table, Tuppence listened closely to all that was said. She

remembered that this was one of the men Tommy was shadowing when she had

last seen him. Already, although she would hardly admit it, she was becoming

uneasy about her partner. Where was he? Why had no word of any kind come

from him? She had arranged before leaving the Ritz to have all letters or

messages sent on at once by special messenger to a small stationer's shop near at

hand where Albert was to call in frequently. True, it was only yesterday morning

that she had parted from Tommy, and she told herself that any anxiety on his

behalf would be absurd. Still, it was strange that he had sent no word of any

kind.

But, listen as she might, the conversation presented no clue. Boris and Mrs.

Vandemeyer talked on purely indifferent subjects: plays they had seen, new

dances, and the latest society gossip. After dinner they repaired to the small

boudoir where Mrs. Vandemeyer, stretched on the divan, looked more wickedly

beautiful than ever. Tuppence brought in the coffee and liqueurs and unwillingly

retired. As she did so, she heard Boris say:

New, isn't she?"

She came in to-day. The other was a fiend. This girl seems all right. She waits

well."

Tuppence lingered a moment longer by the door which she had carefully

neglected to close, and heard him say:

"Quite safe, I suppose?"

Really, Boris, you are absurdly suspicious. I believe she's the cousin of the hall

porter, or something of the kind. And nobody even dreams that I have any

connection with our--mutual friend, Mr. Brown."

"For heaven's sake, be careful, Rita. That door isn't shut."

The Secret Adversary