đ The Secret Adversary (day 1)
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joi, 16 mai, 01:53 (acum 3 zile)
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The Secret Adversary
I
The Young Adventurers, Ltd.
âTommy, old thing!â
âTuppence, old bean!â
The two young people greeted each other affectionately, and momentarily blocked the Dover Street Tube exit in doing so. The adjective âoldâ was misleading. Their united ages would certainly not have totalled forty-five.
âNot seen you for simply centuries,â continued the young man. âWhere are you off to? Come and chew a bun with me. Weâre getting a bit unpopular hereâ âblocking the gangway as it were. Letâs get out of it.â
The girl assenting, they started walking down Dover Street towards Piccadilly.
âNow then,â said Tommy, âwhere shall we go?â
The very faint anxiety which underlay his tone did not escape the astute ears of Miss Prudence Cowley, known to her intimate friends for some mysterious reason as âTuppence.â She pounced at once.
âTommy, youâre stony!â
âNot a bit of it,â declared Tommy unconvincingly. âRolling in cash.â
âYou always were a shocking liar,â said Tuppence severely, âthough you did once persuade Sister Greenbank that the doctor had ordered you beer as a tonic, but forgotten to write it on the chart. Do you remember?â
Tommy chuckled.
âI should think I did! Wasnât the old cat in a rage when she found out? Not that she was a bad sort really, old Mother Greenbank! Good old hospitalâ âdemobbed like everything else, I suppose?â
Tuppence sighed.
âYes. You too?â
Tommy nodded.
âTwo months ago.â
âGratuity?â hinted Tuppence.
âSpent.â
âOh, Tommy!â
âNo, old thing, not in riotous dissipation. No such luck! The cost of livingâ âordinary plain, or garden living nowadays is, I assure you, if you do not knowâ ââ
âMy dear child,â interrupted Tuppence, âthere is nothing I do not know about the cost of living. Here we are at Lyonsâ, and we will each of us pay for our own. Thatâs it!â And Tuppence led the way upstairs.
The place was full, and they wandered about looking for a table, catching odds and ends of conversation as they did so.
âAndâ âdo you know, she sat down and cried when I told her she couldnât have the flat after all.â âIt was simply a bargain, my dear! Just like the one Mabel Lewis brought from Parisâ ââ
âFunny scraps one does overhear,â murmured Tommy. âI passed two Johnnies in the street today talking about someone called Jane Finn. Did you ever hear such a name?â
But at that moment two elderly ladies rose and collected parcels, and Tuppence deftly ensconced herself in one of the vacant seats.
Tommy ordered tea and buns. Tuppence ordered tea and buttered toast.
âAnd mind the tea comes in separate teapots,â she added severely.
Tommy sat down opposite her. His bared head revealed a shock of exquisitely slicked-back red hair. His face was pleasantly uglyâ ânondescript, yet unmistakably the face of a gentleman and a sportsman. His brown suit was well cut, but perilously near the end of its tether.
They were an essentially modern-looking couple as they sat there. Tuppence had no claim to beauty, but there was character and charm in the elfin lines of her little face, with its determined chin and large, wide-apart grey eyes that looked mistily out from under straight, black brows. She wore a small bright green toque over her black bobbed hair, and her extremely short and rather shabby skirt revealed a pair of uncommonly dainty ankles. Her appearance presented a valiant attempt at smartness.
The tea came at last, and Tuppence, rousing herself from a fit of meditation, poured it out.
âNow then,â said Tommy, taking a large bite of bun, âletâs get up-to-date. Remember, I havenât seen you since that time in hospital in 1916.â
âVery well.â Tuppence helped herself liberally to buttered toast. âAbridged biography of Miss Prudence Cowley, fifth daughter of Archdeacon Cowley of Little Missendell, Suffolk. Miss Cowley left the delights (and drudgeries) of her home life early in the war and came up to London, where she entered an officersâ hospital. First month: Washed up six hundred and forty-eight plates every day. Second month: Promoted to drying aforesaid plates. Third month: Promoted to peeling potatoes. Fourth month: Promoted to cutting bread and butter. Fifth month: Promoted one floor up to duties of wardmaid with mop and pail. Sixth month: Promoted to waiting at table. Seventh month: Pleasing appearance and nice manners so striking that am promoted to waiting on the Sisters! Eighth month: Slight check in career. Sister Bond ate Sister Westhavenâs egg! Grand row! Wardmaid clearly to blame! Inattention in such important matters cannot be too highly censured. Mop and pail again! How are the mighty fallen! Ninth month: Promoted to sweeping out wards, where I found a friend of my childhood in Lieutenant Thomas Beresford (bow, Tommy!), whom I had not seen for five long years. The meeting was affecting! Tenth month: Reproved by matron for visiting the pictures in company with one of the patients, namely: the aforementioned Lieutenant Thomas Beresford. Eleventh and twelfth months: Parlourmaid duties resumed with entire success. At the end of the year left hospital in a blaze of glory. After that, the talented Miss Cowley drove successively a trade delivery van, a motor-lorry and a general! The last was the pleasantest. He was quite a young general!â
âWhat blighter was that?â inquired Tommy. âPerfectly sickening the way those brass hats drove from the War Office to the Savoy, and from the Savoy to the War Office!â
âIâve forgotten his name now,â confessed Tuppence. âTo resume, that was in a way the apex of my career. I next entered a government office. We had several very enjoyable tea parties. I had intended to become a land girl, a postwoman, and a bus conductress by way of rounding off my careerâ âbut the Armistice intervened! I clung to the office with the true limpet touch for many long months, but, alas, I was combed out at last. Since then Iâve been looking for a job. Now thenâ âyour turn.â
âThereâs not so much promotion in mine,â said Tommy regretfully, âand a great deal less variety. I went out to France again, as you know. Then they sent me to Mesopotamia, and I got wounded for the second time, and went into hospital out there. Then I got stuck in Egypt till the Armistice happened, kicked my heels there some time longer, and, as I told you, finally got demobbed. And, for ten long, weary months Iâve been job hunting! There arenât any jobs! And, if there were, they wouldnât give âem to me. What good am I? What do I know about business? Nothing.â
Tuppence nodded gloomily.
âWhat about the colonies?â she suggested.
Tommy shook his head.
âI shouldnât like the coloniesâ âand Iâm perfectly certain they wouldnât like me!â
âRich relations?â
Again Tommy shook his head.
âOh, Tommy, not even a great-aunt?â
âIâve got an old uncle whoâs more or less rolling, but heâs no good.â
âWhy not?â
âWanted to adopt me once. I refused.â
âI think I remember hearing about it,â said Tuppence slowly. âYou refused because of your motherâ ââ
Tommy flushed.
âYes, it would have been a bit rough on the mater. As you know, I was all she had. Old boy hated herâ âwanted to get me away from her. Just a bit of spite.â
âYour motherâs dead, isnât she?â said Tuppence gently.
Tommy nodded.
Tuppenceâs large grey eyes looked misty.
âYouâre a good sort, Tommy. I always knew it.â
âRot!â said Tommy hastily. âWell, thatâs my position. Iâm just about desperate.â
âSo am I! Iâve hung out as long as I could. Iâve touted round. Iâve answered advertisements. Iâve tried every mortal blessed thing. Iâve screwed and saved and pinched! But itâs no good. I shall have to go home!â
âDonât you want to?â
âOf course I donât want to! Whatâs the good of being sentimental? Fatherâs a dearâ âIâm awfully fond of himâ âbut youâve no idea how I worry him! He has that delightful early Victorian view that short skirts and smoking are immoral. You can imagine what a thorn in the flesh I am to him! He just heaved a sigh of relief when the war took me off. You see, there are seven of us at home. Itâs awful! All housework and mothersâ meetings! I have always been the changeling. I donât want to go back, butâ âoh, Tommy, what else is there to do?â
Tommy shook his head sadly. There was a silence, and then Tuppence burst out:
âMoney, money, money! I think about money morning, noon and night! I dare say itâs mercenary of me, but there it is!â
âSame here,â agreed Tommy with feeling.
âIâve thought over every imaginable way of getting it too,â continued Tuppence. âThere are only three! To be left it, to marry it, or to make it. First is ruled out. I havenât got any rich elderly relatives. Any relatives I have are in homes for decayed gentlewomen! I always help old ladies over crossings, and pick up parcels for old gentlemen, in case they should turn out to be eccentric millionaires. But not one of them has ever asked me my nameâ âand quite a lot never said âThank you.âââ
There was a pause.
âOf course,â resumed Tuppence, âmarriage is my best chance. I made up my mind to marry money when I was quite young. Any thinking girl would! Iâm not sentimental, you know.â She paused. âCome now, you canât say Iâm sentimental,â she added sharply.
âCertainly not,â agreed Tommy hastily. âNo one would ever think of sentiment in connection with you.â
âThatâs not very polite,â replied Tuppence. âBut I dare say you mean it all right. Well, there it is! Iâm ready and willingâ âbut I never meet any rich men! All the boys I know are about as hard up as I am.â
âWhat about the general?â inquired Tommy.
âI fancy he keeps a bicycle shop in time of peace,â explained Tuppence. âNo, there it is! Now you could marry a rich girl.â
âIâm like you. I donât know any.â
âThat doesnât matter. You can always get to know one. Now, if I see a man in a fur coat come out of the Ritz I canât rush up to him and say: âLook here, youâre rich. Iâd like to know you.âââ
âDo you suggest that I should do that to a similarly garbed female?â
âDonât be silly. You tread on her foot, or pick up her handkerchief, or something like that. If she thinks you want to know her sheâs flattered, and will manage it for you somehow.â
âYou overrate my manly charms,â murmured Tommy.
âOn the other hand,â proceeded Tuppence, âmy millionaire would probably run for his life! Noâ âmarriage is fraught with difficulties. Remainsâ âto make money!â
âWeâve tried that, and failed,â Tommy reminded her.
âWeâve tried all the orthodox ways, yes. But suppose we try the unorthodox. Tommy, letâs be adventurers!â
âCertainly,â replied Tommy cheerfully. âHow do we begin?â
âThatâs the difficulty. If we could make ourselves known, people might hire us to commit crimes for them.â
âDelightful,â commented Tommy. âEspecially coming from a clergymanâs daughter!â
âThe moral guilt,â Tuppence pointed out, âwould be theirsâ ânot mine. You must admit that thereâs a difference between stealing a diamond necklace for yourself and being hired to steal it.â
âThere wouldnât be the least difference if you were caught!â
âPerhaps not. But I shouldnât be caught. Iâm so clever.â
âModesty always was your besetting sin,â remarked Tommy.
âDonât rag. Look here, Tommy, shall we really? Shall we form a business partnership?â
âForm a company for the stealing of diamond necklaces?â
âThat was only an illustration. Letâs have aâ âwhat do you call it in bookkeeping?â
âDonât know. Never did any.â
âI haveâ âbut I always got mixed up, and used to put credit entries on the debit side, and vice versaâ âso they fired me out. Oh, I knowâ âa joint venture! It struck me as such a romantic phrase to come across in the middle of musty old figures. Itâs got an Elizabethan flavour about itâ âmakes one think of galleons and doubloons. A joint venture!â
âTrading under the name of the Young Adventurers, Ltd.? Is that your idea, Tuppence?â
âItâs all very well to laugh, but I feel there might be something in it.â
âHow do you propose to get in touch with your would-be employers?â
âAdvertisement,â replied Tuppence promptly. âHave you got a bit of paper and a pencil? Men usually seem to have. Just like we have hairpins and powder-puffs.â
Tommy handed over a rather shabby green notebook, and Tuppence began writing busily.
âShall we begin: âYoung officer, twice wounded in the warâ ââââ
âCertainly not.â
âOh, very well, my dear boy. But I can assure you that that sort of thing might touch the heart of an elderly spinster, and she might adopt you, and then there would be no need for you to be a young adventurer at all.â
âI donât want to be adopted.â
âI forgot you had a prejudice against it. I was only ragging you! The papers are full up to the brim with that type of thing. Now listenâ âhowâs this? âTwo young adventurers for hire. Willing to do anything, go anywhere. Pay must be good.â (We might as well make that clear from the start.) Then we might add: âNo reasonable offer refusedââ âlike flats and furniture.â
âI should think any offer we get in answer to that would be a pretty unreasonable one!â
âTommy! Youâre a genius! Thatâs ever so much more chic. âNo unreasonable offer refusedâ âif pay is good.â Howâs that?â
âI shouldnât mention pay again. It looks rather eager.â
âIt couldnât look as eager as I feel! But perhaps you are right. Now Iâll read it straight through. âTwo young adventurers for hire. Willing to do anything, go anywhere. Pay must be good. No unreasonable offer refused.â How would that strike you if you read it?â
âIt would strike me as either being a hoax, or else written by a lunatic.â
âItâs not half so insane as a thing I read this morning beginning âPetuniaâ and signed âBest Boy.âââ She tore out the leaf and handed it to Tommy. âThere you are. Times, I think. Reply to Box so-and-so. I expect it will be about five shillings. Hereâs half a crown for my share.â
Tommy was holding the paper thoughtfully. His faced burned a deeper red.
âShall we really try it?â he said at last. âShall we, Tuppence? Just for the fun of the thing?â
âTommy, youâre a sport! I knew you would be! Letâs drink to success.â She poured some cold dregs of tea into the two cups.
âHereâs to our joint venture, and may it prosper!â
âThe Young Adventurers, Ltd.!â responded Tommy.
They put down the cups and laughed rather uncertainly. Tuppence rose.
âI must return to my palatial suite at the hostel.â
âPerhaps it is time I strolled round to the Ritz,â agreed Tommy with a grin. âWhere shall we meet? And when?â
âTwelve oâclock tomorrow. Piccadilly Tube station. Will that suit you?â
âMy time is my own,â replied Mr. Beresford magnificently.
âSo long, then.â
âGoodbye, old thing.â
The two young people went off in opposite directions. Tuppenceâs hostel was situated in what was charitably called Southern Belgravia. For reasons of economy she did not take a bus.
She was halfway across St. Jamesâs Park, when a manâs voice behind her made her start.
âExcuse me,â it said. âBut may I speak to you for a moment?â
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