Is it important to find out who he was?”
“Oh, I know who he was,” said Sir James easily. “I can’t prove it yet—but I know.”
The other two asked no questions. They had an instinct that it would be mere waste of breath.
“But what I don’t understand,” said the Prime-Minister suddenly, “is how that photograph came to be in Mr. Hersheimmer’s drawer?”
“Perhaps it never left it,” suggested the lawyer gently.
“But the bogus inspector?
Inspector Brown?”
“Ah!” said Sir James thoughtfully. He rose to his feet. “I mustn’t keep you.
Go on with the affairs of the nation. I must get back to—my case.”
Two days later Julius Hersheimmer returned from Manchester.
A note from Tommy lay on his table:
“DEAR HERSHEIMMER,
“Sorry I lost my temper.
In case I don’t see you again, good-bye.
I’ve been offered a job in the Argentine, and might as well take it.
“Yours, “TOMMY BERESFORD.”
A peculiar smile lingered for a moment on Julius’s face.
He threw the letter into the waste-paper basket.
“The darned fool!” he murmured.
CHAPTER XXIII.
A RACE AGAINST TIME
AFTER ringing up Sir James, Tommy’s next procedure was to make a call at South Audley Mansions.
He found Albert discharging his professional duties, and introduced himself without more ado as a friend of Tuppence’s.
Albert unbent immediately.
“Things has been very quiet here lately,” he said wistfully.
“Hope the young lady’s keeping well, sir?”
“That’s just the point, Albert. She’s disappeared.”
“You don’t mean as the crooks have got her?”
“They have.”
“In the Underworld?”
“No, dash it all, in this world!”
“It’s a h’expression, sir,” explained Albert. “At the pictures the crooks always have a restoorant in the Underworld.
But do you think as they’ve done her in, sir?”
“I hope not.
By the way, have you by any chance an aunt, a cousin, a grandmother, or any other suitable female relation who might be represented as being likely to kick the bucket?”
A delighted grin spread slowly over Albert’s countenance.
“I’m on, sir.
My poor aunt what lives in the country has been mortal bad for a long time, and she’s asking for me with her dying breath.”
Tommy nodded approval.
“Can you report this in the proper quarter and meet me at Charing Cross in an hour’s time?”
“I’ll be there, sir. You can count on me.”
As Tommy had judged, the faithful Albert proved an invaluable ally.
The two took up their quarters at the inn in Gatehouse.
To Albert fell the task of collecting information.
There was no difficulty about it.
Astley Priors was the property of a Dr. Adams.
The doctor no longer practiced, had retired, the landlord believed, but he took a few private patients—here the good fellow tapped his forehead knowingly—“balmy ones! You understand!”
The doctor was a popular figure in the village, subscribed freely to all the local sports—“a very pleasant, affable gentleman.”
Been there long?
Oh, a matter of ten years or so—might be longer.