Chapter II. Mr. Whittington's Offer

by Agatha Christie

　　Tuppence turned sharply, but the words hovering on the tip of hertongue remained unspoken, for the man's appearance and manner didnot bear out her first and most natural assumption. Shehesitated. As if he read her thoughts, the man said quickly:"I can assure you I mean no disrespect."Tuppence believed him. Although she disliked and distrusted himinstinctively, she was inclined to acquit him of the particularmotive which she had at first attributed to him. She looked himup and down. He was a big man, clean shaven, with a heavy jowl.His eyes were small and cunning, and shifted their glance underher direct gaze."Well, what is it?" she asked.The man smiled."I happened to overhear part of your conversation with the younggentleman in Lyons'.""Well--what of it?""Nothing--except that I think I may be of some use to you."Another inference forced itself into Tuppence's mind:"You followed me here?""I took that liberty.""And in what way do you think you could be of use to me?"The man took a card from his pocket and handed it to her with abow.Tuppence took it and scrutinized it carefully. It bore theinscription, "Mr. Edward Whittington." Below the name were thewords "Esthonia Glassware Co.," and the address of a city office.Mr. Whittington spoke again:"If you will call upon me to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock, Iwill lay the details of my proposition before you.""At eleven o'clock?" said Tuppence doubtfully."At eleven o'clock."Tuppence made up her mind."Very well. I'll be there.""Thank you. Good evening."He raised his hat with a flourish, and walked away. Tuppenceremained for some minutes gazing after him. Then she gave acurious movement of her shoulders, rather as a terrier shakeshimself."The adventures have begun," she murmured to herself. "What doeshe want me to do, I wonder? There's something about you, Mr.Whittington, that I don't like at all. But, on the other hand,I'm not the least bit afraid of you. And as I've said before, andshall doubtless say again, little Tuppence can look afterherself, thank you!"And with a short, sharp nod of her head she walked brisklyonward. As a result of further meditations, however, she turnedaside from the direct route and entered a post office. There shepondered for some moments, a telegraph form in her hand. Thethought of a possible five shillings spent unnecessarily spurredher to action, and she decided to risk the waste of ninepence.Disdaining the spiky pen and thick, black treacle which abeneficent Government had provided, Tuppence drew out Tommy'spencil which she had retained and wrote rapidly: "Don't put inadvertisement. Will explain to-morrow." She addressed it to Tommyat his club, from which in one short month he would have toresign, unless a kindly fortune permitted him to renew hissubscription."It may catch him," she murmured. "Anyway, it's worth trying."After handing it over the counter she set out briskly for home,stopping at a baker's to buy three penny-worth of new buns.Later, in her tiny cubicle at the top of the house she munchedbuns and reflected on the future. What was the EsthoniaGlassware Co., and what earthly need could it have for herservices? A pleasurable thrill of excitement made Tuppencetingle. At any rate, the country vicarage had retreated into thebackground again. The morrow held possibilities.It was a long time before Tuppence went to sleep that night, and,when at length she did, she dreamed that Mr. Whittington had sether to washing up a pile of Esthonia Glassware, which bore anunaccountable resemblance to hospital plates!It wanted some five minutes to eleven when Tuppence reached theblock of buildings in which the offices of the Esthonia GlasswareCo. were situated. To arrive before the time would lookover-eager. So Tuppence decided to walk to the end of the streetand back again. She did so. On the stroke of eleven she plungedinto the recesses of the building. The Esthonia Glassware Co.was on the top floor. There was a lift, but Tuppence chose towalk up.Slightly out of breath, she came to a halt outside the groundglass door with the legend painted across it "Esthonia GlasswareCo."Tuppence knocked. In response to a voice from within, she turnedthe handle and walked into a small rather dirty outer office.A middle-aged clerk got down from a high stool at a desk near thewindow and came towards her inquiringly."I have an appointment with Mr. Whittington," said Tuppence."Will you come this way, please." He crossed to a partition doorwith "Private" on it, knocked, then opened the door and stoodaside to let her pass in.Mr. Whittington was seated behind a large desk covered withpapers. Tuppence felt her previous judgment confirmed. There wassomething wrong about Mr. Whittington. The combination of hissleek prosperity and his shifty eye was not attractive.He looked up and nodded."So you've turned up all right? That's good. Sit down, willyou?"Tuppence sat down on the chair facing him. She lookedparticularly small and demure this morning. She sat there meeklywith downcast eyes whilst Mr. Whittington sorted and rustledamongst his papers. Finally he pushed them away, and leaned overthe desk."Now, my dear young lady, let us come to business." His largeface broadened into a smile. "You want work? Well, I have workto offer you. What should you say now to L100 down, and allexpenses paid?" Mr. Whittington leaned back in his chair, andthrust his thumbs into the arm-holes of his waistcoat.Tuppence eyed him warily."And the nature of the work?" she demanded."Nominal--purely nominal. A pleasant trip, that is all.""Where to?"Mr. Whittington smiled again."Paris.""Oh!" said Tuppence thoughtfully. To herself she said: "Ofcourse, if father heard that he would have a fit! But somehow Idon't see Mr. Whittington in the role of the gay deceiver.""Yes," continued Whittington. "What could be more delightful? Toput the clock back a few years--a very few, I am sure--andre-enter one of those charming pensionnats de jeunes filles withwhich Paris abounds----"Tuppence interrupted him."A pensionnat?""Exactly. Madame Colombier's in the Avenue de Neuilly."Tuppence knew the name well. Nothing could have been moreselect. She had had several American friends there. She was morethan ever puzzled."You want me to go to Madame Colombier's? For how long?""That depends. Possibly three months.""And that is all? There are no other conditions?""None whatever. You would, of course, go in the character of myward, and you would hold no communication with your friends. Ishould have to request absolute secrecy for the time being. Bythe way, you are English, are you not?""Yes.""Yet you speak with a slight American accent?""My great pal in hospital was a little American girl. I dare sayI picked it up from her. I can soon get out of it again.""On the contrary, it might be simpler for you to pass as anAmerican. Details about your past life in England might be moredifficult to sustain. Yes, I think that would be decidedlybetter. Then----""One moment, Mr. Whittington! You seem to be taking my consentfor granted."Whittington looked surprised."Surely you are not thinking of refusing? I can assure you thatMadame Colombier's is a most high-class and orthodoxestablishment. And the terms are most liberal.""Exactly," said Tuppence. "That's just it. The terms are almosttoo liberal, Mr. Whittington. I cannot see any way in which Ican be worth that amount of money to you.""No?" said Whittington softly. "Well, I will tell you. I coulddoubtless obtain some one else for very much less. What I amwilling to pay for is a young lady with sufficient intelligenceand presence of mind to sustain her part well, and also one whowill have sufficient discretion not to ask too many questions."Tuppence smiled a little. She felt that Whittington had scored."There's another thing. So far there has been no mention of Mr.Beresford. Where does he come in?""Mr. Beresford?""My partner," said Tuppence with dignity. "You saw us togetheryesterday.""Ah, yes. But I'm afraid we shan't require his services.""Then it's off!" Tuppence rose. "It's both or neither.Sorry--but that's how it is. Good morning, Mr. Whittington.""Wait a minute. Let us see if something can't be managed. Sitdown again, Miss----" He paused interrogatively.Tuppence's conscience gave her a passing twinge as she rememberedthe archdeacon. She seized hurriedly on the first name that cameinto her head."Jane Finn," she said hastily; and then paused open-mouthed atthe effect of those two simple words.All the geniality had faded out of Whittington's face. It waspurple with rage, and the veins stood out on the forehead. Andbehind it all there lurked a sort of incredulous dismay. Heleaned forward and hissed savagely:"So that's your little game, is it?"Tuppence, though utterly taken aback, nevertheless kept her head.She had not the faintest comprehension of his meaning, but shewas naturally quick-witted, and felt it imperative to "keep herend up" as she phrased it.Whittington went on:"Been playing with me, have you, all the time, like a cat andmouse? Knew all the time what I wanted you for, but kept up thecomedy. Is that it, eh?" He was cooling down. The red colourwas ebbing out of his face. He eyed her keenly. "Who's beenblabbing? Rita?"Tuppence shook her head. She was doubtful as to how long shecould sustain this illusion, but she realized the importance ofnot dragging an unknown Rita into it."No," she replied with perfect truth. "Rita knows nothing aboutme."His eyes still bored into her like gimlets."How much do you know?" he shot out."Very little indeed," answered Tuppence, and was pleased to notethat Whittington's uneasiness was augmented instead of allayed.To have boasted that she knew a lot might have raised doubts inhis mind."Anyway," snarled Whittington, "you knew enough to come in hereand plump out that name.""It might be my own name," Tuppence pointed out."It's likely, isn't it, then there would be two girls with a namelike that?""Or I might just have hit upon it by chance," continued Tuppence,intoxicated with the success of truthfulness.Mr. Whittington brought his fist down upon the desk with a bang."Quit fooling! How much do you know? And how much do you want?"The last five words took Tuppence's fancy mightily, especiallyafter a meagre breakfast and a supper of buns the night before.Her present part was of the adventuress rather than theadventurous order, but she did not deny its possibilities. Shesat up and smiled with the air of one who has the situationthoroughly well in hand."My dear Mr. Whittington," she said, "let us by all means lay ourcards upon the table. And pray do not be so angry. You heard mesay yesterday that I proposed to live by my wits. It seems to methat I have now proved I have some wits to live by! I admit Ihave knowledge of a certain name, but perhaps my knowledge endsthere.""Yes--and perhaps it doesn't," snarled Whittington."You insist on misjudging me," said Tuppence, and sighed gently."As I said once before," said Whittington angrily, "quit fooling,and come to the point. You can't play the innocent with me. Youknow a great deal more than you're willing to admit."Tuppence paused a moment to admire her own ingenuity, and thensaid softly:"I shouldn't like to contradict you, Mr. Whittington.""So we come to the usual question--how much?"Tuppence was in a dilemma. So far she had fooled Whittingtonwith complete success, but to mention a palpably impossible summight awaken his suspicions. An idea flashed across her brain."Suppose we say a little something down, and a fuller discussionof the matter later?"Whittington gave her an ugly glance."Blackmail, eh?"Tuppence smiled sweetly."Oh no! Shall we say payment of services in advance?"Whittington grunted."You see," explained Tuppence still sweetly, "I'm so very fond ofmoney!""You're about the limit, that's what you are," growledWhittington, with a sort of unwilling admiration. "You took mein all right. Thought you were quite a meek little kid with justenough brains for my purpose.""Life," moralized Tuppence, "is full of surprises.""All the same," continued Whittington, "some one's been talking.You say it isn't Rita. Was it----? Oh, come in."The clerk followed his discreet knock into the room, and laid apaper at his master's elbow."Telephone message just come for you, sir."Whittington snatched it up and read it. A frown gathered on hisbrow."That'll do, Brown. You can go."The clerk withdrew, closing the door behind him. Whittingtonturned to Tuppence."Come to-morrow at the same time. I'm busy now. Here's fifty togo on with."He rapidly sorted out some notes, and pushed them across thetable to Tuppence, then stood up, obviously impatient for her togo.The girl counted the notes in a businesslike manner, secured themin her handbag, and rose."Good morning, Mr. Whittington," she said politely. "At least, aurevoir, I should say.""Exactly. Au revoir!" Whittington looked almost genial again, areversion that aroused in Tuppence a faint misgiving. "Au revoir,my clever and charming young lady."Tuppence sped lightly down the stairs. A wild elation possessedher. A neighbouring clock showed the time to be five minutes totwelve."Let's give Tommy a surprise!" murmured Tuppence, and hailed ataxi.The cab drew up outside the tube station. Tommy was just withinthe entrance. His eyes opened to their fullest extent as hehurried forward to assist Tuppence to alight. She smiled at himaffectionately, and remarked in a slightly affected voice:"Pay the thing, will you, old bean? I've got nothing smallerthan a five-pound note!"