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the time what I wanted you for, but kept up the comedy. Is that it, eh?” He was cooling down. The red colour was ebbing out of his face. He eyed her keenly. “Who’s been blabbing? Rita?”
    Tuppence shook her head. She was doubtful as to how long she could sustain this illusion, but she realized the importance of not dragging an unknown Rita into it.
    â€œNo,” she replied with perfect truth. “Rita knows nothing about me.”
    His eyes still bored into her like gimlets.
    â€œHow much do you know?” he shot out.
    â€œVery little indeed,” answered Tuppence, and was pleased to note that Whittington’s uneasiness was augmented instead of allayed. To have boasted that she knew a lot might have raised doubts in his mind.
    â€œAnyway,” snarled Whittington, “you knew enough to come in here and plump out that name.”
    â€œIt might be my own name,” Tuppence pointed out.
    â€œIt’s likely, isn’t it, that there would be two girls with a name like that?”
    â€œOr 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.
    â€œQuit fooling! How much do you know? And how much do you want?”
    The last five words took Tuppence’s fancy mightily, especially after a meagre breakfast and a supper of buns the night before. Her present part was of the adventuress rather than the adventurous order, but she did not deny its possibilities. She sat up and smiled with the air of one who has the situation thoroughly well in hand.
    â€œMy dear Mr. Whittington,” she said, “let us by all means lay our cards upon the table. And pray do not be so angry. You heard me say yesterday that I proposed to live by my wits. It seems to me that I have now proved I have some wits to live by! I admit I have knowledge of a certain name, but perhaps my knowledge ends there.”
    â€œYes—and perhaps it doesn’t,” snarled Whittington.
    â€œYou insist on misjudging me,” said Tuppence, and sighed gently.
    â€œAs I said once before,” said Whittington angrily, “quit fooling, and come to the point. You can’t play the innocent with me. You know a great deal more than you’re willing to admit.”
    Tuppence paused a moment to admire her own ingenuity, and then said softly:
    â€œI shouldn’t like to contradict you, Mr. Whittington.”
    â€œSo we come to the usual question—how much?”
    Tuppence was in a dilemma. So far she had fooled Whittington with complete success, but to mention a palpably impossible sum might awaken his suspicions. An idea flashed across her brain.
    â€œSuppose we say a little something down, and a fuller discussion of the matter later?”
    Whittington gave her an ugly glance.
    â€œBlackmail, eh?”
    Tuppence smiled sweetly.
    â€œOh no! Shall we say payment of services in advance?”
    Whittington grunted.
    â€œYou see,” explained Tuppence sweetly, “I’m not so very fond of money!”
    â€œYou’re about the limit, that’s what you are,” growled Whittington, with a sort of unwilling admiration. “You took me in all right. Thought you were quite a meek little kid with just enough brains for my purpose.”
    â€œLife,” moralized Tuppence, “is full of surprises.”
    â€œAll the same,” continued Whittington, “someone’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 a paper at his master’s elbow.
    â€œTelephone message just come for you, sir.”
    Whittington snatched it up and read it. A frown gathered on his brow.
    â€œThat’ll do, Brown. You can go.”
    The clerk withdrew, closing the door behind him. Whittington turned to Tuppence.
    â€œCome tomorrow at the same time. I’m