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began to laugh.

      ‘Well,’ she said, ‘early training will tell, and with a kettle, a gas ring, and half a pound of tea staring her in the face, the result is a foregone conclusion.

      ‘You see,’ continued Tuppence gently. ‘Madame Violette’s is where I go for my hats, and the other day I ran across an old pal of hospital days amongst the girls there. She gave up nursing after the war and started a hat shop, failed, and took this job at Madame Violette’s. We fixed up the whole thing between us. She was to rub the advertisement well into young St Vincent, and then disappear. Wonderful efficiency of Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives. Publicity for us, and the necessary fillip to young St Vincent to bring him to the point of proposing. Janet was in despair about it.’

      ‘Tuppence,’ said Tommy. ‘You take my breath away! The whole thing is the most immoral business I ever heard of. You aid and abet this young man to marry out of his class –’

      ‘Stuff,’ said Tuppence. ‘Janet is a splendid girl – and the queer thing is that she really adores that week-kneed young man. You can see with half a glance what his family needs. Some good red blood in it. Janet will be the making of him. She’ll look after him like a mother, ease down the cocktails and the night clubs and make him lead a good healthy country gentleman’s life. Come and meet her.’

      Tuppence opened the door of the adjoining office and Tommy followed her.

      A tall girl with lovely auburn hair, and a pleasant face, put down the steaming kettle in her hand, and turned with a smile that disclosed an even row of white teeth.

      ‘I hope you’ll forgive me, Nurse Cowley – Mrs Beresford, I mean. I thought that very likely you’d be quite ready for a cup of tea yourself. Many’s the pot of tea you’ve made for me in the hospital at three o’clock in the morning.’

      ‘Tommy,’ said Tuppence. ‘Let me introduce you to my old friend, Nurse Smith.’

      ‘Smith, did you say? How curious!’ said Tommy shaking hands. ‘Eh? Oh! nothing – a little monograph that I was thinking of writing.’

      ‘Pull yourself together, Tommy,’ said Tuppence.

      She poured him out a cup of tea.

      ‘Now, then, let’s drink together. Here’s to the success of the International Detective Agency. Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives! May they never know failure!’

      Chapter 2

       The Affair of the Pink Pearl

      ‘The Affair of the Pink Pearl’ was first published in The Sketch, 1 October 1924. Dr John Thorndyke was created by

       Richard Austin Freeman (1862–1943).

      ‘What on earth are you doing?’ demanded Tuppence, as she entered the inner sanctum of the International Detective Agency – (Slogan – Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives) and discovered her lord and master prone on the floor in a sea of books.

      Tommy struggled to his feet.

      ‘I was trying to arrange these books on the top shelf of that cupboard,’ he complained. ‘And the damned chair gave way.’

      ‘What are they, anyway?’ asked Tuppence, picking up a volume. ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles. I wouldn’t mind reading that again some time.’

      ‘You see the idea?’ said Tommy, dusting himself with care. ‘Half-hours with the Great Masters – that sort of thing. You see, Tuppence, I can’t help feeling that we are more or less amateurs at this business – of course amateurs in one sense we cannot help being, but it would do no harm to acquire the technique, so to speak. These books are detective stories by the leading masters of the art. I intend to try different styles, and compare results.’

      ‘H’m,’ said Tuppence. I often wonder how these detectives would have got on in real life.’ She picked up another volume. ‘You’ll find a difficulty in being a Thorndyke. You’ve no medical experience, and less legal, and I never heard that science was your strong point.’

      ‘Perhaps not,’ said Tommy. ‘But at any rate I’ve bought a very good camera, and I shall photograph footprints and enlarge the negatives and all that sort of thing. Now, mon ami, use your little grey cells – what does this convey to you?’

      He pointed to the bottom shelf of the cupboard. On it lay a somewhat futuristic dressing-gown, a turkish slipper, and a violin.

      ‘Obvious, my dear Watson,’ said Tuppence.

      ‘Exactly,’ said Tommy. ‘The Sherlock Holmes touch.’

      He took up the violin and drew the bow idly across the strings, causing Tuppence to give a wail of agony.

      At that moment the buzzer rang on the desk, a sign that a client had arrived in the outer office and was being held in parley by Albert, the office boy.

      Tommy hastily replaced the violin in the cupboard and kicked the books behind the desk.

      ‘Not that there’s any great hurry,’ he remarked. ‘Albert will be handing them out the stuff about my being engaged with Scotland Yard on the phone. Get into your office and start typing, Tuppence. It makes the office sound busy and active. No, on second thoughts you shall be taking notes in shorthand from my dictation. Let’s have a look before we get Albert to send the victim in.’

      They approached the peephole which had been artistically contrived so as to command a view of the outer office.

      The client was a girl of about Tuppence’s age, tall and dark with a rather haggard face and scornful eyes.

      ‘Clothes cheap and striking,’ remarked Tuppence. ‘Have her in, Tommy.’

      In another minute the girl was shaking hands with the celebrated Mr Blunt, whilst Tuppence sat by with eyes demurely downcast, and pad and pencil in hand.

      ‘My confidential secretary, Miss Robinson,’ said Mr Blunt with a wave of his hand. ‘You may speak freely before her.’ Then he lay back for a minute, half closed his eyes and remarked in a tired tone: ‘You must find travelling in a bus very crowded at this time of day.’

      ‘I came in a taxi,’ said the girl.

      ‘Oh!’ said Tommy aggrieved. His eyes rested reproachfully on a blue bus ticket protruding from her glove. The girl’s eyes followed his glance, and she smiled and drew it out.

      ‘You mean this? I picked it up on the pavement. A little neighbour of ours collects them.’

      Tuppence coughed, and Tommy threw a baleful glare at her.

      ‘We must get to business,’ he said briskly. ‘You are in need of our services, Miss –?’

      ‘Kingston Bruce is my name,’ said the girl. ‘We live at Wimbledon. Last night a lady who is staying with us lost a valuable pink pearl. Mr St Vincent was also dining with us, and during dinner he happened to mention your firm. My mother sent me off to you this morning to ask you if you would look into the matter for us.’

      The girl spoke sullenly, almost disagreeably. It was clear as daylight that she and her mother had not agreed over the matter. She was here under protest.

      ‘I see,’ said Tommy, a little puzzled. ‘You have not called in the police?’

      ‘No,’ said Miss Kingston Bruce, ‘we haven’t. It would be idiotic to call in the police and then find the silly thing had rolled under the fireplace, or something like that.’

      ‘Oh!’ said Tommy. ‘Then the jewel may only be lost after all?’

      Miss Kingston Bruce shrugged her shoulders.

      ‘People make such a fuss about things,’ she murmured. Tommy cleared his throat.

      ‘Of course,’ he said doubtfully. ‘I am extremely busy just now –’

      ‘I quite understand,’ said the girl, rising to

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