The Secret Adversary - Agatha Christie (different e readers .txt) 📗

He decided that he must leave no stone unturned. His position was desperate.

At eight o’clock the familiar sound of the key turning made him spring to his feet. The girl was alone.

“Shut the door,” he commanded. “I want to speak to you.” She obeyed.

“Look here, Annette, I want you to help me get out of this.” She shook her head.

“Impossible. There are three of them on the floor below.”

“Oh!” Tommy was secretly grateful for the information. “But you would help me if you could?”

“No, monsieur.”

“Why not?”

The girl hesitated.

“I think⁠—they are my own people. You have spied upon them. They are quite right to keep you here.”

“They’re a bad lot, Annette. If you’ll help me, I’ll take you away from the lot of them. And you’d probably get a good whack of money.”

But the girl merely shook her head.

“I dare not, monsieur; I am afraid of them.”

She turned away.

“Wouldn’t you do anything to help another girl?” cried Tommy. “She’s about your age too. Won’t you save her from their clutches?”

“You mean Jane Finn?”

“Yes.”

“It is her you came here to look for? Yes?”

“That’s it.”

The girl looked at him, then passed her hand across her forehead.

“Jane Finn. Always I hear that name. It is familiar.”

Tommy came forward eagerly.

“You must know something about her?”

But the girl turned away abruptly.

“I know nothing⁠—only the name.” She walked towards the door. Suddenly she uttered a cry. Tommy stared. She had caught sight of the picture he had laid against the wall the night before. For a moment he caught a look of terror in her eyes. As inexplicably it changed to relief. Then abruptly she went out of the room. Tommy could make nothing of it. Did she fancy that he had meant to attack her with it? Surely not. He rehung the picture on the wall thoughtfully.

Three more days went by in dreary inaction. Tommy felt the strain telling on his nerves. He saw no one but Conrad and Annette, and the girl had become dumb. She spoke only in monosyllables. A kind of dark suspicion smouldered in her eyes. Tommy felt that if this solitary confinement went on much longer he would go mad. He gathered from Conrad that they were waiting for orders from “Mr. Brown.” Perhaps, thought Tommy, he was abroad or away, and they were obliged to wait for his return.

But the evening of the third day brought a rude awakening.

It was barely seven o’clock when he heard the tramp of footsteps outside in the passage. In another minute the door was flung open. Conrad entered. With him was the evil-looking Number 14. Tommy’s heart sank at the sight of them.

“Evenin’, gov’nor,” said the man with a leer. “Got those ropes, mate?”

The silent Conrad produced a length of fine cord. The next minute Number 14’s hands, horribly dexterous, were winding the cord round his limbs, while Conrad held him down.

“What the devil⁠—?” began Tommy.

But the slow, speechless grin of the silent Conrad froze the words on his lips.

Number 14 proceeded deftly with his task. In another minute Tommy was a mere helpless bundle. Then at last Conrad spoke:

“Thought you’d bluffed us, did you? With what you knew, and what you didn’t know. Bargained with us! And all the time it was bluff! Bluff! You know less than a kitten. But your number’s up now all right, you b⁠⸺ swine.”

Tommy lay silent. There was nothing to say. He had failed. Somehow or other the omnipotent Mr. Brown had seen through his pretensions. Suddenly a thought occurred to him.

“A very good speech, Conrad,” he said approvingly. “But wherefore the bonds and fetters? Why not let this kind gentleman here cut my throat without delay?”

“Garn,” said Number 14 unexpectedly. “Think we’re as green as to do you in here, and have the police nosing round? Not ’alf! We’ve ordered the carriage for your lordship tomorrow mornin’, but in the meantime we’re not taking any chances, see!”

“Nothing,” said Tommy, “could be plainer than your words⁠—unless it was your face.”

“Stow it,” said Number 14.

“With pleasure,” replied Tommy. “You’re making a sad mistake⁠—but yours will be the loss.”

“You don’t kid us that way again,” said Number 14. “Talking as though you were still at the blooming Ritz, aren’t you?”

Tommy made no reply. He was engaged in wondering how Mr. Brown had discovered his identity. He decided that Tuppence, in the throes of anxiety, had gone to the police, and that his disappearance having been made public the gang had not been slow to put two and two together.

The two men departed and the door slammed. Tommy was left to his meditations. They were not pleasant ones. Already his limbs felt cramped and stiff. He was utterly helpless, and he could see no hope anywhere.

About an hour had passed when he heard the key softly turned, and the door opened. It was Annette. Tommy’s heart beat a little faster. He had forgotten the girl. Was it possible that she had come to his help?

Suddenly he heard Conrad’s voice:

“Come out of it, Annette. He doesn’t want any supper tonight.”

“Oui, oui, je sais bien. But I must take the other tray. We need the things on it.”

“Well, hurry up,” growled Conrad.

Without looking at Tommy the girl went over to the table, and picked up the tray. She raised a hand and turned out the light.

“Curse you”⁠—Conrad had come to the door⁠—“why did you do that?”

“I always turn it out. You should have told me. Shall I relight it, Monsieur Conrad?”

“No, come on out of it.”

“Le beau petit monsieur,” cried Annette, pausing by the bed in the darkness. “You have tied him up well, hein? He is like a trussed chicken!” The frank amusement in her tone jarred on the boy; but at that moment, to his amazement, he felt her hand running lightly over his bonds, and something small and cold was pressed into the palm of his hand.

“Come on, Annette.”

“Mais me voilà.”

The door shut. Tommy heard Conrad say:

“Lock it and give me the key.”

The footsteps