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

at the tattered velvet with interest. Even now she could almost swear it moved⁠—as though someone was behind it. So strong was the illusion that she almost fancied she could make out the outline of a form.⁠ ⁠… Supposing Mr. Brown⁠—Julius⁠—was there waiting.⁠ ⁠…

Impossible of course! Yet she almost went back to put the curtain aside and make sure.⁠ ⁠…

Now they were entering the prison room. No place for anyone to hide here, thought Tuppence, with a sigh of relief, then chided herself indignantly. She must not give way to this foolish fancying⁠—this curious insistent feeling that Mr. Brown was in the house.⁠ ⁠… Hark! what was that? A stealthy footstep on the stairs? There was someone in the house! Absurd! She was becoming hysterical.

Jane had gone straight to the picture of Marguerite. She unhooked it with a steady hand. The dust lay thick upon it, and festoons of cobwebs lay between it and the wall. Sir James handed her a pocketknife, and she ripped away the brown paper from the back.⁠ ⁠… The advertisement page of a magazine fell out. Jane picked it up. Holding apart the frayed inner edges she extracted two thin sheets covered with writing!

No dummy this time! The real thing!

“We’ve got it,” said Tuppence. “At last.⁠ ⁠…”

The moment was almost breathless in its emotion. Forgotten the faint creakings, the imagined noises of a minute ago. None of them had eyes for anything but what Jane held in her hand.

Sir James took it, and scrutinized it attentively.

“Yes,” he said quietly, “this is the ill-fated draft treaty!”

“We’ve succeeded,” said Tuppence. There was awe and an almost wondering unbelief in her voice.

Sir James echoed her words as he folded the paper carefully and put it away in his pocketbook, then he looked curiously round the dingy room.

“It was here that our young friend was confined for so long, was it not?” he said. “A truly sinister room. You notice the absence of windows, and the thickness of the close-fitting door. Whatever took place here would never be heard by the outside world.”

Tuppence shivered. His words woke a vague alarm in her. What if there was someone concealed in the house? Someone who might bar that door on them, and leave them to die like rats in a trap? Then she realized the absurdity of her thought. The house was surrounded by police who, if they failed to reappear, would not hesitate to break in and make a thorough search. She smiled at her own foolishness⁠—then looked up with a start to find Sir James watching her. He gave her an emphatic little nod.

“Quite right, Miss Tuppence. You scent danger. So do I. So does Miss Finn.”

“Yes,” admitted Jane. “It’s absurd⁠—but I can’t help it.”

Sir James nodded again.

“You feel⁠—as we all feel⁠—the presence of Mr. Brown. Yes”⁠—as Tuppence made a movement⁠—“not a doubt of it⁠—Mr. Brown is here.⁠ ⁠…”

“In this house?”

“In this room.⁠ ⁠… You don’t understand? I am Mr. Brown.⁠ ⁠…”

Stupefied, unbelieving, they stared at him. The very lines of his face had changed. It was a different man who stood before them. He smiled a slow cruel smile.

“Neither of you will leave this room alive! You said just now we had succeeded. I have succeeded! The draft treaty is mine.” His smile grew wider as he looked at Tuppence. “Shall I tell you how it will be? Sooner or later the police will break in, and they will find three victims of Mr. Brown⁠—three, not two, you understand, but fortunately the third will not be dead, only wounded, and will be able to describe the attack with a wealth of detail! The treaty? It is in the hands of Mr. Brown. So no one will think of searching the pockets of Sir James Peel Edgerton!”

He turned to Jane.

“You outwitted me. I make my acknowledgments. But you will not do it again.”

There was a faint sound behind him, but, intoxicated with success, he did not turn his head.

He slipped his hand into his pocket.

“Checkmate to the Young Adventurers,” he said, and slowly raised the big automatic.

But, even as he did so, he felt himself seized from behind in a grip of iron. The revolver was wrenched from his hand, and the voice of Julius Hersheimmer said drawlingly:

“I guess you’re caught redhanded with the goods upon you.”

The blood rushed to the K.C.’s face, but his self-control was marvellous, as he looked from one to the other of his two captors. He looked longest at Tommy.

“You,” he said beneath his breath. “You! I might have known.”

Seeing that he was disposed to offer no resistance, their grip slackened. Quick as a flash his left hand, the hand which bore the big signet ring, was raised to his lips.⁠ ⁠…

“Ave, Caesar! te morituri salutant,” he said, still looking at Tommy.

Then his face changed, and with a long convulsive shudder he fell forward in a crumpled heap, whilst an odour of bitter almonds filled the air.

XXVII A Supper Party at the Savoy

The supper party given by Mr. Julius Hersheimmer to a few friends on the evening of the 30th will long be remembered in catering circles. It took place in a private room, and Mr. Hersheimmer’s orders were brief and forcible. He gave carte blanche⁠—and when a millionaire gives carte blanche he usually gets it!

Every delicacy out of season was duly provided. Waiters carried bottles of ancient and royal vintage with loving care. The floral decorations defied the seasons, and fruits of the earth as far apart as May and November found themselves miraculously side by side. The list of guests was small and select. The American ambassador, Mr. Carter, who had taken the liberty, he said, of bringing an old friend, Sir William Beresford, with him, Archdeacon Cowley, Dr. Hall, those two youthful adventurers, Miss Prudence Cowley and Mr. Thomas Beresford, and last, but not least, as guest of honour, Miss Jane Finn.

Julius had spared no pains to make Jane’s appearance a success. A mysterious knock had brought Tuppence to the door of the apartment she was sharing with the American girl. It was Julius.