The Complete Tommy & Tuppence Collection (125 page)

‘Oh, they were the Listers, they were.'

‘Did you ever know a Mary Jordan?'

‘Ah, I know who you mean. No, she was before my time a bit, I think. You mean the German spy girl, don't you?'

‘Everyone seems to know about her here,' said Tuppence.

‘Yes. They called her the Frow Line, or something. Sounds like a railway.'

‘It does rather,' said Tuppence.

Isaac suddenly laughed. ‘Ha, ha, ha,' he said. ‘If it was a railway, a line, a railway line, oh, it didn't run straight, did it? No, indeed.' He laughed again.

‘What a splendid joke,' said Tuppence kindly.

Isaac laughed again.

‘It's about time,' he said, ‘you thought of putting some vegetables in, isn't it? You know, if you want to get your broad beans on in good time you ought to put 'em in and prepare for the peas. And what about some
early lettuce? Tom Thumbs now? Beautiful lettuce, those, small but crisp as anything.'

‘I suppose you've done a lot of gardening work round here. I don't mean just this house, but a lot of places.'

‘Ah yes, I've done odd jobbing, you know. I used to come along to most of the houses. Some of the gardeners they had weren't any good at all and I'd usually come in and help at certain times or other. Had a bit of an accident here once, you know. Mistake about vegetables. Before my time–but I heard about it.'

‘Something about foxglove leaves, wasn't it?' said Tuppence.

‘Ah, fancy you having heard of that already. That was a long time ago, too. Yes, several was taken ill with it. One of them died. At least so I heard. That was only hearsay. Old pal of mine told me that.'

‘I think it was the Frow Line,' said Tuppence.

‘What, the Frow Line as died? Well, I never heard that.'

‘Well, perhaps I'm wrong,' said Tuppence. ‘Supposing you take Truelove,' she said, ‘or whatever this thing's called, and put it on the hill in the place where that child, Pamela, used to take it down the hill–if the hill is still there.'

‘Well, of course the hill is still there. What do you think? It's all grass still, but be careful now. I don't
know how much of Truelove is rusted away. I'll have a bit of a clean-up on it first, shall I?'

‘That's right,' said Tuppence, ‘and then you can think of a list of vegetables that we ought to be getting on with.'

‘Ah well, I'll be careful you don't get foxglove and spinach planted together. Shouldn't like to hear that something happened to you when you've just got into a new house. Nice place here if you can just have a little money to spend on it.'

‘Thank you very much,' said Tuppence.

‘And I'll just see to that there Truelove so it won't break down under you. It's very old but you'd be surprised the way some old things work. Why, I knew a cousin of mine the other day and he got out an old bicycle. You wouldn't think it would go–nobody had ridden it for about forty years. But it went all right with a bit of oil. Ah, it's wonderful what a bit of oil can do.'

‘What on earth–' said Tommy.

He was used to finding Tuppence in unlikely spots when he returned to the house, but on this occasion he was more startled than usual.

Inside the house there was no trace of her, although outside there was a very slight patter of rain. It occurred to him that she might be engrossed in some portion of the garden, and he went out to see if this might be the case. And it was then that he remarked, ‘What on earth–'

‘Hullo, Tommy,' said Tuppence, ‘you're back a bit earlier than I thought you would be.'

‘What is that thing?'

‘You mean Truelove?'

‘What did you say?'

‘I said Truelove,' said Tuppence, ‘that's the name of it.'

‘Are you trying to go for a ride on it–it's much too small for you.'

‘Well, of course it is. It's a child's sort of thing–what you had, I suppose, before you had fairy-cycles, or whatever one had in my youth.'

‘It doesn't really
go
, does it?' asked Tommy.

‘Well, not exactly,' said Tuppence, ‘but you see, you take it up to the top of the hill and then it–well, its wheels turn of their own accord, you see, and because of the hill you go down.'

‘And crash at the bottom, I suppose. Is that what you've been doing?'

‘Not at all,' said Tuppence. ‘You brake it with your feet. Would you like me to give you a demonstration?'

‘I don't think so,' said Tommy. ‘It's beginning to rain rather harder. I just wanted to know why you–well, why you're doing it. I mean, it can't be very enjoyable, can it?'

‘Actually,' said Tuppence, ‘it's rather frightening. But you see I just wanted to find out and–'

‘And are you asking this tree? What is this tree, anyway? A monkey puzzle, isn't it?'

‘That's right,' said Tuppence. ‘How clever of you to know.'

‘Of course I know,' said Tommy. ‘I know its other name, too.'

‘So do I,' said Tuppence.

They looked at each other.

‘Only at the moment I've forgotten it,' said Tommy. ‘Is it an arti–'

‘Well, it's something very like that,' said Tuppence. ‘I think that's good enough, don't you?'

‘What are you doing inside a prickly thing like that?'

‘Well, because when you get to the end of the hill, I mean, if you didn't put your feet down to stop completely you could be in the arti–or whatever it is.'

‘Do I mean arti–? What about urticaria? No, that's nettles, isn't it? Oh well,' said Tommy, ‘everyone to their own kind of amusement.'

‘I was just doing a little investigation, you know, of our latest problem.'

‘Your problem? My problem? Whose problem?'

‘I don't know,' said Tuppence. ‘Both our problems, I hope.'

‘But not one of Beatrice's problems, or anything like that?'

‘Oh no. It's just that I wondered what other things there might be hidden in this house, so I went and looked at a lot of toys that seem to have been shoved away in a sort of queer old greenhouse probably years and years ago and there was this creature and there was Mathilde, which is a rocking-horse with a hole in its stomach.'

‘A hole in its stomach?'

‘Well, yes. People, I suppose, used to shove things in there. Children–for fun–and lots of old leave sand dirty papers and bits of sort of queer dusters and flannel, oily stuff that had been used to clean things with.'

‘Come on, let's go into the house,' said Tommy.

II

‘Well, Tommy,' said Tuppence, as she stretched out her feet to a pleasant wood fire which she had lit already for his return in the drawing-room, ‘let's have your news. Did you go to the Ritz Hotel Gallery to see the show?'

‘No. As a matter of fact, I hadn't time, really.'

‘What do you mean, you hadn't time? I thought that's what you went for.'

‘Well, one doesn't always do the things that one went for.'

‘You must have gone somewhere and done
something
,' said Tuppence.

‘I found a new possible place to park a car.'

‘That's always useful,' said Tuppence. ‘Where was that?'

‘Near Hounslow.'

‘What on earth did you want to go to Hounslow for?'

‘Well, I didn't actually go to Hounslow. There's a
sort of car park there, then I took a tube, you know.'

‘What, a tube to London?'

‘Yes. Yes, it seemed the easiest way.'

‘You have rather a guilty look about you,' said Tuppence. ‘Don't tell me I have a rival who lives in Hounslow?'

‘No,' said Tommy. ‘You ought to be pleased with what I've been doing.'

‘Oh. Have you been buying me a present?'

‘No. No,' said Tommy, ‘I'm afraid not. I never know what to give you, as a matter of fact.'

‘Well, your guesses are very good sometimes,' said Tuppence hopefully. ‘What have you been really doing, Tommy, and why should I be pleased?'

‘Because I, too,' said Tommy, ‘have been doing research.'

‘Everyone's doing research nowadays,' said Tuppence. ‘You know, all the teenagers and all one's nephews or cousins or other people's sons and daughters, they're all doing research. I don't know actually what they do research into nowadays, but they never seem to do it, whatever it is, afterwards. They just have the research and a good time doing the research and they're very pleased with themselves and–well, I don't quite know what does come next.'

‘Betty, our adopted daughter, went to East Africa,' said Tommy. ‘Have you heard from her?'

‘Yes, she loves it there–loves poking into African families and writing articles about them.'

‘Do you think the families appreciate her interest?' asked Tommy.

‘I shouldn't think so,' said Tuppence. ‘In my father's parish I remember, everyone disliked the District Visitors–Nosey Parkers they called them.'

‘You may have something there,' said Tommy. ‘You are certainly pointing out to me the difficulties of what I am undertaking, or trying to undertake.'

‘Research into what? Not lawn-mowers, I hope.'

‘I don't know why you mention lawn-mowers.'

‘Because you're eternally looking at catalogues of them,' said Tuppence. ‘You're mad about getting a lawn-mower.'

‘In this house of ours it is historic research we are doing into things–crimes and others that seem to have happened at least sixty or seventy years ago.'

‘Anyway, come on, tell me a little more about your research projects, Tommy.'

‘I went to London,' said Tommy, ‘and put certain things in motion.'

‘Ah,' said Tuppence. ‘Research? Research in motion. In a way I've been doing the same thing that you are, only our methods are different. And my period is very far back.'

‘Do you mean that you're really beginning to take
an interest in the problem of Mary Jordan? So that's how you put it on the agenda nowadays,' said Tommy. ‘It's definitely taken shape has it? The mystery, or the problem of Mary Jordan.'

‘Such a very ordinary name, too. Couldn't have been her right name if she was German,' said Tuppence, ‘and she was said to be a German spy or something like that, but she could have been English, I suppose.'

‘I think the German story is just a kind of legend.'

‘Do go on, Tommy. You're not telling me anything.'

‘Well, I put certain–certain–certain–'

‘Don't go on saying certain,' said Tuppence. ‘I really can't understand.'

‘Well, it's very difficult to explain things sometimes,' said Tommy, ‘but I mean, there are certain ways of making enquiries.'

‘You mean, things in the past?'

‘Yes. In a sense. I mean, there are things that you can find out. Things that you could obtain information from. Not just by riding old toys and asking old ladies to remember things and cross-questioning an old gardener who probably will tell you everything quite wrong or going round to the post office and upsetting the staff by asking the girls there to tell their memories of what their great-great-aunts once said.'

‘All of them have produced a little something,' said Tuppence.

‘So will mine,' said Tommy.

‘You've been making enquiries? Who do you go to to ask your questions?'

‘Well, it's not quite like that, but you must remember, Tuppence, that occasionally in my life I have been in connection with people who do know how to go about these sort of things. You know, there are people you pay a certain sum to and they do the research for you from the proper quarters so that what you get is quite authentic.'

‘What sort of things? What sort of places?'

‘Well, there are lots of things. To begin with you can get someone to study deaths, births and marriages, that sort of thing.'

‘Oh, I suppose you send them to Somerset House. Do you go there for deaths as well as marriages?'

‘And births–one needn't go oneself, you get someone to go for you. And find out when someone dies or read somebody's will, look up marriages in churches or study birth certificates. All those things can be enquired into.'

‘Have you been spending a lot of money?' asked Tuppence. ‘I thought we were going to try and economize once we'd paid the expense of moving in here.'

‘Well, considering the interest you're taking in problems, I consider that this can be regarded in the way of money well spent.'

‘Well, did you find out anything?'

‘Not as quickly as this. You have to wait until the research has been made. Then if they can get answers for you–'

‘You mean somebody comes up and tells you that someone called Mary Jordan was born at Little Sheffield-on-the-Wold or something like that and then you go and make enquiries there later. Is that the sort of thing?'

‘Not exactly. And then there are census returns and death certificates and causes of death and, oh, quite a lot of things that you can find out about.'

‘Well,' said Tuppence, ‘it sounds rather interesting anyway, which is always something.'

‘And there are files in newspaper offices that you can read and study.'

‘You mean accounts of something–like murders or court cases?'

‘Not necessarily, but one has had contact with certain people from time to time. People who know things–one can look them up–ask a few questions–renew old friendships. Like the time we were being a private detective firm in London. There are a few people, I expect, who could give us information or tell us where to go. Things do depend a bit on who you know.'

‘Yes,' said Tuppence, ‘that's quite true. I know that myself from experience.'

‘Our methods aren't the same,' said Tommy. ‘I think yours are just as good as mine. I'll never forget the day I came suddenly into that boarding-house, or whatever it was, Sans Souci. The first thing I saw was you sitting there knitting and calling yourself Mrs Blenkinsop.'

‘All because I
hadn't
applied research, or getting anyone to do research for me,' said Tuppence.

‘No,' said Tommy, ‘you got inside a wardrobe next door to the room where I was being interviewed in a very interesting manner, so you knew exactly where I was being sent and what I was meant to do, and you managed to get there first. Eavesdropping. Neither more nor less. Most dishonourable.'

‘With very satisfactory results,' said Tuppence.

‘Yes,' said Tommy. ‘You have a kind of feeling for success. It seems to happen to you.'

‘Well, some day we shall know all about everything here, only it's all such years and years ago. I can't help thinking that the idea of something really important being hidden round here or owned by someone here, or something to do with this house or people who once lived in it being important–I can't just believe it somehow. Oh well, I see what we shall have to do next.'

‘What?' said Tommy.

‘Believe six impossible things before breakfast, of
course,' said Tuppence. ‘It's quarter to eleven now, and I want to go to bed. I'm tired. I'm sleepy and extremely dirty because of playing around with all those dusty, ancient toys and things. I expect there are even more things in that place that's called–by the way, why is it called Kay Kay?'

‘I don't know. Do you spell it at all?'

‘I don't know–I think it's spelt k-a-i. Not just KK.'

‘Because it sounds more mysterious?'

‘It sounds Japanese,' said Tuppence doubtfully.

‘I can't see why it should sound to you like Japanese. It doesn't to me. It sounds like something you eat. A kind of rice, perhaps.'

‘I'm going to bed and to wash thoroughly and to get all the cobwebs off me somehow,' said Tuppence.

‘Remember,' said Tommy, ‘six impossible things before breakfast.'

‘I expect I shall be better at that than you would be,' said Tuppence.

‘You're very unexpected sometimes,' said Tommy.

‘
You're
more often right than
I
am,' said Tuppence. ‘
That's
very annoying sometimes. Well, these things are sent to try us. Who used to say that to us? Quite often, too.'

‘Never mind,' said Tommy. ‘Go and clean the dust of bygone years off you. Is Isaac any good at gardening?'

‘He considers he is,' said Tuppence. ‘We might experiment with him–'

‘Unfortunately we don't know much about gardening ourselves. Yet another problem.'