she had slightly altered the line of her eyebrows, and that, taken in conjunction with the new luxuriant growth of fair hair above, so changed her appearance that she felt confident that even if she came face to face with Whittington he would not recognize her.  She would wear elevators in her shoes, and the cap and apron would be an even more valuable disguise.  From hospital experience she knew only too well that a nurse out of uniform is frequently unrecognized by her patients.

“Yes,” said Tuppence aloud, nodding at the pert reflection in the glass, “you’ll do.”  She then resumed her normal appearance.

Dinner was a solitary meal.  Tuppence was rather surprised at Tommy’s non-return.  Julius, too, was absent—­but that to the girl’s mind was more easily explained.  His “hustling” activities were not confined to London, and his abrupt appearances and disappearances were fully accepted by the Young Adventurers as part of the day’s work.  It was quite on the cards that Julius P. Hersheimmer had left for Constantinople at a moment’s notice if he fancied that a clue to his cousin’s disappearance was to be found there.  The energetic young man had succeeded in making the lives of several Scotland Yard men unbearable to them, and the telephone girls at the Admiralty had learned to know and dread the familiar “Hullo!” He had spent three hours in Paris hustling the Prefecture, and had returned from there imbued with the idea, possibly inspired by a weary French official, that the true clue to the mystery was to be found in Ireland.

“I dare say he’s dashed off there now,” thought Tuppence.  “All very well, but this is very dull for me!  Here I am bursting with news, and absolutely no one to tell it to!  Tommy might have wired, or something.  I wonder where he is.  Anyway, he can’t have ‘lost the trail’ as they say.  That reminds me——­” And Miss Cowley broke off in her meditations, and summoned a small boy.

Ten minutes later the lady was ensconced comfortably on her bed, smoking cigarettes and deep in the perusal of Garnaby Williams, the Boy Detective, which, with other threepenny works of lurid fiction, she had sent out to purchase.  She felt, and rightly, that before the strain of attempting further intercourse with Albert, it would be as well to fortify herself with a good supply of local colour.

The morning brought a note from Mr. Carter: 

“Dear miss tuppence,

“You have made a splendid start, and I congratulate you.  I feel, though, that I should like to point out to you once more the risks you are running, especially if you pursue the course you indicate.  Those people are absolutely desperate and incapable of either mercy or pity.  I feel that you probably underestimate the danger, and therefore warn you again that I can promise you no protection.  You have given us valuable information, and if you choose to withdraw now no one could blame you.  At any rate, think the matter over well before you decide.