“A hundred thousand pounds,” repeated Tuppence.

The light died out of Mrs. Vandemeyer’s eyes.  She leaned back in her chair.

“Bah!” she said.  “You haven’t got it.”

“No,” admitted Tuppence, “I haven’t—­but I know some one who has.”

“Who?”

“A friend of mine.”

“Must be a millionaire,” remarked Mrs. Vandemeyer unbelievingly.

“As a matter of fact he is.  He’s an American.  He’ll pay you that without a murmur.  You can take it from me that it’s a perfectly genuine proposition.”

Mrs. Vandemeyer sat up again.

“I’m inclined to believe you,” she said slowly.

There was silence between them for some time, then Mrs. Vandemeyer looked up.

“What does he want to know, this friend of yours?”

Tuppence went through a momentary struggle, but it was Julius’s money, and his interests must come first.

“He wants to know where Jane Finn is,” she said boldly.

Mrs. Vandemeyer showed no surprise.

“I’m not sure where she is at the present moment,” she replied.

“But you could find out?”

“Oh, yes,” returned Mrs. Vandemeyer carelessly.  “There would be no difficulty about that.”

“Then”—­Tuppence’s voice shook a little—­“there’s a boy, a friend of mine.  I’m afraid something’s happened to him, through your pal Boris.”

“What’s his name?”

“Tommy Beresford.”

“Never heard of him.  But I’ll ask Boris.  He’ll tell me anything he knows.”

“Thank you.”  Tuppence felt a terrific rise in her spirits.  It impelled her to more audacious efforts.  “There’s one thing more.”

“Well?”

Tuppence leaned forward and lowered her voice.

“Who is Mr. Brown?”

Her quick eyes saw the sudden paling of the beautiful face.  With an effort Mrs. Vandemeyer pulled herself together and tried to resume her former manner.  But the attempt was a mere parody.

She shrugged her shoulders.

“You can’t have learnt much about us if you don’t know that nobody knows who Mr. Brown is....”

“You do,” said Tuppence quietly.

Again the colour deserted the other’s face.

“What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know,” said the girl truthfully.  “But I’m sure.”

Mrs. Vandemeyer stared in front of her for a long time.

“Yes,” she said hoarsely, at last, “I know.  I was beautiful, you see—­very beautiful—­”

“You are still,” said Tuppence with admiration.

Mrs. Vandemeyer shook her head.  There was a strange gleam in her electric-blue eyes.

“Not beautiful enough,” she said in a soft dangerous voice.  “Not—­beautiful—­enough!  And sometimes, lately, I’ve been afraid....  It’s dangerous to know too much!” She leaned forward across the table.  “Swear that my name shan’t be brought into it—­that no one shall ever know.”