Tommy was holding the paper thoughtfully.  His faced burned a deeper red.

“Shall we really try it?” he said at last.  “Shall we, Tuppence?  Just for the fun of the thing?”

“Tommy, you’re a sport!  I knew you would be!  Let’s drink to success.”  She poured some cold dregs of tea into the two cups.

“Here’s to our joint venture, and may it prosper!”

“The Young Adventurers, Ltd.!” responded Tommy.

They put down the cups and laughed rather uncertainly.  Tuppence rose.

“I must return to my palatial suite at the hostel.”

“Perhaps it is time I strolled round to the Ritz,” agreed Tommy with a grin.  “Where shall we meet?  And when?”

“Twelve o’clock to-morrow.  Piccadilly Tube station.  Will that suit you?”

“My time is my own,” replied Mr. Beresford magnificently.

“So long, then.”

“Good-bye, old thing.”

The two young people went off in opposite directions.  Tuppence’s hostel was situated in what was charitably called Southern Belgravia.  For reasons of economy she did not take a bus.

She was half-way across St. James’s Park, when a man’s voice behind her made her start.

“Excuse me,” it said.  “But may I speak to you for a moment?”

CHAPTER II

MR. WHITTINGTON’S OFFER

Tuppence turned sharply, but the words hovering on the tip of her tongue remained unspoken, for the man’s appearance and manner did not bear out her first and most natural assumption.  She hesitated.  As if he read her thoughts, the man said quickly: 

“I can assure you I mean no disrespect.”

Tuppence believed him.  Although she disliked and distrusted him instinctively, she was inclined to acquit him of the particular motive which she had at first attributed to him.  She looked him up and down.  He was a big man, clean shaven, with a heavy jowl.  His eyes were small and cunning, and shifted their glance under her direct gaze.

“Well, what is it?” she asked.

The man smiled.

“I happened to overhear part of your conversation with the young gentleman in Lyons’.”

“Well—­what of it?”

“Nothing—­except that I think I may be of some use to you.”

Another inference forced itself into Tuppence’s mind: 

“You followed me here?”

“I took that liberty.”

“And in what way do you think you could be of use to me?”

The man took a card from his pocket and handed it to her with a bow.

Tuppence took it and scrutinized it carefully.  It bore the inscription, “Mr. Edward Whittington.”  Below the name were the words “Esthonia Glassware Co.,” and the address of a city office.  Mr. Whittington spoke again: 

“If you will call upon me to-morrow morning at eleven o’clock, I will lay the details of my proposition before you.”