Tuppence knocked.  In response to a voice from within, she turned the handle and walked into a small rather dirty outer office.

A middle-aged clerk got down from a high stool at a desk near the window and came towards her inquiringly.

“I have an appointment with Mr. Whittington,” said Tuppence.

“Will you come this way, please.”  He crossed to a partition door with “Private” on it, knocked, then opened the door and stood aside to let her pass in.

Mr. Whittington was seated behind a large desk covered with papers.  Tuppence felt her previous judgment confirmed.  There was something wrong about Mr. Whittington.  The combination of his sleek prosperity and his shifty eye was not attractive.

He looked up and nodded.

“So you’ve turned up all right?  That’s good.  Sit down, will you?”

Tuppence sat down on the chair facing him.  She looked particularly small and demure this morning.  She sat there meekly with downcast eyes whilst Mr. Whittington sorted and rustled amongst his papers.  Finally he pushed them away, and leaned over the desk.

“Now, my dear young lady, let us come to business.”  His large face broadened into a smile.  “You want work?  Well, I have work to offer you.  What should you say now to L100 down, and all expenses paid?” Mr. Whittington leaned back in his chair, and thrust his thumbs into the arm-holes of his waistcoat.

Tuppence eyed him warily.

“And the nature of the work?” she demanded.

“Nominal—­purely nominal.  A pleasant trip, that is all.”

“Where to?”

Mr. Whittington smiled again.

“Paris.”

“Oh!” said Tuppence thoughtfully.  To herself she said:  “Of course, if father heard that he would have a fit!  But somehow I don’t see Mr. Whittington in the role of the gay deceiver.”

“Yes,” continued Whittington.  “What could be more delightful?  To put the clock back a few years—­a very few, I am sure—­and re-enter one of those charming pensionnats de jeunes filles with which Paris abounds——­”

Tuppence interrupted him.

“A pensionnat?”

“Exactly.  Madame Colombier’s in the Avenue de Neuilly.”

Tuppence knew the name well.  Nothing could have been more select.  She had had several American friends there.  She was more than ever puzzled.

“You want me to go to Madame Colombier’s?  For how long?”

“That depends.  Possibly three months.”

“And that is all?  There are no other conditions?”

“None whatever.  You would, of course, go in the character of my ward, and you would hold no communication with your friends.  I should have to request absolute secrecy for the time being.  By the way, you are English, are you not?”

“Yes.”

“Yet you speak with a slight American accent?”

“My great pal in hospital was a little American girl.  I dare say I picked it up from her.  I can soon get out of it again.”