“Mr. Brown?” hazarded Tommy.

“Sure thing.”

Tommy nodded.

“All the same,” he said thoughtfully, “Mr. Brown hasn’t got wings.  I don’t see how he got in and out.”

“How about some high-class thought transference stunt?  Some magnetic influence that irresistibly impelled Mrs. Vandemeyer to commit suicide?”

Tommy looked at him with respect.

“Good, Julius.  Distinctly good.  Especially the phraseology.  But it leaves me cold.  I yearn for a real Mr. Brown of flesh and blood.  I think the gifted young detectives must get to work, study the entrances and exits, and tap the bumps on their foreheads until the solution of the mystery dawns on them.  Let’s go round to the scene of the crime.  I wish we could get hold of Tuppence.  The Ritz would enjoy the spectacle of the glad reunion.”

Inquiry at the office revealed the fact that Tuppence had not yet returned.

“All the same, I guess I’ll have a look round upstairs,” said Julius.  “She might be in my sitting-room.”  He disappeared.

Suddenly a diminutive boy spoke at Tommy’s elbow: 

“The young lady—­she’s gone away by train, I think, sir,” he murmured shyly.

“What?” Tommy wheeled round upon him.

The small boy became pinker than before.

“The taxi, sir.  I heard her tell the driver Charing Cross and to look sharp.”

Tommy stared at him, his eyes opening wide in surprise.  Emboldened, the small boy proceeded.  “So I thought, having asked for an A.B.C. and a Bradshaw.”

Tommy interrupted him: 

“When did she ask for an A.B.C. and a Bradshaw?”

“When I took her the telegram, sir.”

“A telegram?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When was that?”

“About half-past twelve, sir.”

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

The small boy drew a long breath.

“I took up a telegram to No. 891—­the lady was there.  She opened it and gave a gasp, and then she said, very jolly like:  ’Bring me up a Bradshaw, and an A.B.C., and look sharp, Henry.’  My name isn’t Henry, but——­”

“Never mind your name,” said Tommy impatiently.  “Go on.”

“Yes, sir.  I brought them, and she told me to wait, and looked up something.  And then she looks up at the clock, and ‘Hurry up,’ she says.  ‘Tell them to get me a taxi,’ and she begins a-shoving on of her hat in front of the glass, and she was down in two ticks, almost as quick as I was, and I seed her going down the steps and into the taxi, and I heard her call out what I told you.”

The small boy stopped and replenished his lungs.  Tommy continued to stare at him.  At that moment Julius rejoined him.  He held an open letter in his hand.

“I say, Hersheimmer”—­Tommy turned to him—­“Tuppence has gone off sleuthing on her own.”

“Shucks!”

“Yes, she has.  She went off in a taxi to Charing Cross in the deuce of a hurry after getting a telegram.”  His eye fell on the letter in Julius’s hand.  “Oh; she left a note for you.  That’s all right.  Where’s she off to?”