“There’s no earthly clue in it as to where she’s gone,” he assured Tommy.  “But you might as well see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

The note, in Tuppence’s well-known schoolboy writing, ran as follows: 

“Dear Julius,

“It’s always better to have things in black and white.  I don’t
feel I can be bothered to think of marriage until Tommy is found. 
Let’s leave it till then. 
                      “Yours affectionately,
                      “Tuppence.”

Tommy handed it back, his eyes shining.  His feelings had undergone a sharp reaction.  He now felt that Tuppence was all that was noble and disinterested.  Had she not refused Julius without hesitation?  True, the note betokened signs of weakening, but he could excuse that.  It read almost like a bribe to Julius to spur him on in his efforts to find Tommy, but he supposed she had not really meant it that way.  Darling Tuppence, there was not a girl in the world to touch her!  When he saw her——­His thoughts were brought up with a sudden jerk.

“As you say,” he remarked, pulling himself together, “there’s not a hint here as to what she’s up to.  Hi—­Henry!”

The small boy came obediently.  Tommy produced five shillings.

“One thing more.  Do you remember what the young lady did with the telegram?”

Henry gasped and spoke.

“She crumpled it up into a ball and threw it into the grate, and made a sort of noise like ‘Whoop!’ sir.”

“Very graphic, Henry,” said Tommy.  “Here’s your five shillings.  Come on, Julius.  We must find that telegram.”

They hurried upstairs.  Tuppence had left the key in her door.  The room was as she had left it.  In the fireplace was a crumpled ball of orange and white.  Tommy disentangled it and smoothed out the telegram.

“Come at once, Moat House, Ebury, Yorkshire, great developments—­Tommy.”

They looked at each other in stupefaction.  Julius spoke first: 

“You didn’t send it?”

“Of course not.  What does it mean?”

“I guess it means the worst,” said Julius quietly.  “They’ve got her.”

“What?”

“Sure thing!  They signed your name, and she fell into the trap like a lamb.”

“My God!  What shall we do?”

“Get busy, and go after her!  Right now!  There’s no time to waste.  It’s almighty luck that she didn’t take the wire with her.  If she had we’d probably never have traced her.  But we’ve got to hustle.  Where’s that Bradshaw?”

The energy of Julius was infectious.  Left to himself, Tommy would probably have sat down to think things out for a good half-hour before he decided on a plan of action.  But with Julius Hersheimmer about, hustling was inevitable.

After a few muttered imprecations he handed the Bradshaw to Tommy as being more conversant with its mysteries.  Tommy abandoned it in favour of an A.B.C.