It wanted some
five minutes to eleven when Tuppence reached the block of buildings in which
the offices of the Esthonia Glassware Co. were situated. To arrive before the
time would look over-eager. So Tuppence decided to walk to the end of the
street and back again. She did so. On the stroke of eleven she plunged into the
recesses of the building. The Esthonia Glassware Co. was on the top floor.
There was a lift, but Tuppence chose to walk up.
Slightly out of
breath, she came to a halt outside the ground glass door with the legend
painted across it "Esthonia Glassware Co."
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 lustrous prosperity and his suspicious eye was not
attractive.
He looked up and
nodded.
"So you've
turned up all right? That's good. Sit down, will you?"
1st Known Illustration of Tommy and Tuppence, 1923 |
Tuppence sat
down on the chair facing him. She looked particularly small and modest this
morning. She sat there timidly 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 suspiciously.
"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 an attack! 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."…
Vocabulary
Rustle: To move
or act energetically
Ward: The state
of being under guard
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