Chapter 2

       A Pot of Tea

      Mr and Mrs Beresford took possession of the offices of the International Detective Agency a few days later. They were on the second floor of a somewhat dilapidated building in Bloomsbury. In the small outer office, Albert relinquished the role of a Long Island butler, and took up that of office boy, a part which he played to perfection. A paper bag of sweets, inky hands, and a tousled head was his conception of the character.

      From the outer office, two doors led into inner offices. On one door was painted the legend ‘Clerks’. On the other ‘Private’. Behind the latter was a small comfortable room furnished with an immense business-like desk, a lot of artistically labelled files, all empty, and some solid leather-seated chairs. Behind the desk sat the pseudo Mr Blunt trying to look as though he had run a Detective Agency all his life. A telephone, of course, stood at his elbow. Tuppence and he had rehearsed several good telephone effects, and Albert also had his instructions.

      In the adjoining room was Tuppence, a typewriter, the necessary tables and chairs of an inferior type to those in the room of the great Chief, and a gas ring for making tea.

      Nothing was wanting, in fact, save clients.

      Tuppence, in the first ecstasies of initiation, had a few bright hopes.

      ‘It will be too marvellous,’ she declared. ‘We will hunt down murderers, and discover the missing family jewels, and find people who’ve disappeared and detect embezzlers.’

      At this point Tommy felt it his duty to strike a more discouraging note.

      ‘Calm yourself, Tuppence, and try to forget the cheap fiction you are in the habit of reading. Our clientèle, if we have any clientèle at all – will consist solely of husbands who want their wives shadowed, and wives who want their husbands shadowed. Evidence for divorce is the sole prop of private inquiry agents.’

      ‘Ugh!’ said Tuppence, wrinkling a fastidious nose. ‘We shan’t touch divorce cases. We must raise the tone of our new profession.’

      ‘Ye-es,’ said Tommy doubtfully.

      And now a week after installation they compared notes rather ruefully.

      ‘Three idiotic women whose husbands go away for weekends,’ sighed Tommy. ‘Anyone come whilst I was out at lunch?’

      ‘A fat old man with a flighty wife,’ sighed Tuppence sadly. ‘I’ve read in the papers for years that the divorce evil was growing, but somehow I never seemed to realise it until this last week. I’m sick and tired of saying, “We don’t undertake divorce cases.”’

      ‘We’ve put it in the advertisements now,’ Tommy reminded her. ‘So it won’t be so bad.’

      ‘I’m sure we advertise in the most tempting way too,’ said Tuppence in a melancholy voice. ‘All the same, I’m not going to be beaten. If necessary, I shall commit a crime myself, and you will detect it.’

      ‘And what good would that do? Think of my feelings when I bid you a tender farewell at Bow Street – or is it Vine Street?’

      ‘You are thinking of your bachelor days,’ said Tuppence pointedly.

      ‘The Old Bailey, that is what I mean,’ said Tommy.

      ‘Well,’ said Tuppence, ‘something has got to be done about it. Here we are bursting with talent and no chance of exercising it.’

      ‘I always like your cheery optimism, Tuppence. You seem to have no doubt whatever that you have talent to exercise.’

      ‘Of course,’ said Tuppence, opening her eyes very wide.

      ‘And yet you have no expert knowledge whatever.’

      ‘Well, I have read every detective novel that has been published in the last ten years.’

      ‘So have I,’ said Tommy, ‘but I have a sort of feeling that that wouldn’t really help us much.’

      ‘You always were a pessimist, Tommy. Belief in oneself – that is the great thing.’

      ‘Well, you have got it all right,’ said her husband.

      ‘Of course it is easy in detective stories,’ said Tuppence thoughtfully, ‘because one works backwards. I mean if one knows the solution one can arrange the clues. I wonder now –’

      She paused wrinkling her brows.

      ‘Yes?’ said Tommy inquiringly.

      ‘I have got a sort of idea,’ said Tuppence. ‘It hasn’t quite come yet, but it’s coming.’ She rose resolutely. ‘I think I shall go and buy that hat I told you about.’

      ‘Oh, God!’ said Tommy, ‘another hat!’

      ‘It’s a very nice one,’ said Tuppence with dignity.

      She went out with a resolute look on her face.

      Once or twice in the following days Tommy inquired curiously about the idea. Tuppence