Partners in Crime

"Mr. Blunt, it is an extraordinary thing. There seems no rhyme or reason in it. Why, if anyone wanted to steal my kitbag, he could do so easily enough without resorting to all this round about business! And anyway, it was not stolen, but returned to me. On the other hand, if it were taken by mistake, why use Senator Westerham's name? It's a crazy business-but just for curiosity I mean to get to the bottom of it. I hope the case is not too trivial for you to undertake?"

"Not at all. It is a very intriguing little problem, capable as you say, of many simple explanations, but nevertheless baffling on the face of it. The first thing, of course, is the reason of the substitution, if substitution it was. You say nothing was missing from your bag when it came back into your possession?"

"My man says not. He would know."

"What was in it, if I may ask?"

"Mostly boots."

"Boots," said Tommy discouraged.

"Yes," said Mr. Wilmott. "Boots. Odd, isn't it?"

"You'll forgive my asking you," said Tommy, "but you didn't carry any secret papers, or anything of that sort sewn in the lining of a boot or screwed into a false heel?"

The Ambassador seemed amused by the question.

"Secret diplomacy hasn't got to that pitch, I hope."

"Only in fiction," said Tommy with an answering smile, and a slightly apologetic manner. "But you see, we've got to account for the thing somehow. Who came for the bag-the other bag, I mean?"

"Supposed to be one of Westerham's servants. Quite a quiet ordinary man, so I understand. My valet saw nothing wrong with him."

"Had it been unpacked, do you know?"

"That I can't say. I presume not. But perhaps you'd like to ask the valet a few questions? He can tell you more than I can about the business."

"I think that would be the best plan, Mr. Wilmott."

The Ambassador scribbled a few words on a card and handed it to Tommy.

"I opine that you would prefer to go round to the Embassy and make your inquiries there? If not, I will have the man,-his name is Richards, by the way-sent round here."

"No, thank you, Mr. Wilmott. I should prefer to go to the Embassy."

The Ambassador rose, glancing at his watch.

"Dear me, I shall be late for an appointment. Well, good bye, Mr. Blunt. I leave the matter in your hands."

He hurried away. Tommy looked at Tuppence who had been scribbling demurely on her pad in the character of the efficient Miss Robinson.

"What about it, old thing?" he asked. "Do you see, as the old bird put it, any rhyme or reason in the proceeding?"

"None whatever," replied Tuppence cheerily.

"Well, that's a start anyway! It shows that there is really something very deep at the back of it."

"You think so?"

"It's a generally accepted hypothesis. Remember Sherlock Holmes and the depth the butter had sunk into the parsley-I mean the other way round. I've always had a devouring wish to know all about that case. Perhaps Watson will disinter it from his notebook one of these days. Then I shall die happy. But we must get busy."

"Quite so," said Tuppence. "Not a quick man, the esteemed Wilmott, but sure."

"She knows men," said Tommy. "Or do I say he knows men. It is so confusing when you assume the character of a male detective."

"Oh! My dear fellow, my dear fellow!"

"A little more action, Tuppence, and a little less repetition."

"A classic phrase cannot be repeated too often," said Tuppence with dignity.

"Have a muffin," said Tommy kindly.

"Not at eleven o'clock in the morning, thank you. Silly case, this. Boots-you know-Why boots?"

"Well," said Tommy, "why not?"

"It doesn't fit. Boots." She shook her head. "All wrong. Who wants other people's boots? The whole thing's mad."

"Perhaps they got hold of the wrong bag?" suggested Tommy.

"That's possible. But if they were after papers, a despatch case would be more likely. Papers are the only things one thinks of in connection with ambassadors."

"Boots suggest footprints," said Tommy thoughtfully. "Do you think they wanted to lay a trail of Wilmott's footsteps somewhere?"

Tuppence considered the suggestion, abandoning her role, then shook her head.

"It seems wildly impossible," she said. "No, I believe we shall have to resign ourselves to the fact that the boots have nothing to do with it."

"Well," said Tommy with a sigh. "The next step is to interview friend Richards. He may be able to throw some light on the mystery."

On production of the Ambassador's card, Tommy was admitted to the Embassy, and presently a pale young man, with a respectful manner, and a subdued voice, presented himself to undergo examination.

"I am Richards, sir, Mr. Wilmott's valet. I understood you wished to see me?"

"Yes, Richards. Mr. Wilmott called on me this morning, and suggested that I should come round and ask you a few questions. It is this matter of the kitbag."

"Mr. Wilmott was rather upset over the affair, I know, sir. I can hardly see why, since no harm was done. I certainly understood from the man who called for the other bag that it belonged to Senator Westerham, but of course I may have been mistaken."

"What kind of a man was he?"