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‘Third floor,’ said Tommy.

At the door of No. 318 they paused. Evans had a pass key, and used it forthwith. Without a word of warning, they walked straight into Mrs Van Snyder’s bedroom. The lady was still lying on the bed, but was now arrayed in a becoming negligee. She stared at them in surprise.

‘Pardon my failure to knock,’ said Tommy pleasantly. ‘But I want my wife. Do you mind getting off that bed?’

‘I guess you’ve gone plumb crazy,’ cried Mrs Van Snyder.

Tommy surveyed her thoughtfully, his head on one side.

‘Very artistic,’ he pronounced, ‘but it won’t do. We looked under the bed–but not in it. I remember using that hiding-place myself when young. Horizontally across the bed, underneath the bolster. And that nice wardrobe trunk all ready to take away the body in later. But we were a bit too quick for you just now. You’d had time to dope Tuppence, put her under the bolster, and be gagged and bound by your accomplices next door, and I’ll admit we swallowed your story all right for the moment. But when one came to think it out–with order and method–impossible to drug a girl, dress her in boys’ clothes, gag and bind another woman, and change one’s own appearance–all in five minutes. Simply a physical impossibility. The hospital nurse and the boy were to be a decoy. We were to follow that trail, and Mrs Van Snyder was to be pitied as a victim. Just help the lady off the bed, will you, Evans? You have your automatic? Good.’

Protesting shrilly, Mrs Van Snyder was hauled from her place of repose. Tommy tore off the coverings and the bolster.

There, lying horizontally across the top of the bed was Tuppence, her eyes closed, and her face waxen. For a moment Tommy felt a sudden dread, then he saw the slight rise and fall of her breast. She was drugged–not dead.

He turned to Albert and Evans.

‘And now, Messieurs,’ he said dramatically, ‘the final coup!’

With a swift, unexpected gesture he seized Mrs Van Snyder by her elaborately dressed hair. It came off in his hand.

‘As I thought,’ said Tommy. ‘No. 16!’

II

It was about half an hour later when Tuppence opened her eyes and found a doctor and Tommy bending over her.

Over the events of the next quarter of an hour a decent veil had better be drawn, but after that period the doctor departed with the assurance that all was now well.

‘Mon ami, Hastings,’ said Tommy fondly. ‘How I rejoice that you are still alive.’

‘Have we got No. 16?’

‘Once more I have crushed him like an egg-shell–in other words, Carter’s got him. The little grey cells! By the way, I’m raising Albert’s wages.’

‘Tell me all about it.’

Tommy gave her a spirited narrative, with certain omissions.

‘Weren’t you half frantic about me?’ asked Tuppence faintly.

‘Not particularly. One must keep calm, you know.’

‘Liar!’ said Tuppence. ‘You look quite haggard still.’

‘Well, perhaps, I was just a little worried, darling. I say–we’re going to give it up now, aren’t we?’

‘Certainly we are.’

Tommy gave a sigh of relief.

‘I hoped you’d be sensible. After a shock like this –’

‘It’s not the shock. You know I never mind shocks.’

‘A rubber bone–indestructible,’ murmured Tommy.

‘I’ve got something better to do,’ continued Tuppence. ‘Something ever so much more exciting. Something I’ve never done before.’

Tommy looked at her with lively apprehension.

‘I forbid it, Tuppence.’

‘You can’t,’ said Tuppence. ‘It’s a law of nature.’

‘What are you talking about, Tuppence?’

‘I’m talking,’ said Tuppence, ‘of Our Baby. Wives don’t whisper nowadays. They shout. OUR BABY! Tommy, isn’t everything marvellous?’

About Agatha Christie

Agatha Christie is known throughout the world as the Queen of Crime. Her books have sold over a billion copies in English and another billion in 100 foreign languages. She is the most widely published author of all time and in any language, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Mrs Christie is the author of eighty crime novels and short story collections, nineteen plays, and six novels written under the name of Mary Westmacott.

Agatha Christie’s first novel,