arm-chairs, and an old-fashioned open hearth. In the window was a
big roll-top desk strewn with papers at which the master of the
house was sitting.

He rose as they entered.

"You have a message for me? Ah"--he recognized Tuppence with a
smile--"it's you, is it? Brought a message from Mrs. Vandemeyer,
I suppose?"

"Not exactly," said Tuppence. "In fact, I'm afraid I only said
that to be quite sure of getting in. Oh, by the way, this is Mr.
Hersheimmer, Sir James Peel Edgerton."

"Pleased to meet you," said the American, shooting out a hand.

"Won't you both sit down?" asked Sir James. He drew forward two
chairs.

"Sir James," said Tuppence, plunging boldly, "I dare say you will
think it is most awful cheek of me coming here like this.
Because, of course, it's nothing whatever to do with you, and
then you're a very important person, and of course Tommy and I
are very unimportant." She paused for breath.

"Tommy?" queried Sir James, looking across at the American.

"No, that's Julius," explained Tuppence. "I'm rather nervous,
and that makes me tell it badly. What I really want to know is
what you meant by what you said to me the other day? Did you mean