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
sleek prosperity and his shifty eye was not attractive.

He looked up and nodded.

"So you've turned up all right? That's good. Sit down, will
you?"

Tuppence sat down on the chair facing him. She looked
particularly small and demure this morning. She sat there meekly
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