was ebbing out of his face. He eyed her keenly. "Who's been
blabbing? Rita?"

Tuppence shook her head. She was doubtful as to how long she
could sustain this illusion, but she realized the importance of
not dragging an unknown Rita into it.

"No," she replied with perfect truth. "Rita knows nothing about
me."

His eyes still bored into her like gimlets.

"How much do you know?" he shot out.

"Very little indeed," answered Tuppence, and was pleased to note
that Whittington's uneasiness was augmented instead of allayed.
To have boasted that she knew a lot might have raised doubts in
his mind.

"Anyway," snarled Whittington, "you knew enough to come in here
and plump out that name."

"It might be my own name," Tuppence pointed out.

"It's likely, isn't it, then there would be two girls with a name
like that?"

"Or I might just have hit upon it by chance," continued Tuppence,
intoxicated with the success of truthfulness.