"How horrid you are, Tommy. Just as though we didn't count."

"Sorry, Tuppence. What I meant was that we work like moles in
the dark, and that he has no suspicion of our nefarious schemes.
Ha ha!"

"Ha ha!" echoed Tuppence approvingly, as she rose.

South Audley Mansions was an imposing-looking block of flats just
off Park Lane. No. 20 was on the second floor.

Tommy had by this time the glibness born of practice. He rattled
off the formula to the elderly woman, looking more like a
housekeeper than a servant, who opened the door to him.

"Christian name?"

"Margaret."

Tommy spelt it, but the other interrupted him.

"No, G U E."

"Oh, Marguerite; French way, I see." He paused, then plunged
boldly. "We had her down as Rita Vandemeyer, but I suppose that's
incorrect?"

"She's mostly called that, sir, but Marguerite's her name."