“Off I go where?”

“Follow him, of course, silly!  What do you think of the idea?”

“Sort of thing one reads about in books.  I somehow feel that in real life one will feel a bit of an ass standing in the street for hours with nothing to do.  People will wonder what I’m up to.”

“Not in the city.  Every one’s in such a hurry.  Probably no one will even notice you at all.”

“That’s the second time you’ve made that sort of remark.  Never mind, I forgive you.  Anyway, it will be rather a lark.  What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Well,” said Tuppence meditatively.  “I had thought of hats!  Or perhaps silk stockings!  Or perhaps——­”

“Hold hard,” admonished Tommy.  “There’s a limit to fifty pounds!  But let’s do dinner and a show to-night at all events.”

“Rather.”

The day passed pleasantly.  The evening even more so.  Two of the five-pound notes were now irretrievably dead.

They met by arrangement the following morning and proceeded citywards.  Tommy remained on the opposite side of the road while Tuppence plunged into the building.

Tommy strolled slowly down to the end of the street, then back again.  Just as he came abreast of the building, Tuppence darted across the road.

“Tommy!”

“Yes.  What’s up?”

“The place is shut.  I can’t make anyone hear.”

“That’s odd.”

“Isn’t it?  Come up with me, and let’s try again.”

Tommy followed her.  As they passed the third floor landing a young clerk came out of an office.  He hesitated a moment, then addressed himself to Tuppence.

“Were you wanting the Esthonia Glassware?”

“Yes, please.”

“It’s closed down.  Since yesterday afternoon.  Company being wound up, they say.  Not that I’ve ever heard of it myself.  But anyway the office is to let.”

“Th—­thank you,” faltered Tuppence.  “I suppose you don’t know Mr. Whittington’s address?”

“Afraid I don’t.  They left rather suddenly.”

“Thank you very much,” said Tommy.  “Come on, Tuppence.”

They descended to the street again where they gazed at one another blankly.

“That’s torn it,” said Tommy at length.

“And I never suspected it,” wailed Tuppence.

“Cheer up, old thing, it can’t be helped.”

“Can’t it, though!” Tuppence’s little chin shot out defiantly.  “Do you think this is the end?  If so, you’re wrong.  It’s just the beginning!”

“The beginning of what?”

“Of our adventure!  Tommy, don’t you see, if they are scared enough to run away like this, it shows that there must be a lot in this Jane Finn business!  Well, we’ll get to the bottom of it.  We’ll run them down!  We’ll be sleuths in earnest!”

“Yes, but there’s no one left to sleuth.”

“No, that’s why we’ll have to start all over again.  Lend me that bit of pencil.  Thanks.  Wait a minute—­don’t interrupt.  There!” Tuppence handed back the pencil, and surveyed the piece of paper on which she had written with a satisfied eye: