“Albert, miss,” he corrected.

“Albert be it,” said Tuppence.  She glanced mysteriously round the hall.  The effect was purposely a broad one in case Albert should miss it.  She leaned towards the boy and dropped her voice:  “I want a word with you, Albert.”

Albert ceased operations on the fittings and opened his mouth slightly.

“Look!  Do you know what this is?” With a dramatic gesture she flung back the left side of her coat and exposed a small enamelled badge.  It was extremely unlikely that Albert would have any knowledge of it—­indeed, it would have been fatal for Tuppence’s plans, since the badge in question was the device of a local training corps originated by the archdeacon in the early days of the war.  Its presence in Tuppence’s coat was due to the fact that she had used it for pinning in some flowers a day or two before.  But Tuppence had sharp eyes, and had noted the corner of a threepenny detective novel protruding from Albert’s pocket, and the immediate enlargement of his eyes told her that her tactics were good, and that the fish would rise to the bait.

“American Detective Force!” she hissed.

Albert fell for it.

“Lord!” he murmured ecstatically.

Tuppence nodded at him with the air of one who has established a thorough understanding.

“Know who I’m after?” she inquired genially.

Albert, still round-eyed, demanded breathlessly: 

“One of the flats?”

Tuppence nodded and jerked a thumb up the stairs.

“No. 20.  Calls herself Vandemeyer.  Vandemeyer!  Ha! ha!”

Albert’s hand stole to his pocket.

“A crook?” he queried eagerly.

“A crook?  I should say so.  Ready Rita they call her in the States.”

“Ready Rita,” repeated Albert deliriously.  “Oh, ain’t it just like the pictures!”

It was.  Tuppence was a great frequenter of the kinema.

“Annie always said as how she was a bad lot,” continued the boy.

“Who’s Annie?” inquired Tuppence idly.

" ’Ouse-parlourmaid.  She’s leaving to-day.  Many’s the time Annie’s said to me:  ’Mark my words, Albert, I wouldn’t wonder if the police was to come after her one of these days.’  Just like that.  But she’s a stunner to look at, ain’t she?”

“She’s some peach,” allowed Tuppence carelessly.  “Finds it useful in her lay-out, you bet.  Has she been wearing any of the emeralds, by the way?”

“Emeralds?  Them’s the green stones, isn’t they?”

Tuppence nodded.

“That’s what we’re after her for.  You know old man Rysdale?”

Albert shook his head.

“Peter B. Rysdale, the oil king?”

“It seems sort of familiar to me.”

“The sparklers belonged to him.  Finest collection of emeralds in the world.  Worth a million dollars!”

“Lumme!” came ecstatically from Albert.  “It sounds more like the pictures every minute.”