"It's likely, isn't it, that 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.
Mr. Whittington brought his fist down upon the desk with a bang.
"Quit fooling! How much do you know? And how much do you want?"
The last five words took Tuppence's fancy mightily, especially after a meagre breakfast and a supper of buns the night before. Her present part was of the adventuress rather than the adventurous order, but she did not deny its possibilities. She sat up and smiled with the air of one who has the situation thoroughly well in hand.
"My dear Mr. Whittington," she said, "let us by all means lay our cards upon the table. And pray do not be so angry. You heard me say yesterday that I proposed to live by my wits. It seems to me that I have now proved I have some wits to live by! I admit I have knowledge of a certain name, but perhaps my knowledge ends there."
"Yes—and perhaps it doesn't," snarled Whittington.
"You insist on misjudging me," said Tuppence, and sighed gently.
"As I said once before," said Whittington angrily, "quit fooling, and come to the point. You can't play the innocent with me. You know a great deal more than you're willing to admit."
