"Jane Finn," she said hastily; and then paused open-mouthed at
the effect of those two simple words.

All the geniality had faded out of Whittington's face. It was
purple with rage, and the veins stood out on the forehead. And
behind it all there lurked a sort of incredulous dismay. He
leaned forward and hissed savagely:

"So that's your little game, is it?"

Tuppence, though utterly taken aback, nevertheless kept her head.
She had not the faintest comprehension of his meaning, but she
was naturally quick-witted, and felt it imperative to "keep her
end up" as she phrased it.

Whittington went on:

"Been playing with me, have you, all the time, like a cat and
mouse? Knew all the time what I wanted you for, but kept up the
comedy. Is that it, eh?"  He was cooling down.  The red colour
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.

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."

Tuppence paused a moment to admire her own ingenuity, and then
said softly:

"I shouldn't like to contradict you, Mr. Whittington."

"So we come to the usual question--how much?"

Tuppence was in a dilemma.  So far she had fooled Whittington
with complete success, but to mention a palpably impossible sum
might awaken his suspicions.  An idea flashed across her brain.

"Suppose we say a little something down, and a fuller discussion
of the matter later?"

Whittington gave her an ugly glance.

"Blackmail, eh?"

Tuppence smiled sweetly.

"Oh no!  Shall we say payment of services in advance?"

Whittington grunted.