THE SECRET ADVERSARY By Agatha Christie

“Of course,” resumed Tuppence, “marriage is my best chance. I made up my mind to marry money when I was quite young. Any thinking girl would! I’m not sentimental, you know.” She paused. “Come now, you can’t say I’m sentimental,” she added sharply.

“Certainly not,” agreed Tommy hastily. “No one would ever think of sentiment in connection with you.” “That’s not very polite,” replied Tuppence. “But I dare say you mean it all right. Well, there it is! I’m ready and willing--but I never meet any rich men! All the boys I know are about as hard up as I am.” “What about the general?” inquired Tommy.

“I fancy he keeps a bicycle shop in time of peace,” explained Tuppence.

“No, there it is! Now _you_ could marry a rich girl.” “I’m like you. I don’t know any.” “That doesn’t matter. You can always get to know one. Now, if I see a man in a fur coat come out of the _Ritz_ I can’t rush up to him and say: ‘Look here, you’re rich. I’d like to know you.’” “Do you suggest that I should do that to a similarly garbed female?” “Don’t be silly. You tread on her foot, or pick up her handkerchief, or something like that. If she thinks you want to know her she’s flattered, and will manage it for you somehow.” “You overrate my manly charms,” murmured Tommy.

“On the other hand,” proceeded Tuppence, “my millionaire would probably run for his life! No--marriage is fraught with difficulties. Remains--to _make_ money!” “We’ve tried that, and failed,” Tommy reminded her.

“We’ve tried all the orthodox ways, yes. But suppose we try the unorthodox. Tommy, let’s be adventurers!” “Certainly,” replied Tommy cheerfully. “How do we begin?” “That’s the difficulty. If we could make ourselves known, people might hire us to commit crimes for them.” “Delightful,” commented Tommy. “Especially coming from a clergyman’s daughter!”.