‘O.B.’
‘OB=AH. That’s a fat lot of use. Well, we’ll stick ’em down.
O and A in the same line, O and H in the same line, and A and B we knew about before. That looks as though we might be on the right track, but it doesn’t help us much, because none of the letters we’ve already placed comes into it.’
‘Just a moment,’ put in Harriet. ‘I’ve got a brainwave. That town in the heading – it’s supposed to be something in Central Europe. It’s got six letters, and the last two are the first two reversed. How about Warsaw?’
‘By jove! that’s bright! We can but try it. Let’s see – that gives us this He wrote down the new pairs of diagonals.
‘W and X come in the same line,’ he observed, ‘and it’s terribly tempting to imagine that W comes in the last line, next door to X. Otherwise, of course, it must be in the keyword. Just for fun, let’s enter it in the last line in both our diagrams. Now, this becomes interesting. W and N are also in the same line. We can’t place N in the fourth line down, because it’s got to be in line with E. Nor can we put it in the third line down, because there are only six letters that come between N and U, and we should have eight spaces left to put them in. Therefore, if W is rightly placed, N has got to go in the top two lines, which means that it definitely does belong to the key-word.’
Harriet filled the letters in tentatively.
‘That makes Diagram 1 took wrong,’ she said. ‘Why? What have we done? Oh, I know. E and N can’t come together, so if that’s the right diagram, E must come in the third line. I say! That would mean a key-word of eleven letters!’
‘Not necessarily. E may be in its proper alphabetical place. But if Diagram 1 is right, then the beginning of Line 3 is the only place for it. Let’s get on. S and T come in one line, and so do R and T, but RST don’t follow one another, or RS would become ST, which it doesn’t. I should like ST to go in the two places next before U, but we can’t be sure that that is the right place for them. Well, dash it! stick ’em down – if we’re wrong we must do it again, that’s all. There! Now, in that case, R must be in the key-word and therefore in one of the top two spaces on the right of the diagram. That means that RS will be something-T.’
‘But we know RS! If AT = RS, then RS = AT.’
‘Good lord! so it does! That’s fine! That practically proves that our S and T are correct. And now we know that AR must come next to one another in the key-word.’
Harriet pored over the diagrams again.
‘Can’t we do something now with NX = AW? Yes – look! If we put A into either of the squares in Diagram 1, so as to make NX = AW, then A won’t come next to R! So either we’re all wrong, or we can wash our Diagram 1 altogether.’
‘Hurray! Brilliant woman! I always hated Diagram 1, so we’ll stash it. That leaves us with a very hopeful-looking Diagram 2.’
‘I’m glad you think it’s hopeful! How about this business of M and N coming in the same line? Can we do anything with that now?’
‘Why not? Let’s try. Put M immediately below the N spaces. That leaves five spaces between it and S and only three letters to fill them, because we know that N and R are in the key-word. So that M must come in one of the four spaces in the top left-hand corner. Now we do know that NE = MG. Obviously G can’t come immediately between E and N anywhere, because that would give us a key-word with MNG in it, which sounds almost incredible. But that still leaves us with several possible arrangements. Is there anything else we can do?’
‘We can fill in Q in the space before S. It isn’t likely to be in the key-word without its U, and we know roughly what has become of R.’
‘Yes. All right. There it is. Do any of these pairs of letters make sense in the letter itself, by the way?’
‘No. I’ve been trying to fit them in, but they’re remarkably unhelpful. There’s a group AT GM which works out as RS EN, but that might be anything. And quite near the beginning there’s TS followed by QJ. TS = SQ, and you’d expect the next group to be U-something, but it isn’t. QJ must be S-something.’
‘So it is; that shows we’re on the right track. Q is an arbitrary letter stuck in to separate the two S’s. It’s curious how little one can get out of the actual text at this stage. Shows what an ingenious beast of a code it is, doesn’t it? Wait a jiff – the group before that is MG = NE – that gives us NESS. Perfectly possible and even probable, but it might be anything. Here it comes again! Whatever it is, it appears to be important – its the same word, BFFY followed by NESS, but BFFY is simply baffling, I can see nothing for it but to go on struggling with the top left-hand corner. Let’s write out all the possible positions for NE = MG.’
‘I can see one thing,’ said Harriet, ‘and that is that we have got to have a vowel of some kind between M and N, and that vowel can’t be A, E, I, or U, because we’ve placed those elsewhere. Therefore it’s got to be either O or Y.’
‘O for preference. The number of words with MYN in them must be limited. But Y has got to be in the key-word somewhere. The end would be the likeliest place for it. perhaps it ends in MONY. That gives us MONY in Diagram (1), and a word of nine letters. That’s quite plausible. And it’s got to begin with E – G. That’s less pleasant. EBG, ECG – let’s run through the alphabet. EHG – I think not. EIG – pronounceable, but we got I elsewhere. ELG – where’s the dictionary? Nothing there. ENG is impossible, we know where N is – same with ERG. My child, you can wash out all words ending in MONY – they won’t work on Diagram (1) or on Diagram (3), and as for Diagram (2), I refuse to believe in a fourteen-letter word until I’m absolutely forced to.’
‘In that case, you can wash out Diagram (2) altogether.’
‘Right-ho! I don’t mind, though a thirteen-letter word ending in MON is not absolutely inconceivable. In that case, either our word begins with Mon, or it doesn’t.’
‘But it does! We couldn’t find any words beginning E – G.’
‘Nor we could. Now then! We’ve got our E and our G fixed as well as our MON. Now we shan’t be long! Fill them in! Oh! and look here! I’m sure the F must go between the E and the G – it’s so obviously the place for it.’
Harriet filled the diagram in with a quivering pencil.
‘That does look better,’ she admitted. ‘Now, let’s see if it helps to get any sense out of the letter. Bother! What a lot of groups that we still haven’t got! Still no sense for BFFY. Oh! wait! Here’s something! MZ TS XS RS. Now, MZ is something-U, and quite possibly RU; it’s a 50–50 chance, anyway. TS is SQ and XS is S-something, which means that the Q is just a fill-in letter. Now suppose XS = SI – there’s no reason why it shouldn’t. Then RS might quite likely be AT – there’s nothing against it. And suppose – suppose all these supposes are right, then MZTSXSRS is RUSQSIAT. Knock out the Q and we’ve got RUSSIAT. Why couldn’t that be RUSSIA?’
‘Why not, indeed? Let’s make it so. Write the letters down. M O N A R – oh, Harriet!’
‘Don’t joggle!’
‘I must joggle! We’ve got the key-word. MONARCH. Wait a jiff. That leaves three spaces before E, and we’ve only got B and D to put in. Oh, no, I forgot! Y – dear old Y! MONARCHY! Three loud cheers! There you are! All done by kindness! There! There’s your square complete. And jolly pretty it looks, I must say.’
‘Oh, Peter! How marvellous! Let’s dance or do something.’
‘Nonsense! Let’s get on with the job. None of your frivolling now. Start away. PR BF XA LI MK MG BF FY MG TS QJ – and let’s get to the bottom of this BF FY business, once and for all. I’ll read out the diagonals and you write ’em down.’
‘Very well. T – O – H – I – “To His Serene” – can that be right?’
‘It’s English. Hurry up – let’s get BFFY.’
‘ “To His Serene Highness” – Peter! what is all this about?’
Lord Peter turned pale.
‘My God!’ he exclaimed, melodramatically, ‘can it be? Have we been wrong and the preposterous Mrs Weldon right? Shal
l I be reduced, at my time of life, to hunting for a Bolshevik gang? Read on!’
XXIX
THE EVIDENCE OF THE LETTER
‘In one word hear, what soon they all shall hear:
A king’s a man, and I will be no man
Unless I am a king.’
Death’s Jest-Book
Friday, 3 July
‘To His Serene Highness Grand-Duke Pavlo Alexeivitch heir to the throne of the Romanovs.
‘Papers entrusted to us by your Highness now thoroughly examined and marriage of your illustrious ancestress to Tsar Nicholas First proved beyond doubt.’
Harriet paused. ‘What does that mean?’
‘God knows. Nicholas I was no saint, but I didn’t think he ever married anybody except Charlotte-Louise of Prussia. Who the deuce is Paul Alexis’ illustrious ancestress?’
Harriet shook her head and went on reading.
‘All is in readiness. Your people groaning under oppression of brutal Soviets eagerly welcome return of imperial rule to Holy Russia.’
Wimsey shook his head.
‘If so, that’s one in the eye for my Socialist friends. I was told only the other day that Russian Communism was doing itself proud and that the Russian standard of living, measured in boot-consumption, had risen from zero to one pair of boots in three years per head of population. Still, there may be Russians so benighted as not to be content with that state of things.’
‘Alexis did always say he was of noble birth, didn’t he?’
‘He did, and apparently found somebody to believe him. Carry on.’
‘Treaty with Poland happily concluded. Money and arms at your disposal. Your presence alone needed.’
‘Oho!’ said Wimsey. ‘Now we’re coming to it. Hence the passport and the three hundred gold sovereigns.’
‘Spies at work. Use caution. Burn all papers all clues to identity.’
‘He obeyed that bit all right, blow him!’ interjected Wimsey. ‘It looks as though we were now getting down to brass tacks.’
‘On Thursday 18 June take train reaching Darley Halt ten-fifteen walk by coast-road to Flat-Iron Rock. There await Rider from the Sea who brings instruction for your journey to Warsaw. The word is Empire.’
‘The Rider from the Sea? Good gracious! Does that mean that Weldon – that the mare – that –?’
‘Read on. Perhaps Weldon is the hero of the piece instead of the villain. But if so, why didn’t he tell us about it?’
Harriet read on.
‘Bring this paper with you. Silence, secrecy imperative. Boris.’
‘Well!’ said Wimsey. ‘In all this case, from beginning to end, I only seem to have got one thing right. I said that the letter would contain the words: “Bring this paper with you” and it does. But the rest of it beats me. “Pavlo Alexeivitch, heir to the throne of the Romanovs.” Can your land-lady produce anything in the shape of a drink?’
After an interval for refreshment, Wimsey hitched his chair closer to the table and sat staring at the decoded message.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘let’s get this straight. One thing is certain. This is the letter that brought Paul Alexis to the Flat-Iron. Boris sent it, whoever he is. Now, is Boris a friend or an enemy?’
He rumpled his hair wildly, and went on, speaking slowly.
‘The first thing one is inclined to think is that Boris was a friend and that the Bolshevik spies mentioned in the letter got to the Flat-Iron before he did and murdered Alexis and possibly Boris as well. In that case, what about Weldon’s mare? Did she bring the “Rider from the Sea” to his appointment? And was Weldon the rider, and the imperialist friend of Alexis? It’s quite possible, because – no, it isn’t. That’s funny, if you like.’
‘What?’
‘I was going to say, that in that case Weldon could have ridden to the Flat-Iron at twelve o’clock, when Mrs Pollock heard the sound of hoofs. But he didn’t. He was in Wilvercombe. But somebody else may have done so – some friend to whom Weldon lent the mare.’
‘Then how did the murderer get there?’
‘He walked through the water and escaped the same way, after hiding in the niche till you had gone. It was only while Weldon or Bright or Perkins was supposed to be the murderer that the time-scheme presented any real difficulty. But who was the Rider from the Sea? Why does he not come forward and say: “I had an appointment with this man. I saw him alive at such a time?” ’
‘Why, because he is afraid that the man who murdered Alexis will murder him too. But it’s all very confusing. We’ve now got two unknown people to look for instead of one: the Rider from the Sea, who stole the mare and was at the Flat-Iron about midday, and the murderer, who was there at two o’clock.’
‘Yes. How difficult it all is. At any rate, all this explains Weldon and Perkins. Naturally they said nothing about the mare, because she had gone and come again long before either of them was at the camping-ground. Wait a moment, though; that’s odd. How did the Rider from the Sea know that Weldon was going to be away in Wilvercombe that morning? It seems to have been pure accident.’
‘Perhaps the Rider damaged Weldon’s car on purpose.’
‘Yes, but even then, how could he be sure that Weldon would go away? On the face of it, it was far more likely that Weldon would be there, tinkering with his car.’
‘Suppose he knew that Weldon meant to go to Wilvercombe that morning in any case. Then the damaged H.T. lead would be pure bad luck for him, and the fact that Weldon did, after all, get to Wilvercombe, a bit of compensating good luck.’
‘And how did he know about Weldon’s plans?’
‘Possibly he knew nothing about Weldon at all. Weldon only arrived at Darley on the Tuesday, and all this business was planned long before that, as the date of the letter shows. Possibly whoever it was was horrified to find Weldon encamped in Hinks’s Lane and frightfully relieved to see him barge off on the Thursday morning.’
Wimsey shook his head.
‘Talk about coincidence! Well, maybe so. Now let’s go on and see what happened. The Rider made the appointment with Alexis, who would get to the Flat-Iron about 11.45. The Rider met him there, and gave him his instructions – verbally, we may suppose. He then rode back to Darley, loosed the mare and went about his business. Right. The whole thing may have been over by 12.30 or 12.45, and it must have been over by 1.30, or Weldon would have seen him on his return. Meanwhile, what does Alexis do? Instead of getting up and going about his business, he sits peacefully on the rock, waiting for someone to come along and murder him at two o’clock!’
‘He may have been told to sit on a bit, so as not to leave at the same time as the Rider. Or here’s a better idea. When the Rider has gone, Alexis waits for a little bit – say five minutes – at any rate, till his friend is well out of reach. Then up pops the murderer from the niche in the rock, where he has been eavesdropping, and has an interview with Alexis. At two o’clock, the interview ends in murder. Then I turn up, and the murderer pops back into hiding. How’s that? The murderer didn’t show himself while the Rider was there, because he didn’t feel equal to tackling two men at once.’
‘That seems to cover the facts. I only wonder, though, that he didn’t murder you too, while he was about it.’
‘That would make it look much less like suicide.’
‘Very true. But how was it you didn’t see these two people talking animatedly on the Flat-Iron when you arrived and looked over the cliff at one o’clock?’
‘Goodness knows! But if the murderer was standing on the seaward side of the rock – or if they both were – I shouldn’t have seen anything. And they may have been, because it was quite low tide then, and the sand would have been dry.’
‘Yes, so it would. And as the discussion prolonged itself, they saw the tide turn, so they scrambled up on to the rock to keep their feet dry. That would be while you were asleep. But I wonder you didn’t hear the chattage and talkery going on while you were having your lunch. Voices carry well by the sea-sho
re.’
‘Perhaps they heard me scrambling down the cliff and shut up.’
‘Perhaps. And then the murderer, knowing that you were there, deliberately committed his murder under your very nose, so to speak.’
‘He may have thought I had gone. He knew I couldn’t see him at the moment, because he couldn’t see me.’
‘And Alexis yelled, and you woke up, and he had to hide.’
‘That’s about it. It seems to hang together reasonably well. And that means we’ve got to look for a quite new murderer who had an opportunity of knowing about the appointment between Boris and Alexis. And,’ added Harriet, hopefully, ‘it needn’t be a Bolshevik. It might be somebody with a private motive for doing away with Alexis. How about the da Soto gentleman who got the reversion of Leila Garland? Leila may have told him some nasty story about Alexis.’
Wimsey was silent; his thoughts seemed to be wandering. Presently he said:
‘Yes. Only we happen to know that da Soto was playing at the Winter Gardens all that time. But now I want to look at the thing from a quite different point of view. What about this letter? Is it genuine? It’s written on ordinary sort of paper, without a water-mark, which might come from anywhere, so that proves nothing, but if it really comes from a foreign gentleman of the name of Boris, why is it written in English? Surely Russian would be safer and more likely, if Boris was really a Russian imperialist. Then again – all that opening stuff about brutal Soviets and Holy Russia is so vague and sketchy. Does it look like the letter of a serious conspirator doing a real job of work? No names mentioned; no details about the Treaty with Poland; and, on the other hand, endless wasted words about an “illustrious ancestress” and “His Serene Highness”. It doesn’t ring true. It doesn’t look like business. It looks like somebody with a very sketchy idea of the way revolutions really work, trying to flatter that poor boob’s monomania about his birth.’