Four Days' Wonder

by A. A. Milne

  You wrote your message out thus:

  ‘AM AT CASTLE HOTEL WITH MONEY FOR YOU ALICE PITMAN.’

  Then you wrote down the number of letters in each word. Thus:

  2265453356

  Then you took away the first letter of each word and put down the result thus:

  MTASTLEOTELITHONEYOROULICEITMAN

  You divided this up, however you liked. For instance:

  MTAS TLEOT ELITHON EYORO ULIC EITM AN

  You put in the figures in ones or twos between the groups, and on each side of the figures you put any letters you liked. Then, at the end, you added all the first letters. Thus:

  MTASK22RTLEOTF6EELITHONS5BEYOROO

  45EULICD33LEITM05QANW6EAACHWMFYAP

  When Jenny first saw this, or something like it, at the age of eleven, she said ‘Oh!’ Nancy explained to her that it was very easy to uncipher, and that her uncle Mr. Pitt, the Prime Minister, thought it was clever.

  ‘How do you begin?’ said Jenny, frowning at it.

  ‘I’ll show you,’ said Nancy. ‘First you count how many figures there are, and there are ten of them, so you take away the last ten letters, but don’t lose them because you’ll want them directly. Then you make a circle round the figures and the letter on each side of the figures, and you don’t bother about the circles any more, except for looking at the figures, and the first figure is 2, so the first word has two letters, and the first letter is the first of the ten you took away, so that’s A, and the first word is AM, do you see, Jenny darling? And the next is AT. And the third has six letters, and it begins with C, so you take the next five, leaving out the circle, which is ASTLE, so it’s CASTLE, d’you see, darling? It’s easy, isn’t it, and my uncle said Napoleon would never guess even if he knew English perfectly, so now we needn’t eat messages any more, even when we get surrounded.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Jenny suddenly. ‘Where’s a pencil, quick! I’m going to write you one.’

  Now sometimes it was necessary that a message should be hidden in a secret place, and if you knew it was there you went and looked, and if you didn’t, then you might miss it. To guard against this Nancy arranged that each of them should have a special sign, which meant: ‘Look out for something from me,’ and it had to be something which you could leave about, and other people wouldn’t notice. They wondered about this for a long time, and Jenny thought their initials ought to come into it somehow, like monograms. And then Nancy said I know! I’ll have “Cap” because it ends in A.P., and you have “Bough” because it ends in G.H.’ Jenny said: ‘Do you mean leaving your tammy about, because you’re always doing that?’ and Nancy said: ‘Well, I never will again, except when it’s a Sign, and every one will say: “How tidy the dear child is getting” and that will be a great joke between us, because I shan’t be really.’ Jenny said: ‘Well, they won’t think I’m getting tidy if I have to leave boughs about everywhere,’ but Nancy explained that it need only be a twig. One day A.P. had been escaping from the licentious soldiery with the help of a pistol which really fired, and she had to hide a message for G.H. in the secret place, so she dropped one of the caps which they used for the pistol, and Jenny saw it and guessed at once, and found the message. So, after that, they both knew that, whatever happened, they would always be all right.

  Would Jenny remember all this? Of course!

  Nancy hurried to the station and bought a Daily Mail. This was the paper which the man had been reading: the paper, therefore, which he would be most ready to lend Jenny. Jenny, of course, would want to read everything she could about herself, and would almost certainly try to borrow all the papers, but, even so, it would be better if the secret message were in the paper which the man had already read, so that he would not be likely to see it. On the outside of the Daily Mail, then, she drew a cap, and in the margin of the page which said WHERE IS JENNY she drew another. Then, hidden away in the most uninteresting part of the paper, she wrote her cipher message MTASK22R . . . It took her a little time to get this done, and she ran from the station waiting-room and down the street in panic lest the car should have gone, but it was still there, and she slowed down and looked about her, wondering just how to do what she had to do. Should she go boldly up to the car from the roadside, or secretly from the common?

  As always, Nancy was for boldness. Be natural, she told herself, and, whatever odd thing you are doing, nobody will suspect you. Be unnatural, and the most innocent action looks suspicious. Nancy walked along the cars swinging her paper; stopped at the coupé; put her head and shoulders in at the window; dropped her Daily Mail on to the seat, and took away the one that was there; smiled, nodded and walked away, still swinging her paper, still smiling. She had recognized a friend in the car and had stopped to shake hands. That was all. Absurdly simple.

  She went back to the station for her bag. At the Castle Hotel she engaged a room, tidied Miss Pitman up, and went off to the Pantiles for tea. Only one thing prevented her from being completely happy. From her bedroom window she could see that dreadful Tank.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Feverish Activity in London

  I

  ‘ALL right, all right,’ said Cook damply from the scullery.

  The telephone-bell went on ringing.

  ‘All right, I’m coming,’ Cook reassured it.

  ‘Telephone, Mrs. Price,’ said Alice helpfully from the kitchen.

  ‘Well, I’m not deaf,’ said Cook, coming out of the scullery still drying her hands. ‘Shut the window, there’s a good girl, there’s so much noise blowing in—Hallo! . . . Yes . . . Window, Alice! . . . Yes?’

  ‘Is that Mr. Watterson’s house?’ said a distant voice.

  ‘Yes, madam.’

  ‘Oh—is that Mrs. Price speaking?’

  ‘Yes, who is it, please?’

  There was a note in Cook’s voice which made Alice come away from the window, and say——

  ‘H’sh! ’ said Cook, waving her back before she could say it. ‘Yes, madam, who is it, please?’

  ‘Oh, Mrs. Price, will you tell Uncle Hubert, please, when he comes in, that I’m quite, quite safe.’

  ‘Miss Jenny!’ shrieked Cook.

  ‘Miss Jenny?’ cried Alice.

  ‘Here, what’s the matter?’ said Hilda, poking her head in from the hall. ‘I say, Alice. I wish you wouldn’t leave all your——’

  ‘S’sh!’ said Cook imperiously. ‘Hallo . . . Hallo! . . . Hallo! . . . Miss Jenny! . . . Hallo!’

  ‘What’s it all about?’ said Hilda. ‘That Marigold again?’

  ‘Miss Jenny on the telephone,’ said Alice eagerly. ‘What did she say, Mrs. Price?’

  ‘Hallo!’ said Cook, refusing to give in. ‘Hallo!’

  ‘Here, let me, ’ said Hilda, taking the telephone from Cook. ‘Hallo!’

  Mrs. Price sank into a chair.

  ‘Well, I never,’ she panted.

  ‘Cut off,’ said Hilda, putting back the receiver. ‘P’raps she’ll ring again. Sure it was her?’

  Cook told them.

  Alice nodded eagerly, understanding it all so well.

  ‘And at that moment’, said Alice, carrying the story on, ‘the Leader of the Gang came in surrepshously, and put one hand over her mouth, and the other——’

  ‘Queer,’ said Hilda thoughtfully. ‘Sounded like as if she was quite all right?’

  ‘Well, I’m telling you. Those were ’er very words. “Tell Uncle Hubert when ’e comes in that I’m quite, quite safe.” ’

  ‘And then, before she could say more, the Leader of the Gang——’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Alice!’

  ‘Now, now, Hilda,’ said Cook, ‘you don’t want to take Alice up like that.’

  ‘Well, what’s she want to be so silly for with ’er silly gangs?’

  ‘You wouldn’t mind’, said Alice, ‘’ow many ga
ngs carried ’er off.’ She sniffed, and went on, ‘I’m the only one as reely——’

  ‘Now, Alice, we don’t want to go into all that again. Those were her words, and if you ask me, she’s quite safe, but doesn’t want anybody to know where she is.’

  ‘That’s about it,’ said Hilda. ‘Gone off with somebody.’

  ‘That I won’t have said,’ declared Cook firmly. ‘Not in my kitchen. Miss Jenny’s not the sort, as you know well——’

  ‘Oh, isn’t she? Well, look at ’er aunt!’

  ‘What aunt?’

  ‘Well, Jane Latour’s ’er aunt, isn’t she? ’Er reel aunt by blood. So it’s in the blood, y’see, and what’s born in the blood, as they say——’

  ‘I s’pose voices ’aven’t never been imitated before,’ said Alice sarcastically to nobody.

  ‘That won’t do, Hilda. You might as well say that because your Aunt Lucy had the dropsy——’

  ‘Never mind my Aunt Lucy,’ said Hilda, a little shrill suddenly. ‘If you think it’s manners to bring up my Aunt Lucy, which I only told you about, talking in secret confidence about aunts——’

  ‘I s’pose voices ’aven’t never been imitated before,’ said Alice on a slightly higher note.

  ‘I’m not one to break a confidence, Hilda, as you know well. And if you overheard anything, Alice, about Hilda’s Aunt Lucy having the dropsy, then you’ll remember, please, it’s a sealed book between us three. All I’m saying——’

  ‘Then say it to yourself,’ cried Hilda, and slammed the door on them.

  Cook’s lower lip was trembling, but she got possession of it again and said kindly to Alice:

  ‘What was that you were saying, Alice, about voices?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Alice, ‘only I s’pose voices can be imitated, can’t they?’

  ‘This wasn’t. It was Miss Jenny ’er very own self. I’ll swear to that. ’Er own voice.’

  ‘Well, hadn’t you better ring up Mr. Marigold? He said to ring up if we heard anything.’

  ‘Miss Jenny didn’t say anything about any Mr. Marigold. She said “Tell Uncle Hubert”, and if that’s what she said, it isn’t my place to tell anybody else. First thing he comes back I go out and tell him.’

  But she didn’t. At a quarter to one Mrs. Watterson came back, bringing her husband with her. Hilda was waiting for her, and hurried into the hall.

  ‘Oh, madam,’ she cried, ‘oh, sir! Miss Jenny’s rung up, and says she’s quite, quite safe!’

  ‘What’s that?’ said Mr. Watterson.

  Hilda gave him the story at full length. It wasn’t really her story, of course, but cooks who drag in people’s Aunt Lucy’s dropsies have got to be taught their place.

  II

  Mr. Bernard Morris, his story ended, twiddled his hat. Inspector Marigold continued to write. Sergeant Bagshaw continued to watch him writing. Mr. Morris looked at Inspector Marigold and at Sergeant Bagshaw, and decided that he didn’t like either of them. There was something about policemen’s faces that made an honest man sick.

  ‘H’m,’ said Inspector Marigold. ‘And you think it was the actual watch?’

  ‘Well, I’m telling you, aren’t I? Holy Snakes and Ladders,’ said Mr. Morris to the ceiling, ‘what d’you think I came here for? Company?’

  ‘I don’t want comments, Morris. Just answer the questions. It had “J” on it in diamonds?’

  ‘That’s what I said. That’s all I do say. I don’t know who’s milky watch it was, and I don’t care. It had a “J” on it in diamonds. Standing for Julius Caesar, I dare say.’

  ‘Now then, Morris,’ put in Sergeant Bagshaw dutifully.

  ‘And you say he pledged it with you, and then half an hour later redeemed it? Now I wonder why he did that?’

  ‘Wanted to know the time per’aps,’ suggested Mr. Morris unhelpfully.

  ‘Cold feet,’ said Sergeant Bagshaw, nodding at the Inspector.

  ‘That’s about it,’ agreed Marigold. ‘You took his name, of course?’

  ‘I did. What d’you think?’

  ‘Well, come on, let’s have it.’

  Mr. Morris searched for, and found, a dirty piece of paper in his waistcoat pocket.

  ‘William Makespeak Thackeray,’ he read.

  ‘Ah! Think it was his real name?’

  ‘Suffering Chorus-girls!’ said Mr. Morris to Heaven. ‘D’you think I looked at his passport, or asked to see the monogram tattooed on his chest?’

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Morris. You know well enough by now when a man’s giving his real name or not.’

  ‘Sweet Potatoes,’ said Mr. Morris, ‘how many——’

  Sergeant Bagshaw cleared his throat and looked self-conscious.

  ‘After you,’ said Mr. Morris courteously.

  ‘It wasn’t,’ announced Sergeant Bagshaw.

  ‘Wasn’t what?’ asked the Inspector.

  ‘Wasn’t his real name.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because he’s a northor.’

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘What he was saying. William Makepeace Thackeray.’

  ‘Well, why shouldn’t he be? Think a northor can’t commit a murder as well as anybody else?’ ‘I mean he’s a classic.’

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘William Makepeace Thackeray.’

  ‘How d’you mean a classic?’

  ‘Like Shakespeare.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Mr. Morris, thinking it was time he joined in again. ‘Like Shakespeare.’

  ‘D’you mean like Edgar Wallace?’

  Sergeant Bagshaw considered this.

  ‘Well, more like Shakespeare,’ he said, wishing to get his values as accurate as possible.

  ‘I told you so,’ said Mr. Morris. ‘We keep telling you. Like Shakespeare.’

  ‘Look here, Bagshaw,’ said the Inspector, ‘where do you get all this?’

  ‘I’ll tell you. It was this way. I had occasion to speak to a gentleman—had to ask him his name. He said, “Thackeray”. I said, “Thackeray, eh?” thinking of Charlie Thackeray, you remember, the forger. North Midland Bank Case. He said, “Know the name, what?” and I said, “I should think I do, sir”—well, considering everything. He says, “Some writer, eh?” and I says, “That’s right, sir. What that Charlie Thackeray couldn’t do with a pen——”and he says, “Charlie? To hell with Charlie. It’s William.” So I says, “Beg your pardon, sir, I ought to know, seeing as it was me——”and he says, “Bet you a fiver, Sergeant, it’s William Makepeace Thackeray. You’re thinking of Charlie Dickens.” Well, then it all came out, as you might say, and it transpired that this William Makepeace Thackeray was a northor like Shakespeare. What they call a classic.’ He nodded at the Inspector. ‘That’s the way it was.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Mr. Morris, twiddling his hat. ‘A classic.’

  ‘Ah! Meaning it might be an alias?’

  ‘A nom de pop,’ translated Mr. Morris.

  ‘That’s right,’ said the Sergeant.

  ‘Might be,’ said the Inspector judicially, ‘and then again, might not be. He said it was his wife’s watch, is that right, Morris?’

  ‘Something o’ that sort. I wasn’t listening too ’ard.’

  The Inspector turned back to Bagshaw.

  ‘Is this William Makepeace Thackeray married?’

  ‘I told you, ’e’s dead.’

  ‘He’s lucky,’ said Mr. Morris to the world.

  ‘Like Shakespeare. Right off the map.’

  ‘Ah! . . . Well let’s have a description of him.’

  Mr. Morris looked expectantly at Sergeant Bagshaw, and waited for a description of William Makepeace Thackeray.

  ‘You, Morris, you fool!’ shouted the Inspector. ‘What was this man like?’

 
‘Who’s a fool?’ said Mr. Morris, annoyed.

  ‘You are.’

  ‘Oh, am I? Well, ’ow did I know you weren’t asking about this other feller?’

  ‘What does it matter about this other feller if he’s dead?’

  ‘Well, what does it matter about him whether he’s married or not?’

  ‘Who said it did?’

  ‘You did.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘You asked him,’ said Mr. Morris, indicating the Sergeant, ‘and he’ll bear me out, you asked him if this William Makepeace Thackeray was married or not. So naturally I thought——”

  ‘Well, I didn’t know he was dead then, did I?’

  ‘Yes, you did. I’d just told you he was a classic. We’d both told you. ’Ow could he be a classic if——’

  ‘Now, now, Morris,’ said Sergeant Bagshaw pacifically. ‘What was ’e like?’

  Mr. Morris turned to him.

  ‘I don’t mind telling you,’ said Mr. Morris with dignity, ‘because you and I are educated men as knows what a classic is, and don’t go calling each other names. Speaking as one college man to another, he was a short, stout feller with a little fair moustache.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Inspector Marigold coldly . . .

  Five minutes later Mr. Morris was in the open again, breathing an air unpolluted by policemen.

  ‘Hips and Thigh-bones!’ cried Mr. Morris to High Heaven. ‘And that’s what has to catch our murderers for us! Why, they couldn’t catch the measles in a Measle ’Ospital.’

  III

  Now all is set for the Inquest on Jane Latour. Now to the little court-room in Merrion Place the fashionable world comes streaming. Hither come the Leaders of Society; the Young Eligible Set, the Young Married Set, the Young Divorced Set. Hither comes the Marquis of Puddlehinton on behalf of his Sunday paper. Hither comes the ex-President of Canova’s solicitor, just in case.