“The gentleman on my right…” he said facing the opposite side of the table around which the bag was being passed, “Is Mr Jeptha Farrager, and next to him we have Byron Rothering of the once famous Rothering Hall and family. Further along we have Abraham Glackens, a man of property and tithes in the city. His neighbour is Master Elijah Farrager of Eton I believe.”
I was surprised to find one as young as him sitting here though he was no doubt of good standing, and so I nodded my head to him as did we all and Apollyon continued around the table. “Mister Dickinson Evans is next, a retired gentleman of property.”
Now it was my turn as Apollyon reached me sitting at the foot of the table facing him. He regarded me at precisely the same time that the bag of tickets reached me from the far side of the table.
“At the foot of the table we have one Mister Jacob Ewan, an administrator in the civil service, and continuing up the left hand side of the table we have Mister Geoffrey Berkeley, a London banker no less, and next to him Cornelius Radley, an engineering apprentice from the City.” Radley nodded almost as if in a bow and the earl continued. “Next we have Zachariah Faulkner, a man of property from the Devonshire hills, and to his right Seamus Flanagan who has travelled all of the way from Ireland to be with us tonight I believe.”
Flanagan nodded vaguely as if his mind was elsewhere but we all greeted him with our usual nods as seemed to be par for the course. Apollyon continued, though now there was only one person left; the man sitting directly to his left.
“The empty chair on my left is here purely to balance the place settings on either side.” He gave a broad wink. “Very important that both sides are equal, of course.” He seemed to consider this as soon as he had said it. “To start with anyway.” He finally concluded.
I felt as if I had been slapped about the face. Surely there was some mistake? I noticed that the man who looked like Moon was shuffling in his seat, and I made to draw his Lordship’s attention to the fact that the chair was not empty at all. He had already however moved on. Slowly the man turned to face me.
“And I am Gabriel Moon” he announced, much to my consternation. Moon stretched his arm across the table pointing at me, “this man’s servant.” he concluded. Yet nobody apart from myself seemed pay him much attention at all.
“Now who is to go first?” smiled the Earl as I sat thunderstruck. In an attempt to calm myself I looked at the unopened ticket clutched in my fist. I uncurled it and saw the number ten revealed there. So I was to be last! At least I would have the opportunity to gauge the opposition as it were, for I had yet to settle upon a suitable story, thinking I would no doubt be able to construct a tale of some kind when called upon to do so. As I may have stated previously, I am not a man given to daydreams or flights of fancy, but I am sure however that I could construct some cock and bull nonsense about a ghost if I really was required to do so, though for the life of me I could not see why it was necessary! Glaring at Moon once more who was still clearly unable to meet my eye I forced my attention back to the Earl.
“So who is first?” he asked, and the man of property from the city, Abraham Glackens I seemed to recall the Earl had called him turned his ticket face up.
“So it seems to always be the way for me to be the first.” he smiled in a fine deep voice.
“Indeed.” said the Earl, smiling wildly. “Now what shall be the title of this tale?” he enquired, raising an eyebrow.
The gentlemen paused slightly, as if considering this, and then drew deeply on his cigar before blowing smoke across the table, the thick grey cloud catching in the candlelight.
“I shall call it, “13 across: Extraneous pin did fatally turn” he said, and he smiled broadly.
“A curious title for a story!” Said the Earl, no doubt registering the confused look on the faces of the other gentlemen seated around the table. He then sat back in his chair and placed his boots upon the table once again in a manner that appeared to me to be at best vaguely intimidating. “So let us begin Mister Glackens, let us begin…”
13 Across: Extraneous Pin Did
Fatally Turn
If I pride myself on anything at all then it is upon my command of the English language. I fear that far too many fools these days fail to either use or indeed understand their mother tongue! Abbreviation and slang are but an anathema to me, and as for what our American cousins have done to the Queen’s English the less said the better for it is naught but an abomination. Simplified English it is, no more than that. I cannot even look upon their ill scrawled mis-spellings without a sickness creeping into my very soul. Such ignorance is rarely rewarded, mark my words on that and of their obnoxious corruption of the Queen’s English I shall say no more!
My preoccupation with the language of my forefathers is no more evident that that by the use of my no doubt considerable linguistic skills in the solving of the daily Times Word Cross, or as it is now more commonly known, “Crossword” for some completely unfathomable reason.
My name is as you have heard, Abraham Glackens and as his Lordship the Earl of Ranleigh indicated I am a man of property in the city though these days my investments require little attention and my status could best be described as, “comfortably retired”. I am it could be said not by nature a man who admires change, and “Word Cross” seemed as good a title as any, so why change it to “Cross Word” in the first place?
The daily pitting of my wits against the compiler of these fiendish puzzles eases my mornings at the club of which I am presently a member, though of course today I seek advancement in that respect, as indeed do we all.
However, this is not my point. I am an early riser and like to be in the study of my club at precisely seven in the morning to be delivered there the day’s copy of the Times. The news holds little interest to me, though I will admit to casually glancing at it when I become stuck on a particular clue or merely require a break from my tussle with the daily puzzle.
For the purpose of my daily vocabularic conflict I require always the seat in the alcove nearest the window. No other place will do, and luckily the staff at the club are aware of this and keep it empty for me. Yet I feel this is no great hardship for them as at that time in the morning I am usually the only member of the club present, though infrequently people show their face in the doorway, usually on their way to break their fast and the like. The one thing about the study is of course the rule that silence shall prevail in this room. Like a library, speech is frowned upon and it is for this reason I select the study for my morning relaxation with great care. The word cross demands all of my attention you see, for it is a fiendish device and usually I can be found pitting my wits against the compiler well past ten o'clock, though some days I am quicker than that, though I am on those rare occasions somewhat disappointed should I find that to be the case. Nevertheless, I am not in any manner complaining of the complexity of the puzzle. My pride demands no easy answers; no dilution of the challenge. Less than this leads to dissatisfaction, and I seem to find that ill humours pursue me for the rest of my day.
To complete the Word Cross, I always have the same fountain pen carefully placed in my jacket pocket, freshly filled with the best Indian ink before I descend to the study to be presented with my newspaper. To attempt to complete it with any other writing implement would be sacrilege, indeed the very thought of it makes me shudder!
So I make my way to the study and proceed to my usual table where soon after the days copy of the Times is delivered to me by a member of staff. As I have stated previously my preferred place of seating is in the alcove of the reading room that overlooks the street outside, a small table sitting between myself and another armchair facing me. The leather of these armchairs is exquisite, and I can quite happily be seated there for many an hour without experiencing any discomfort whatsoever. The other armchair is always unoccupied of course, for I require no distractions during my daily routine. Upon that I insist, the matter of which I am sure the staff are fully aware for I have never had as
of yet cause to complain. There is always a fresh pot of tea awaiting me when I seat myself in the alcove, and it is replenished precisely at nine thirty, during which I take a thoroughly enjoyable break from my puzzle and merely enjoy the comings and goings outside of the window, allowing the world to drift past as I take my repose.
I always aim to have at least half of the puzzle done by this point, though usually I am much more advanced in my completion of the word cross than that. Such is my command of the Queen’s English that usually I am as good as finished by this point, with just a few stray clues and so on left to tidy up at my leisure. I do seem to recall though that there was one occasion in the summer of last year when I had the puzzle finished well before the nine thirty tea arrived. What an excellent day that was! August the fourteenth I seem to recall, though thinking on it may have just possibly been the fifteenth. You must understand that my skill is with words, not numbers, though I have a rudimentary grasp of algebra and the like; enough for an English gentleman anyway. No more, no less.
So to the crux of my story. Several days ago it was a dark winter’s morning as I took my seat in the alcove, a newly lit fire in the hearth however warmed the room more than sufficiently. As I poured my tea and opened the newspaper to where the Word Cross was printed I laid the puzzle on the table reverentially and opening my jacket retrieved and uncapped my fountain pen. My progress was rapid this morning, for although the clues were not any less difficult than normal my word skills made short work of them. One clue was proving difficult however and I sat studying it for more time than I care to mention, yet this morning the solution would simply not come to my mind. Sometimes it is like this. Often answers appear in my head unbidden. For this clue today however this was just not the case. I glanced at the clock on the church steeple across the way outside and saw that it was barely nine yet, and so diverted my attention away from the problematic clue and concentrated on the others I had yet to complete. I find it is often the case that whilst attempting to solve one clue the answer to another I have struggled with often appears in my mind. Obviously some part of my brain is still working on it and when cracked the solution will make itself apparent. The human mind is a marvellous thing; mine probably more than most, certainly where words are concerned as it were.
As I was concentrating there was a sudden loud crash from the hallway outside, as if some person, no doubt a careless member of staff, had dropped a large tray and it clattered loudly to the floor, shattering the silence. I must say I must have shot a good foot into the air, so startled was I. I felt my heart racing and feeling vaguely enraged I slumped back in the armchair as silence fell once again. I thought of rising from where I sat and taking the person responsible to task, but my head was spinning so badly that I resolved to leave the damned fool to it!
Feeling out of sorts I turned my attention back to the Word Cross and attempted the stubborn clue again, yet I could not decipher it. For some time, I was lost in thought as all the permutations for the solution of this stubborn clue ran through my head. Yet after being startled by the noise from the hall I could not concentrate and so I sat back in the chair, letting the newspaper fall onto my lap.
Which is when I had the second rather alarming and downright irritating disruption to my morning. Sitting in the armchair directly opposite me was a small bald headed man, staring at where mere seconds before the back of my newspaper would have been held. It would appear this damned intruder had the gall not only to be sitting opposite from myself but also that he also had the damned nerve to be actually reading from the front of my newspaper! I had obviously been so engaged with my Word Cross that I had not even noticed his arrival.
I felt my face colour with outrage but the man did not seem to even notice the paper was gone. Then slowly he turned his face to mine and smiled.
“Good morning.” he said, his smile increasing. Good Lord! Did this man have no manners? This was a silent room, and not only that but in a room in which I was currently the only occupant! He had come and sat right down in front of me, and then had the guile and bare faced cheek to start reading my personal newspaper! Not only that but now he seemed to be attempting to pass the time of day with me. “Perhaps he is foreign!”, I seem to remember thinking. That would explain everything. Yet I did not detect any accent in his voice.
I rose rapidly from my armchair and went to the study door. I looking up and down the corridor for a member of staff to complain to. I snorted in outrage for there never seemed to be any staff available when you needed them most, and so I stomped back to my armchair and threw myself into it. Glancing at the man sitting opposite me I noticed an infuriating smile playing across his corpulent cheeks and so I rustled my newspaper in front of him, hiding him from view.
“I think it will rain later.” he said, and I looked over my newspaper at him and shook it violently. This really was too much!
“Shhh!” I hissed at him and to my increasing chagrin I noticed his smile grew wider. Yet at least he had the grace to stay silent as I attempted to concentrate on my Word Cross once again, though I fear to admit that my concentration was by now shattered. A few minutes passed as I solved a few more of the clues, but my heart was not really in it. I was still determined to ignore the man sitting opposite me, however. I took a chance to observe him from time to time and he appeared to be content to sit and look out of the window now, though he did look back to my newspaper frequently I noted.
“Crossword is it?” he asked suddenly and I slammed my newspaper down on the coffee table loudly.
“My good fellow this is a silent room and I insist that you keep it so. Your impertinence of sitting across from me when every other seat in the room is perfectly free and your sheer ruddy lack of manners in speaking to me of inanities in a damned silent room is quite frankly intolerable. Desist sir, or I shall find a member of staff to remove you!”
At this the man’s right eyebrow rose slightly, yet still he continued staring at me.
“Yet you are speaking too sir.” he smiled, holding my gaze shamelessly.
“Only because you started talking to me first!” I replied petulantly and grasping the newspaper back from the coffee table hid behind it once again.
“Never quite got the hang of the crossword.” he said a little more quietly, but not as quietly as I was hoping for.
“It is called, The Word Cross.” I spluttered from behind my newspaper.”
“No.” he said and I could feel his damned smile even from behind my copy of The Times. “Not for some two years now.” I looked over the top of the paper at him and yes, I was correct. His face wore that infuriating smile yet again. “You should keep up with the times.” he finished, and gave me a wink no doubt intending me to respond to his crude pun. I most certainly did not.
“That is enough!” I said and standing stomped my way into the hall. Still no staff. I was about to make my way down to the reception hall when, glancing back into the room I saw the man pick up my copy of The Times and begin to examine the crossword. In the name of God such impertinence! I flew back into the room and snatched my newspaper from him rudely.
“How dare you?” I began, and found myself torn between rushing off to complain or taking my seat again. I saw at that precise moment a butler walk past the doorway, making his way along the corridor. I raced back to follow him and shouted after him but he did not appear to hear me, and as he rounded a corner and disappeared from view I resolved to take my seat again and await the arrival of my nine thirty tea service when I would have adequate time to complain to whichever member of staff delivered it and get this damnable intruder removed! I would be damned if I were to let this man drive me from my favourite spot!
“Is there a secret to them?” the man asked as I sat down again. Obviously he was determined to upset my morning, but soon my tea would be here. I glanced at the clock on the steeple outside. Nine fifteen it read, and so I only had fifteen more minutes to put up with this buffoon!
“Secret to what?” I snarled
as aggressively as I could, but the man was obviously simple in the mind for he just kept looking at me, his very visage a pure modicum of placidity.
“The crossword.” he said as if this were evident to me. “It seems to me that there must be some form of secret to them, for I am not dull witted but it all seems like a foreign language to me.
“There is no secret.” I spat. “All that is required is a small amount of intelligence, which is no doubt the reason why you struggle with them so.”
“And yet…” he smiled as I considered holding my paper up to blot him from my view again. Oh if only that were the case and he would stop wittering at me, for I feared that if I were to try to hide from him from behind my newspaper he would just continue to talk at me anyway! I was resolved by now that all I had to do was wait until nine thirty and my tea and then I could have this idiot removed. Then my morning could return to normal. So I decided to answer his question.
“Double definitions and homonyms. These are but some of the main devices employed by the compiler.” I noted his complete lack of understanding with relish. “There are others, but they are the main ones. Once you have encountered them frequently you come to recognise them.”
The Waiting Room Page 3