to him. He's definitely your chicken.”
“I think he's just the ordinary pukka old school tie. I think so.”
“That's just it,” said Tuppence, answering a stress rather than actual words. “The worst of this sort of show is that you look at quite ordinary everyday people and twist them to suit your morbid requirements.”
“I've tried a few experiments on Bletchley,” said Tommy.
“What sort of thing? I've got some experiments in mind myself.”
“Well - just gentle ordinary little traps - about dates and places - all that sort of thing.”
“Could you condescend from the general to the particular?”
“Well, say we're talking of duck shooting. He mentions the Fayum - good sport there such and such a year, such and such a month. Some other time I mention Egypt in quite a different connection. Mummies, Tutankhamen, something like that - has he seem that stuff? When was he there? Check up on the answers. Or P.& O. boats - I mention the names of one or two, say so-and-so was a comfortable boat. He mentions some trip or other, later I check that. Nothing important, or anything that puts him on his guard - just a check up on accuracy.”
“And so far he hasn't slipped up in any way?”
“Not once. And that's a pretty good test, let me tell you, Tuppence.”
“Yes, but I suppose if he was N, he would have his story quite pat.”
“Oh, yes - the main outlines of it. But it's not so easy not to trip up on unimportant details. And then occasionally you remember too much - more, that is, than a bona fide person would do. An ordinary person doesn't usually remember offhand whether they took a certain shooting trip in 1926 or 1927. They have to think a bit and search their memory.”
“But so far you haven't caught Bletchley out?”
“So far he's responded in a perfectly normal manner.”
“Result - negative.”
“Exactly.”
“Now,” said Tuppence. “I'll tell you some of my ideas.”
And she proceeded to do so.
N or M
III
On her way home, Mrs Blenkensop stopped at the post office. She bought stamps and on her way out, went into one of the public call boxes. There she rang up a certain number, and asked for “Mr Faraday.” This was the accepted method of communication with Mr Grant. She came out smiling and walked slowly homewards, stopping on the way to purchase some knitting wool.
It was a pleasant afternoon with a light breeze. Tuppence curbed the natural energy of her own brisk trot to that leisurely pace that accorded with her conception of the part of Mrs Blenkensop. Mrs Blenkensop had nothing on earth to do with herself except knit (not too well) and write letters to her boys. She was always writing letters to her boys - sometimes she left them about half finished.
Tuppence came slowly up the hill towards Sans Souci. Since it was not a through road (it ended at Smugglers' Rest, Commander Haydock's house) there was never much traffic - a few tradesmen's vans in the morning. Tuppence passed house after house, amusing herself by noting their names. Bella Vista (inaccurately named, since the merest glimpse of the sea was to be obtained, and the main view was the vast Victorian bulk of Edenholme on the other side of the road). Karachi was the next house. After that came Shirley Tower. Then Sea View (appropriate this time), Castle Clare (somewhat grandiloquent, since it was a small house), Trelawny, a rival establishment to that of Mrs Perenna, and finally the vast maroon bulk of Sans Souci.
It was just as she came near to it that Tuppence became aware of a woman standing by the gate peering inside. There was something tense and vigilant about the figure.
Almost unconsciously. Tuppence softened the sound of her own footsteps, stepping cautiously upon her toes.
It was not until she was close behind her, that the woman heard her and turned. Turned with a start.
She was a tall woman, poorly, even meanly dressed, but her face was unusual. She was not young - probably between forty and
“I think he's just the ordinary pukka old school tie. I think so.”
“That's just it,” said Tuppence, answering a stress rather than actual words. “The worst of this sort of show is that you look at quite ordinary everyday people and twist them to suit your morbid requirements.”
“I've tried a few experiments on Bletchley,” said Tommy.
“What sort of thing? I've got some experiments in mind myself.”
“Well - just gentle ordinary little traps - about dates and places - all that sort of thing.”
“Could you condescend from the general to the particular?”
“Well, say we're talking of duck shooting. He mentions the Fayum - good sport there such and such a year, such and such a month. Some other time I mention Egypt in quite a different connection. Mummies, Tutankhamen, something like that - has he seem that stuff? When was he there? Check up on the answers. Or P.& O. boats - I mention the names of one or two, say so-and-so was a comfortable boat. He mentions some trip or other, later I check that. Nothing important, or anything that puts him on his guard - just a check up on accuracy.”
“And so far he hasn't slipped up in any way?”
“Not once. And that's a pretty good test, let me tell you, Tuppence.”
“Yes, but I suppose if he was N, he would have his story quite pat.”
“Oh, yes - the main outlines of it. But it's not so easy not to trip up on unimportant details. And then occasionally you remember too much - more, that is, than a bona fide person would do. An ordinary person doesn't usually remember offhand whether they took a certain shooting trip in 1926 or 1927. They have to think a bit and search their memory.”
“But so far you haven't caught Bletchley out?”
“So far he's responded in a perfectly normal manner.”
“Result - negative.”
“Exactly.”
“Now,” said Tuppence. “I'll tell you some of my ideas.”
And she proceeded to do so.
N or M
III
On her way home, Mrs Blenkensop stopped at the post office. She bought stamps and on her way out, went into one of the public call boxes. There she rang up a certain number, and asked for “Mr Faraday.” This was the accepted method of communication with Mr Grant. She came out smiling and walked slowly homewards, stopping on the way to purchase some knitting wool.
It was a pleasant afternoon with a light breeze. Tuppence curbed the natural energy of her own brisk trot to that leisurely pace that accorded with her conception of the part of Mrs Blenkensop. Mrs Blenkensop had nothing on earth to do with herself except knit (not too well) and write letters to her boys. She was always writing letters to her boys - sometimes she left them about half finished.
Tuppence came slowly up the hill towards Sans Souci. Since it was not a through road (it ended at Smugglers' Rest, Commander Haydock's house) there was never much traffic - a few tradesmen's vans in the morning. Tuppence passed house after house, amusing herself by noting their names. Bella Vista (inaccurately named, since the merest glimpse of the sea was to be obtained, and the main view was the vast Victorian bulk of Edenholme on the other side of the road). Karachi was the next house. After that came Shirley Tower. Then Sea View (appropriate this time), Castle Clare (somewhat grandiloquent, since it was a small house), Trelawny, a rival establishment to that of Mrs Perenna, and finally the vast maroon bulk of Sans Souci.
It was just as she came near to it that Tuppence became aware of a woman standing by the gate peering inside. There was something tense and vigilant about the figure.
Almost unconsciously. Tuppence softened the sound of her own footsteps, stepping cautiously upon her toes.
It was not until she was close behind her, that the woman heard her and turned. Turned with a start.
She was a tall woman, poorly, even meanly dressed, but her face was unusual. She was not young - probably between forty and
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