“Well,” said Tommy, looking out of the window of the Crown and Anchor,“here we are at Toad1 in the Hole — or whatever this blasted village iscalled.”
“Let us review the case,” said Tuppence.
“By all means,” said Tommy. “To begin with, getting my say in first, Isuspect the invalid2 mother!”
“Why?”
“My dear Tuppence, grant that this poltergeist business is all a put-upjob, got up in order to persuade the girl to sell the house, someone musthave thrown the things about. Now the girl said everyone was at dinner—but if the mother is a thoroughgoing invalid, she’d be upstairs in herroom.”
“If she was an invalid she could hardly throw furniture about.”
“Ah! but she wouldn’t be a real invalid. She’d be shamming3.”
“Why?”
“There you have me,” confessed her husband. “I was really going on thewell-known principle of suspecting the most unlikely person.”
“You always make fun of everything,” said Tuppence severely4. “Theremust be something that makes these people so anxious to get hold of thehouse. And if you don’t care about getting to the bottom of this matter, Ido. I like that girl. She’s a dear.”
Tommy nodded seriously enough.
“I quite agree. But I never can resist ragging you, Tuppence. Of course,there’s something queer about the house, and whatever it is, it’s some-thing that’s difficult to get at. Otherwise a mere5 burglary would do thetrick. But to be willing to buy the house means either that you’ve got totake up floors or pull down walls, or else that there’s a coal mine underthe back garden.”
“I don’t want it to be a coal mine. Buried treasure is much more ro-mantic.”
“H’m,” said Tommy. “In that case I think that I shall pay a visit to thelocal Bank Manager, explain that I am staying here over Christmas andprobably buying the Red House, and discuss the question of opening anaccount.”
“But why—?”
“Wait and see.”
Tommy returned at the end of half an hour. His eyes were twinkling.
“We advance, Tuppence. Our interview proceeded on the lines indic-ated. I then asked casually6 whether he had had much gold paid in, as is of-ten the case nowadays in these small country banks—small farmers whohoarded it during the war, you understand. From that we proceeded quitenaturally to the extraordinary vagaries7 of old ladies. I invented an auntwho on the outbreak of war drove to the Army and Navy Stores in a four-wheeler, and returned with sixteen hams. He immediately mentioned aclient of his own, who had insisted on drawing out every penny of moneyshe had—in gold as far as possible, and who also insisted on having her se-curities, bearer bonds and such things, given into her own custody8. I ex-claimed on such an act of folly9, and he mentioned casually that she wasthe former owner of the Red House. You see, Tuppence? She drew out allthis money, and she hid it somewhere. You remember that Monica Deanementioned that they were astonished at the small amount of her estate?
Yes, she hid it in the Red House, and someone knows about it. I can make apretty good guess who that someone is too.”
“Who?”
“What about the faithful Crockett? She would know all about her mis-tress’s peculiarities11.”
“And that gold-toothed Dr. O’Neill?”
“The gentlemanly nephew, of course! That’s it. But whereabouts did shehide it. You know more about old ladies than I do, Tuppence. Where dothey hide things?”
“Wrapped up in stockings and petticoats, under mattresses12.”
Tommy nodded.
“I expect you’re right. All the same, she can’t have done that because itwould have been found when her things were turned over. It worries me—you see, an old lady like that can’t have taken up floors or dug holes inthe garden. All the same it’s there in the Red House somewhere. Crocketthasn’t found it, but she knows it’s there, and once they get the house tothemselves, she and her precious nephew, they can turn it upside downuntil they find what they’re after. We’ve got to get ahead of them. Comeon, Tuppence. We’ll go to the Red House.”
Monica Deane received them. To her mother and Crockett they wererepresented as would-be purchasers of the Red House, which would ac-count for their being taken all over the house and grounds. Tommy didnot tell Monica of the conclusions he had come to, but he asked her vari-ous searching questions. Of the garments and personal belongings13 of thedead woman, some had been given to Crockett and the others sent to vari-ous poor families. Everything had been gone through and turned out.
“Did your aunt leave any papers?”
“The desk was full, and there were some in a drawer in her bedroom,but there was nothing of importance amongst them.”
“Have they been thrown away?”
“No, my mother is always very loath14 to throw away old papers. Therewere some old- fashioned recipes among them which she intends to gothrough one day.”
“Good,” said Tommy approvingly. Then, indicating an old man who wasat work upon one of the flower beds in the garden, he asked: “Was that oldman the gardener here in your aunt’s time?”
“Yes, he used to come three days a week. He lives in the village. Poor oldfellow, he is past doing any really useful work. We have him just once aweek to keep things tidied up. We can’t afford more.”
Tommy winked15 at Tuppence to indicate that she was to keep Monicawith her, and he himself stepped across to where the gardener was work-ing. He spoke16 a few pleasant words to the old man, asked him if he hadbeen there in the old lady’s time, and then said casually.
“You buried a box for her once, didn’t you?”
“No, sir, I never buried naught17 for her. What should she want to bury abox for?”
Tommy shook his head. He strolled back to the house frowning. It wasto be hoped that a study of the old lady’s papers would yield some clue—otherwise the problem was a hard one to solve. The house itself was old-fashioned, but not old enough to contain a secret room or passage.
Before leaving, Monica brought them down a big cardboard box tiedwith string.
“I’ve collected all the papers,” she whispered. “And they’re in here. Ithought you could take it away with you, and then you’ll have plenty oftime to go over them—but I’m sure you won’t find anything to throw lighton the mysterious happenings in this house—”
Her words were interrupted by a terrific crash overhead. Tommy ranquickly up the stairs. A jug18 and a basin in one of the front rooms was lyingon the ground broken to pieces. There was no one in the room.
“The ghost up to its tricks again,” he murmured with a grin.
He went downstairs again thoughtfully.
“I wonder, Miss Deane, if I might speak to the maid, Crockett, for aminute.”
“Certainly. I will ask her to come to you.”
Monica went off to the kitchen. She returned with the elderly maid whohad opened the door to them earlier.
“We are thinking of buying this house,” said Tommy pleasantly, “andmy wife was wondering whether, in that case, you would care to remainon with us?”
Crockett’s respectable face displayed no emotion of any kind.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “I should like to think it over if I may.”
Tommy turned to Monica.
“I am delighted with the house, Miss Deane. I understand that there isanother buyer in the market. I know what he has offered for the house,and I will willingly give a hundred more. And mind you, that is a goodprice I am offering.”
Monica murmured something noncommittal, and the Beresfords tooktheir leave.
“I was right,” said Tommy, as they went down the drive, “Crockett’s in it.
Did you notice that she was out of breath? That was from running downthe backstairs after smashing the jug and basin. Sometimes, very likely,she has admitted her nephew secretly, and he has done a little poltergeist-ing, or whatever you call it, whilst she has been innocently with the fam-ily. You’ll see Dr. O’Neill will make a further offer before the day is out.”
True enough, after dinner, a note was brought. It was from Monica.
“I have just heard from Dr. O’Neill. He raises his previous offer by?150.”
“The nephew must be a man of means,” said Tommy thoughtfully. “AndI tell you what, Tuppence, the prize he’s after must be well worthwhile.”
“Oh! Oh! Oh! if only we could find it!”
“Well, let’s get on with the spade work.”
They were sorting through the big box of papers, a wearisome affair, asthey were all jumbled19 up pell-mell without any kind of order or method.
Every few minutes they compared notes.
“What’s the latest, Tuppence?”
“Two old receipted bills, three unimportant letters, a recipe for pre-serving new potatoes and one for making lemon cheesecake. What’syours?”
“One bill, a poem on Spring, two newspaper cuttings: ‘Why Women buyPearls—a sound investment,’ and ‘Man with Four Wives—ExtraordinaryStory,’ and a recipe for Jugged Hare.”
“It’s heartbreaking,” said Tuppence, and they fell to once more. At lastthe box was empty. They looked at each other.
“I put this aside,” said Tommy, picking up a half sheet of notepaper, “be-cause it struck me as peculiar10. But I don’t suppose it’s got anything to dowith what we’re looking for.”
“Let’s see it. Oh! it’s one of these funny things, what do they call them?
Anagrams, charades21 or something.” She read it:
“My first you put on glowing coal
And into it you put my whole;
My second really is the first;
My third mislikes the winter blast.”
“H’m,” said Tommy critically. “I don’t think much of the poet’s rhymes.”
“I don’t see what you find peculiar about it, though,” said Tuppence.
“Everybody used to have a collection of these sort of things about fiftyyears ago. You saved them up for winter evenings round the fire.”
“I wasn’t referring to the verse. It’s the words written below it thatstrike me as peculiar.”
“St. Luke, xi, 9,” she read. “It’s a text.”
“Yes. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? Would an old lady of a religiouspersuasion write a text just under a charade20?”
“It is rather odd,” agreed Tuppence thoughtfully.
“I presume that you, being a clergyman’s daughter, have got your Biblewith you?”
“As a matter of fact, I have. Aha! you didn’t expect that. Wait a sec.”
Tuppence ran to her suitcase, extracted a small red volume and re-turned to the table. She turned the leaves rapidly. “Here we are. Luke,chapter xi, verse 9. Oh! Tommy, look.”
Tommy bent22 over and looked where Tuppence’s small finger pointed23 toa portion of the verse in question.
“Seek and ye shall find.”
“That’s it,” cried Tuppence. “We’ve got it! Solve the cryptogram24 and thetreasure is ours—or rather Monica’s.”
“Well, let’s get to work on the cryptogram, as you call it. ‘My first you puton glowing coal.’ What does that mean, I wonder? Then—‘My second reallyis the first.’ That’s pure gibberish.”
“It’s quite simple, really,” said Tuppence kindly25. “It’s just a sort of knack26.
Let me have it.”
Tommy surrendered it willingly. Tuppence ensconced herself in an arm-chair, and began muttering to herself with bent brows.
“It’s quite simple, really,” murmured Tommy when half an hour hadelapsed.
“Don’t crow! We’re the wrong generation for this. I’ve a good mind to goback to town tomorrow and call on some old pussy27 who would probablyread it as easy as winking28. It’s a knack, that’s all.”
“Well, let’s have one more try.”
“There aren’t many things you can put on glowing coal,” said Tuppencethoughtfully. “There’s water, to put it out, or wood, or a kettle.”
“It must be one syllable29, I suppose? What about wood, then?”
“You couldn’t put anything into wood, though.”
“There’s no one syllable word instead of water, but there must be onesyllable things you can put on a fire in the kettle line.”
“Saucepans,” mused30 Tuppence. “Frying pans. How about pan? or pot?
What’s a word beginning pan or pot that is something you cook?”
“Pottery,” suggested Tommy. “You bake that in the fire. Wouldn’t that benear enough?”
“The rest of it doesn’t fit. Pancakes? No. Oh! bother.”
They were interrupted by the little serving maid, who told them thatdinner would be ready in a few minutes.
“Only Mrs. Lumley, she wanted to know if you like your potatoes fried,or boiled in their jackets? She’s got some of each.”
“Boiled in their jackets,” said Tuppence promptly31. “I love potatoes—”
She stopped dead with her mouth open.
“What’s the matter, Tuppence? Have you seen a ghost?”
“Tommy,” cried Tuppence. “Don’t you see? That’s it! The word, I mean.
Potatoes! ‘My first you put on glowing coal’—that’s pot. ‘And into it you putmy whole.’ ‘My second really is the first.’ That’s A, the first letter of the al-phabet. ‘My third mislikes the wintry blast’—cold toes of course!”
“You’re right, Tuppence. Very clever of you. But I’m afraid we’ve wastedan awful lot of time over nothing. Potatoes don’t fit in at all with missingtreasure. Half a sec, though. What did you read out just now, when wewere going through the box? Something about a recipe for New Potatoes. Iwonder if there’s anything in that.”
He rummaged32 hastily through the pile of recipes.
“Here it is. ‘To KEEP NEW POTATOES. Put the new potatoes into tins andbury them in the garden. Even in the middle of winter, they will taste asthough freshly dug.’
“We’ve got it,” screamed Tuppence. “That’s it. The treasure is in thegarden, buried in a tin.”
“But I asked the gardener. He said he’d never buried anything.”
“Yes, I know, but that’s because people never really answer what yousay, they answer what they think you mean. He knew he’d never buriedanything out of the common. We’ll go tomorrow and ask him where heburied the potatoes.”
The following morning was Christmas Eve. By dint33 of inquiry34 they foundthe old gardener’s cottage. Tuppence broached35 the subject after someminutes’ conversation.
“I wish one could have new potatoes at Christmas time,” she remarked.
“Wouldn’t they be good with turkey? Do people round here ever burythem in tins? I’ve heard that keeps them fresh.”
“Ay, that they do,” declared the old man. “Old Miss Deane, up to the RedHouse, she allus had three tins buried every summer, and as often as notforgot to have ’em dug up again!”
“In the bed by the house, as a rule, didn’t she?”
“No, over against the wall by the fir tree.”
Having got the information they wanted, they soon took their leave ofthe old man, presenting him with five shillings as a Christmas box.
“And now for Monica,” said Tommy.
“Tommy! You have no sense of the dramatic. Leave it to me. I’ve got abeautiful plan. Do you think you could manage to beg, borrow or steal aspade?”
Somehow or other, a spade was duly produced, and that night, late, twofigures might have been seen stealing into the grounds of the Red House.
The place indicated by the gardener was easily found, and Tommy set towork. Presently his spade rang on metal, and a few seconds later he hadunearthed a big biscuit tin. It was sealed round with adhesive36 plaster andfirmly fastened down, but Tuppence, by the aid of Tommy’s knife, soonmanaged to open it. Then she gave a groan37. The tin was full of potatoes.
She poured them out, so that the tin was completely empty, but there wereno other contents.
“Go on digging, Tommy.”
It was some time before a second tin rewarded their search. As before,Tuppence unsealed it.
“Well?” demanded Tommy anxiously.
“Potatoes again!”
“Damn!” said Tommy, and set to once more.
“The third time is lucky,” said Tuppence consolingly.
“I believe the whole thing’s a mare’s nest,” said Tommy gloomily, but hecontinued to dig.
At last a third tin was brought to light.
“Potatoes aga—” began Tuppence, then stopped. “Oh, Tommy, we’ve gotit. It’s only potatoes on top. Look!”
She held up a big old-fashioned velvet38 bag.
“Cut along home,” cried Tommy. “It’s icy cold. Take the bag with you. Imust shovel39 back the earth. And may a thousand curses light upon yourhead, Tuppence, if you open that bag before I come!”
“I’ll play fair. Ouch! I’m frozen.” She beat a speedy retreat.
On arrival at the inn she had not long to wait. Tommy was hard uponher heels, perspiring40 freely after his digging and the final brisk run.
“Now then,” said Tommy, “the private inquiry agents make good! Openthe loot, Mrs. Beresford.”
Inside the bag was a package done up in oil silk and a heavy chamoisleather bag. They opened the latter first. It was full of gold sovereigns.
Tommy counted them.
“Two hundred pounds. That was all they would let her have, I suppose.
Cut open the package.”
Tuppence did so. It was full of closely folded banknotes. Tommy andTuppence counted them carefully. They amounted to exactly twenty thou-sand pounds.
“Whew!” said Tommy. “Isn’t it lucky for Monica that we’re both rich andhonest? What’s that done up in tissue paper?”
Tuppence unrolled the little parcel and drew out a magnificent string ofpearls, exquisitely41 matched.
“I don’t know much about these things,” said Tommy slowly. “But I’mpretty sure that those pearls are worth another five thousand pounds atleast. Look at the size of them. Now I see why the old lady kept that cuttingabout pearls being a good investment. She must have realised all her se-curities and turned them into notes and jewels.”
“Oh, Tommy, isn’t it wonderful? Darling Monica. Now she can marryher nice young man and live happily ever afterwards, like me.”
“That’s rather sweet of you, Tuppence. So you are happy with me?”
“As a matter of fact,” said Tuppence, “I am. But I didn’t mean to say so. Itslipped out. What with being excited, and Christmas Eve, and one thingand another—”
“If you really love me,” said Tommy, “will you answer me one ques-tion?”
“I hate these catches,” said Tuppence, “but—well—all right.”
“Then how did you know that Monica was a clergyman’s daughter?”
“Oh, that was just cheating,” said Tuppence happily. “I opened her lettermaking an appointment, and a Mr. Deane was father’s curate once, and hehad a little girl called Monica, about four or five years younger than me.
So I put two and two together.”
“You are a shameless creature,” said Tommy. “Hullo, there’s twelveo’clock striking. Happy Christmas, Tuppence.”
“Happy Christmas, Tommy. It’ll be a Happy Christmas for Monica too—and all owing to US. I am glad. Poor thing, she has been so miserable42. Doyou know, Tommy, I feel all queer and choky about the throat when Ithink of it.”
“Darling Tuppence,” said Tommy.
“Darling Tommy,” said Tuppence. “How awfully43 sentimental44 we are get-ting.”
“Christmas comes but once a year,” said Tommy sententiously. “That’swhat our great-grandmothers said, and I expect there’s a lot of truth in itstill.”
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1
toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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shamming
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| 假装，冒充( sham的现在分词 ) | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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6
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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7
vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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mattresses
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| 褥垫，床垫( mattress的名词复数 ) | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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16
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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jumbled
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charade
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| n.用动作等表演文字意义的字谜游戏 | |
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charades
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| n.伪装( charade的名词复数 )；猜字游戏 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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pointed
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cryptogram
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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pussy
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| n.(儿语)小猫，猫咪 | |
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winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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rummaged
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 )； 已经海关检查 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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adhesive
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| n.粘合剂；adj.可粘着的，粘性的 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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44
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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