II
Mrs. Blenkensop was reading a letter on thin foreign paper stampedoutside with the censor’s mark.
Incidentally the direct result of her conversation with “Mr. Faraday.”
“Dear Raymond,” she murmured. “I was so happy about him out inEgypt, and now, it seems, there is a big change round. All very secret, ofcourse, and he can’t say anything—just that there really is a marvellousplan and that I’m to be ready for some big surprise soon. I’m glad to knowwhere he’s being sent, but I really don’t see why—”
Bletchley grunted¹.
“Surely he’s not allowed to tell you that?”
Tuppence gave a deprecating laugh and looked round the breakfasttable as she folded up her precious letter.
“Oh! we have our methods,” she said archly. “Dear Raymond knows thatif only I know where he is or where he’s going I don’t worry quite somuch. It’s quite a simple way, too. Just a certain word, you know, andafter it the initial letters of the next words spell out the place. Of course itmakes rather a funny sentence sometimes—but Raymond is really mostingenious. I’m sure nobody would notice.”
Little murmurs² arose round the table. The moment was well chosen;everybody happened to be at the breakfast table together for once.
Bletchley, his face rather red, said:
“You’ll excuse me, Mrs. Blenkensop, but that’s a damned foolish thing todo. Movements of troops and air squadrons are just what the Germanswant to know.”
“Oh, but I never tell anyone,” cried Tuppence. “I’m very, very careful.”
“All the same it’s an unwise thing to do—and your boy will get intotrouble over it some day.”
“Oh, I do hope not. I’m his mother, you see. A mother ought to know.”
“Indeed and I think you’re right,” boomed out Mrs. O’Rourke. “Wildhorses wouldn’t drag the information from you—we know that.”
“Letters can be read,” said Bletchley.
“I’m very careful never to leave letters lying about,” said Tuppence withan air of outraged³ dignity. “I always keep them locked up.”
Bletchley shook his head doubtfully.

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