‘How do you know what they think? Have they told you?’
‘No, of course not. But it’s written on their faces.’
‘You are imagining things. Writers have a permanent need for fantasy.’
‘Once we become curious, there’s no stopping us. And we have started craving instant gratification, which I regard as a sinister development. At the moment we feel restless and out of sorts because we have allowed the riddle of Sphinx Island to take possession of our minds.’
‘I don’t think I am feeling particularly restless,’ said Payne. ‘And I am most certainly not irritable.’
‘You raced through
The Times
. Earlier on you snapped at the milkman.’ Antonia took a sip of coffee. ‘You shooed Dupin off the sofa.’
‘I always shoo Dupin off the sofa. The milkman is a fool. He doesn’t seem to know the difference between half fat and full fat … There is nothing wrong with craving instant gratification, nothing at all. Children crave instant gratification. So did Ava Gardner and J.F. Kennedy. Joan Collins craves instant gratification, if an article in the
Enquirer
is to be believed. It’s a common enough condition. I am surprised that you should be making such a song and dance about it.’
‘I had no idea you read the
Enquirer
.’
Payne picked up the letter from the top of the pile that lay on the table between them. ‘Look at this.
Major and Mrs Payne
. When was the last time we got a letter addressed to
both
of us? Written with a pronounced old-world formality with a stylo that looks as though it’s been dipped in blood.’
‘Let me see … This isn’t blood. Can’t be … It’s some purplish ink, isn’t it?’
‘Looks like blood to me.’ Payne held the letter close to his nose and sniffed at it.
‘Who’s it from?’
‘No sender’s address. Looks ominous. May be anonymous. I don’t recognise the writing – do you?’
‘No. Looks like someone who’s been taking calligraphy lessons and is showing off.’ Antonia put down her cup. ‘Why don’t you open it? Come on, open it.’
Payne cocked an eyebrow. ‘Instant gratification, eh?’
‘Very well, don’t open it then.’ Antonia started buttering a piece of toast.
There was a pause. Payne picked up
The Times
. ‘I can’t understand the way the crossword man’s mind works. Yesterday one clue read, “This turn is rather offensive” – four letters – and the solution given today is “star”!’ He looked up. ‘How and in what way can a star turn be offensive?’
‘A star turned becomes “rats” … We don’t get many letters these days, have you noticed?’
‘Would I be stating the obvious if I pointed out that’s because we conduct all our personal correspondence via email?’
‘We get bills of course. The Inland Revenue seem to be particularly interested in me. They seem to suspect I am earning millions from my books, which I am
not
.’ Antonia’s eyes kept going back to the letter, which Payne had propped up against the silver sugar bowl. ‘I wish I were. I am not
popular
enough.’
‘Popular taste is not to be encouraged. Down with Brown and Rowling, says I.’
‘Do you think my books are an acquired taste?’
‘Your books seem to divide public opinion if a website called brillread.com is anything to go by. Some of the so-called readers who leave postings on it give the impression of being markedly deficient in flair or literary taste altogether. You do have some discerning aficionados, though.’
‘Not many. Not enough.’
Payne reached for the letter and held it up, squinting at the stamp. ‘Posted in Torquay … How very interesting … That’s not too far from Sphinx Island … So the killer
is
on the island … Wouldn’t you say?’
‘I wouldn’t. I don’t believe there is a killer. I think you should open the letter now. We might as well see what it’s about. It may be a fan letter. Someone who is fascinated by our detective work, if one could call it that.’
Payne slit open the envelope and took out a single sheet.
He stroked his jaw with his forefinger as he read.
His expression changed. He lowered the sheet.
‘What is it, Hugh?’
‘I’d rather you saw for yourself. Otherwise you’ll say I am making it up. I am sick and tired of being accused of making things up.’ Payne tossed the letter across the table. He crossed his arms.
Antonia read aloud:
Dear Major and Mrs Payne,
I fancy you consider yourselves experts at solving murder mysteries that are too subtle and intricate for our thick-headed police? Let us see, clever Major and Mrs Payne, just how clever you can be. Perhaps you will find this particular riddle not too hard to crack? Actually, there are two riddles. Who is going to kill whom and will you be in time to prevent the murder? I look forward to meeting you in two days’ time, 17th April, on Sphinx Island.
Yours expectantly,
N. Nygmer
Payne said, ‘Anything about that name strike you as a trifle unusual?’
‘Of course it does … I don’t believe this. Someone is playing silly games with us. N. Nygmer indeed …
Enigma
…’
‘That’s how the evil Riddler is also known.’ Payne helped himself to another piece of toast. ‘N. Nygma with an A.’
‘The evil riddler? Who’s he – she?’
‘N. Nygma is Batman’s enemy. It’s a he.
One
of Batman’s enemies according to DC Comics.’ Payne raised his cup and took a sip of coffee.
‘I wasn’t aware that you were such an aficionado of DC comics.’
‘I am not. I happen to know all sorts of curious, fascinating and occasionally pointless facts. The only genuine
Liebfraumilch
is really
Liebfrauenmilch
. Facts like that. I also know exactly what Werrity did and
why
he did it.’
‘So do I.’
‘Only because I told you. What’s the mark of true sophistication?’
‘Unflappability? Never to demonstrate erudition unless in response to earnest and persistent questioning?’
‘What’s the character limit on Twitter?’
‘You know I hate Twitter.
1666
?’
‘
One hundred and forty
.
1666
is the year in which the Great Fire of London took place. Has the Queen got a passport?’
‘She has. No, she hasn’t.’
‘She hasn’t. Sovereigns have no need for passports. They are identified by their face on the postage stamps … Which fictional policeman genially offers to fit a second pair of handcuffs on to an arrested man’s wrists in case the first pair feels uncomfortable?’
‘Victorian?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sergeant Cuff?’
‘No. Inspector Buckett.’
Antonia looked down at the letter. She took a thoughtful sip of coffee. ‘
Murder mysteries …
He doesn’t say “mysterious crimes” … Murder … He is quite specific … He’s promising us a murder …’
‘The Riddler’s crimes are flamboyant and ostentatious. He specialises in death traps. He likes to devise life-and-death intellectual challenges. The Riddler has a fatal weakness for elaborate gimmicks. He is invariably depicted wearing his trademark green bowler with a black or purple question mark. Like all of Batman’s enemies, the Riddler is a highly warped character. He is described as a “victim of an intense obsessive compulsion”.’
Antonia said that perhaps they were dealing with someone who was dangerously stuck in their childhood. ‘Or with someone who
wants
us to think they are dangerously stuck in their childhood … Hugh, what if one of us is the intended victim and it is left to the other to investigate the murder?’
Payne raised his hand in a fist and said he would kill N. Nygmer if he so much as laid a finger on Antonia. ‘I’ll give him a crack on the nut which will leave him brain-dead. I’ll smash his nygmatic nose. And I’ll expect you to do the same should it happen the other way round.’
‘He clearly knows Sybil has been to see us – but how could he? Sybil insisted no one knew about her suspicions. Apart from your aunt, that is.’
Payne stroked his jawline with his forefinger. ‘Could N. Nygmer be Aunt Nellie? Or more precisely, is Aunt Nellie “N. Nygmer”?
Would
an octogenarian baroness play mind games with her favourite nephew and niece-by-marriage with whom she’s never had a cross word?’ He dabbed at his lips with the linen napkin and poured himself another cup of coffee. ‘My answer is, no, she wouldn’t.’
‘What if this is some variation on the Murder Weekend theme after all? They may be doing it exclusively in our honour, in celebration of our lasting union. This may be your aunt’s present to us, Hugh. Your aunt did ask you what we wanted for our anniversary, didn’t she? Last month – when you took her for drinks at Harry’s Bar?’
‘She did ask me, yes. Dear Aunt Nellie. She said she had little patience with the tin or aluminium nonsense, which, apparently, is what people send on tenth wedding anniversaries, but how about eighteenth-century silver or Icelandic crystal or one of her precious medieval tapestries? I said – now what did I say?’ Payne tapped his forehead with his forefinger. ‘No, I can’t remember.’
‘I am sure you can. What did you say, Hugh?’
‘I said – um – we’ve got enough silver, darling, we keep breaking things, so crystal would be wasted on us, and nothing in our house really goes with medieval tapestries. But she insisted she must give us
something
. It wouldn’t do for her
not
to give us a tenth wedding anniversary present. So I said, if I remember correctly, that dear Antonia and I have been at something of a loose end lately, in fact, we are bored out of our wits, so what we’d like best, darling, is a mysterious murder.’
‘You actually said that?’
‘OK, I didn’t say “dear Antonia”.’
‘But you did say we’d like a murder?’
‘It was all light-hearted badinage.’ Payne reached out for his pipe. ‘If you want my honest opinion, I don’t believe Aunt Nellie’s behind it. She is too old to be bothered. A Murder Weekend is an elaborate thing, the devil to organise and get going, and it involves one too many people and “staying in character” and so on … And would Sybil de Coverley have placed her island at Aunt Nellie’s disposal?’
‘She might have done.’
He couldn’t imagine his aunt staging amateur theatricals on an island in the middle of the sea.
Not
at her age. Out of the question.
‘Perhaps someone else is doing the staging?’ Antonia insisted. ‘They may have employed the services of a professional?’
‘Too far-fetched,’ Payne said.
‘Somebody whose metier is Murder Weekends, perhaps?’
‘Too far-fetched.’
‘Perhaps it’s all Sybil’s doing. She may be planning to commit a murder with the sole object of having her brother blamed for it?’
Payne nodded. ‘She certainly managed to create the impression that brother John is of a hopelessly loony cast of mind if not dangerously unhinged … The kind of chap who
would
get obsessed with Batman comics … Yes, that’s perfectly possible.’
‘She went out of her way to poison our minds against him … I’m sure I’ve seen a letter like this somewhere,’ Antonia said suddenly. ‘
In a book
. An Agatha Christie or somewhere.’
‘It occurs to me, my love, that we may have been presented with a rag-bag of disparate ideas from various detective stories,’ Payne said. ‘The gentlewoman who knows too much but is reluctant to let on … Ten people on an island … A letter whose signature reads “enigma” and whose purpose is to taunt and provoke the detective … I wouldn’t be at all surprised if, on arriving at Sphinx Island, we were greeted with a body in the library. What a bore
that
would be.’
‘Clichés … Yes … All clichés … You are absolutely right …’ Something was stirring at the back of Antonia’s mind – what was that name Sybil de Coverley had mentioned and then looked as though she wished she hadn’t?
‘Hate clichés … But perhaps these are deliberate clichés?’
‘Not necessarily. We may be dealing with someone who is incapable of original thought.’
‘A general lack of definition is at the moment the keynote to the Sphinx Island affair … Why do you keep looking at the clock?’
‘I need to go and buy some millinery … Care to come? Or will you think it a bore?’
‘No, not at all. Splendid idea. As you know,’ said Payne, ‘I am awfully good at hats.’
It was at the hat shop, one of her regular haunts in Beauchamp Place, that Antonia remembered. ‘I believe Sybil referred to a woman called Garrison-Gore.
Mrs Garrison-Gore
. Earlier on, when you talked about clichés something seemed to click. I can’t swear to it, but I believe I’ve heard someone mention a Romany Garrison-Gore. Unless I dreamt it. No, I didn’t. It was my copy editor who mentioned her.’
‘Your copy editor? Are you sure?’
‘I am.’
‘Are you telling me Mrs Garrison-Gore is one of you? I mean one of the crime-writing sorority. Romany Garrison-Gore. I am most certainly not familiar with the name. It doesn’t ring the faintest bell.’ Payne shook his head. ‘Perhaps she is one of those obscure ones that are strictly for library distribution? It’s ages since I’ve been to the library.’
Antonia was in the process of adjusting a French straw confection on her head. ‘She is “one of us”, yes … Unless it’s a different Mrs Garrison-Gore altogether. Her sister or her cousin.’
‘No, not her sister – they can’t both be “Mrs Garrison-Gore” – unless both women married men called Garrison-Gore … And no two sisters can ever be called “Romany” … Didn’t they make you study Titles and Forms of Address at your finishing school?’
‘I thought Sybil looked furtive when she mentioned Mrs Garrsion-Gore’s name.’ Antonia’s eyes narrowed. ‘As though she regretted letting it slip out. Perhaps I imagined it.’
Payne said that a detective story writer who was
already
on Sphinx Island was a damned suspicious thing. ‘Yes, it all makes perfect sense now … Sybil was perturbed that you – a detective-story writer yourself – might recognise Mrs Garrison-Gore’s name and draw certain conclusions from it. The obvious conclusion of course is that they are putting on some murder show in our honour and that they have hired the services of a professional to stage-manage it.’