"We can investigate the hiding-place Anthony made, for one thing."
"Yes. If this infernal cipher, or whatever it is… Let's have a look. I suppose we have your permission, Miss Starberth?"
She smiled faintly. "Of course — now. But I am inclined to think Dr. Fell has been overconfident. Here's my own copy."
Dr. Fell was seated spread out in his favourite armchair, his pipe glowing and a bottle of beer beside him. With white hair and whiskers, he could have made a passable double for Father Christmas. He watched benignly as Sir Benjamin studied the verses. Rampole's own pipe was drawing well, and he sat back comfortably on the red sofa where, in an, unobtrusive way, he could touch Dorothy's hand. With his other hand he held a drink. Thus, he reflected, there were all the requisites of life.
The chief constable's horsy eyes squinted up. He read aloud:
"How called the dwellers of Lyn-dun;
Great Homer's tale of Troy?
Or country of the midnight sun
What doth all men destroy?"
Slowly he read the lines again, in a lower voice. Then he said with heat: