“One bill, poem on Spring, two newspaper cuttings: ‘Why Women buy Pearls—a sound investment’ and ‘Man with Four Wives—Extraordinary Story,’ and a recipe for Jugged Hare.”
“It’s heart breaking,” said Tuppence, and they fell to once more. At last the box was empty. They looked at each other.
“I put this aside,” said Tommy, picking up a half sheet of notepaper, “because it struck me as peculiar. But I don’t suppose it’s got anything to do with what we’re looking for.”
“Let’s see it. Oh! it’s one of those funny things, what do they call them? Anagrams, charades 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 fifty years 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 that strike me as peculiar.”
“ St. Luke 11:9,” she said. “It’s a text.”
“Yes. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? Would an old lady of a religious persuasion write a text just under a charade?”