Enigma Read Online Free Page A

knock. Your porter chap let us in.”
    “Us?”
    There was a noise from the bedroom.
    “We came in the car with the flag on it. Greatly impressed your
Mr Kite.” Logie followed Jericho’s gaze to the bedroom door. “Oh,
that? That’s Leveret! Don’t mind him.” He took out his pipe and
called: “Mr Leveret! Come and meet Mr Jericho. The famous Mr
Jericho.”
    A small man with a thin face appeared at the entrance to the
bedroom.
    “Good afternoon, sir.” Leveret wore a raincoat and trilby. His
voice had a slight northern accent.
    “What the hell are you doing in there?”
    “He’s just checking you’re alone,” said Logie sweetly.
    “Of course I’m bloody well alone!”
    “And is the whole staircase empty, sir?” enquired Leveret.
“Nobody in the rooms above or below?”
    Jericho threw up his hands in exasperation. “Guy, for God’s
sake!”
    “I think it’s all clear,” said Leveret to Logie. “I’ve already
closed the blackout curtain in there.” He turned to Jericho. “Mind
if I do the same here, sir?” He didn’t wait for permission. He
crossed to the small leaded window, opened it, took off his hat and
thrust his head out, peering up and down, left and right. A
freezing mist was off the river and a blast of chill air filled the
room. Satisfied, Leveret ducked back inside, closed the window and
drew the curtains.
    There was a quarter of a minute’s silence. Logie broke it by
rubbing his hands and saying: “Any chance of a fire, Tom? I’d
forgotten what this place was like in winter. Worse than school.
And tea? You mentioned tea? Would you like some tea, Mr
Leveret?”
    “I would indeed, sir.”
    “And what about some toast? I noticed you had some bread, Tom,
in the kitchen over there. Toast in front of a college fire?
Wouldn’t that take us back?”
    Jericho looked at him for a moment. He opened his mouth to
protest then changed his mind. He took a box of matches from the
mantelpiece, struck a light and held it to the gas fire. As usual
the pressure was low and the match went out. He lit another and
this time it caught. A worm of flame glowed blue and began to
spread. He went across the landing to the little kitchen, filled
the kettle and lit the gas ring. In the bread bin there was indeed
a loaf—Mrs Saxmundham must have put it there earlier in the
week—and he sawed off three grey slices. In the cupboard he found a
pre-war pot of jam, surprisingly presentable after he had scraped
the white fur of mould from its surface, and a smear of: margarine
on a chipped plate. He arranged his delicacies on a tray and stared
at the kettle.
    Perhaps he was having a dream? But when he looked back into his
sitting room, there was Logie stretched out again on the sofa, and
Leveret perched uneasily on the edge of one of the chairs, his hat
in his hands, like an unreliable witness waiting to go into court
with an under-rehearsed story.
    Of course they had brought bad news. What else could it be but
bad news? The acting head of Hut 8 wouldn’t travel fifty miles
across country in the deputy director’s precious bloody car just to
pay a social call. They were going to sack him. “Sorry, old thing,
but we can’t carry passengers…” Jericho felt suddenly very tired.
He massaged his forehead with the heel of his hand. The familiar
headache was beginning to return, spreading up from his sinuses to
the back of his eyes.
    He had thought it was her. That was the joke. For about half a
minute, running towards the lighted window, he had been happy. It
was pitiful.
    The kettle was beginning to boil. He prised open the tea caddy
to find age had reduced the tea leaves to dust.
    Nevertheless he spooned them into the pot and tipped in the hot
water.
    Logie pronounced it nectar.
    ♦
    Afterwards they sat in silence in the semi-darkness. The only
illumination was provided by the faint gleam of the desk lamp
behind them and the blue glow of the fire at their feet. The gas
jet hissed. From beyond the blackout