Dorothy Sayers - The Nine Tailors

He tried various simple methods, such as taking every second, third or fourth letter, or skipping letters in accordance with a set combination of figures, but without result. He tried assigning a number to each letter and adding the results, word by word and sentence by sentence. This certainly produced enough mathematical problems to satisfy a Senior Wrangler, but none of them seemed to make sense. He took all the bell-inscriptions and added them up also, with and without the dates, but could find nothing significant. He wondered whether the book contained the whole of what was on the bells. Leaving his papers strewn over the table, he went to the Rector to borrow the keys of the belfry. After a slight delay, caused by the keys having been taken downstairs by mistake for the keys of the wine-cellar, he secured them and made his way to the church.

He was still puzzled about the finding of the cryptogram. The keys jingled together in his hand — the two great keys of the west and south doors, all by themselves on a steel chain, and then, in a bunch on a ring together, the keys of the crypt and vestry, the key of the belfry, the key of the ringing-chamber and the key that unlocked the counterpoise of the belfry. How had Cranton known where to find them? He could, of course, have taken them from the sexton’s house — if he had known already. But if “Stephen Driver” had been asking questions about the church keys, somebody would have taken notice of it. The sexton had the key of the west door and of the crypt. Had he the other keys as well? Wimsey suddenly turned back and shot the question through the study window at the Rector, who was struggling with the finances of the Parish Magazine.

Mr. Venables rubbed his forehead.

“No,” he said at last. “Gotobed has the west-door key and the key of the crypt, as you say, and he also has the key of the belfry stair and of the ringing-chamber, because he rings the single bell for Early Service and sometimes deputises for Hezekiah when he’s ill. And Hezekiah has the keys of the south porch and the belfry stair and the ringing-chamber, too. You see, Hezekiah was sexton before Gotobed, and he likes to keep his privilege of ringing the passing-bell, though he’s too old for the other work, and he has the necessary keys. But neither of them has the key to the counterpoise. They don’t need it. The only people who have that are Jack Godfrey and myself. I have a complete set of everything, of course, so that if one of the others is lost or mislaid, I can supply it.”

“Jack Godfrey — has he the key of the crypt as well?”

“Oh, no — he doesn’t need that.”

Curiouser and curiouser, thought Wimsey. If the man who left the paper in the bell-chamber was the same man who buried the body, then either he took all the Rector’s keys, or he had access to two sets, and those two sets had to be Jack Godfrey’s (for the key of the counterpoise) and Gotobed’s (for the key of the crypt). And if the man had been Cranton, then how did he know? Of course, the criminal might have brought his own spade (though that added to the complication). If so, he must have had either the Rector’s keys or Jack Godfrey’s. Wimsey went round to the back and got hold of Emily and Hinkins. They were both quite sure that they had never seen the man who called himself Stephen Driver inside the Rectory gates, much less inside the Rector’s study, which was the proper place for the keys when they were in their proper place.

“But they weren’t there at all, my lord,” said Emily, “because, if you remember, they keys was missing on New Year’s night, and it wasn’t till near a week after we found them in the vestry — bar the key of the church porch and that was in the lock where Rector left it after choir-practice.”

“After choir-practice? On the Saturday?”

“That’s right,” said Hinkins. “Only, don’t you remember, Emily, Rector said it couldn’t have been him as left it, because it was gone a-missing, and he didn’t have it on Saturday and had to wait for Harry Gotobed?”

“Well, I don’t know.” said Emily, “but that’s where it was. Harry Gotobed said he found it there when he went to ring for Early Service.”

More confused than ever, Wimsey trotted back to the study window. Mr. Venables, arrested with a carrying-figure at the tip of his pen, was at first not very clear in his recollection, but said presently that he believed Emily was right.

“I must have left the keys in the vestry the week before,” he suggested, “and whoever left the church last after choir-practice must have found the church key and used it — but who that would be, I don’t know, unless it was Gotobed. Yes, it would be Gotobed, because he would wait behind to make up the stoves. But it was funny that he should leave the key in the lock. Dear me! You don’t think it could have been the murderer, do you?”

“I do, indeed,” said Wimsey.

“There now!” exclaimed the Rector. “But if I left the keys in the vestry, how did he get in to find them? He couldn’t get in without the church key. Unless he came to choir-practice. Surely, nobody belonging to the choir—”

The Rector looked horribly distressed. Wimsey hastened to comfort him.

“The door would be unlocked during choir-practice. He might have slipped in then.”

“Oh, yes — of course! How stupid I am! No doubt that is what occurred. You have relieved my mind very much.”

Wimsey had not, however, relieved his own mind. As he resumed his way to the church, he turned the matter over. If the keys had been taken on New Year’s Eve, then Cranton had not taken them. Cranton had not arrived till New Year’s Day. Will Thoday had come, unnecessarily, to the Rectory on December 30th, and might have taken the keys then, but he had certainly not been in the church on the night of January 4th to restore them. It remained possible that Will Thoday had taken the keys and the mysterious James Thoday had returned them — but in that case, what was Cranton doing in the business? And Wimsey felt sure that Cranton knew something about the paper found in the bell-chamber.

Meditating thus, Wimsey let himself into the church, and, unlocking the door in the tower, made his way up the spiral stair. As he passed through the ringing-chamber, he noticed with a smile that a new board had made its appearance on the wall, announcing that: “On New Year’s morning, 19—, a Peal of 15,840 Kent Treble Bob Major was Rung in 9 Hours and 15 Minutes, the Ringers being: Treble, Ezra Wilderspin; 2, Peter D. B. Wimsey; 3, Walter Pratt; 4, Henry Gotobed; 5, Joseph Hinkins; 6, Alfred Donnington; 7, John P. Godfrey; Tenor, Hezekiah Lavender; Theodore Venables, Rector, assisting. Our Mouths shall shew forth Thy Praise.” He passed up through the great, bare clock-chamber, released the counter-poise and climbed again till he came out beneath the bells. There he stood for a moment, gazing up into their black mouths while his eyes grew accustomed to the semi-darkness. Presently their hooded silence oppressed him. A vague vertigo seized him. He felt as though they were slowly collapsing together and coming down upon him. Spell-bound, he spoke their names: Gaude, Sabaoth, John, Jericho, Jubilee, Dimity, Batty Thomas and Tailor Paul. A soft and whispering echo seemed to start from the walls and die stealthily among the beams. Suddenly he shouted in a great voice: “Tailor Paul!” and he must somehow have hit upon a harmonic of the scale, for a faint brazen note answered him, remote and menacing, from overhead.

“Come!” said Wimsey, pulling himself together, “this won’t do. I’m getting as bad as Potty Peake, coming here and talking to the bells. Let’s find the ladder and get to work.”

He switched on his torch and turned it on the dim corners of the belfry. It showed him the ladder, and it showed him something else also. In the gloomiest and dustiest corner of the floor, there was a patch that was not so dusty. He stepped eagerly forward, the menace of the bells forgotten. Yes, there was no mistake. A portion of the floor had at some fairly recent time been scrubbed, for the dust which m other places lay centuries thick was here only a thin film.