Memento Mori

‘It was a wrong number.’

‘Was it a man?’

‘Yes, but it was a wrong number.’

‘What did he say exactly? Do answer my question, please.’

‘He said, “Sorry, it’s a wrong number,”‘ shouted Gwen, ‘that’s what he said.’

‘What kind of voice was it?’

‘Oh mad-um. I said it was a man, didn’t I? The lines must be crossed. I know phones like the back of my hand.’

‘Yes, but was the voice young or old? Was it the same one as got the last wrong number?’

‘Well, they’re all the same to me, if they’re wrong numbers. You better answer the phone yourself and then —’

‘I was only asking,’ said Dame Lettie, ‘because we seem to be having such a lot of wrong numbers since you’ve been here. And it always seems to be a man.’

‘What you mean? What exactly you mean by that, Madum?’

Dame Lettie had not meant whatever the girl thought she meant. It was Gwen’s evening out, and Lettie was glad Godfrey was coming to dine with her.

At about eight o’clock, when they were at dinner, the telephone rang.

‘Godfrey, you answer it, please.’

He marched out into the hall. She heard him lift the receiver and give the number. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ he said next. ‘Who’s that, who is it?’ Lettie heard him say. Then he replaced the receiver.

‘Godfrey,’ she said, ‘that was the man?’

‘Yes,’ he shouted. ‘“Tell Dame Lettie to remember she must die.” Then he rang off. Damned peculiar.’ He sat down and continued eating his soup.

‘There is no need to shout, Godfrey. Keep calm.’ Her own large body was trembling.

‘Well, it’s damned odd. I say you must have an enemy. Sounds a common little fellow, with his lisp.’

‘Oh no, Godfrey, he is quite cultured. But sinister.’

‘I say he’s a common chap. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard him.’

‘There must be something wrong with your hearing, Godfrey. A middle-aged, cultivated man who should know better —’

‘A barrow boy, I should say.’

‘Nonsense. Go and ring the police. They said always to report —’

‘What’s the use?’ he said. And seeing she would argue, he added, ‘After dinner. I’ll ring after dinner.’

‘That is the first time he has left that message since I took on Gwen a fortnight ago. When Gwen answers the telephone the man says, “Sorry, wrong number.” He does it two or three times a day.’

‘It may be some fellow getting a wrong number. Your lines must be crossed with someone else’s. Have you reported this nuisance to the Exchange?’

‘I have,’ she said. ‘They tell me the lines are perfectly in order.’

‘They must be crossed —’

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘you are as bad as Gwen, going on about crossed lines. I have a good idea who it is. I think it is Chief Inspector Mortimer.’

‘Nothing like Mortimer’ s voice.

‘Or his accomplice,’ she said.

‘Rubbish. A man in his position.’

‘That is why the police don’t find the culprit. They know, but they won’t reveal his identity. He is their former Chief.’

‘I say you have an enemy.

‘I say it is Mortimer.’

‘Why then,’ said Godfrey, ‘do you continue to consult him about the case?’

‘So that he shall not know I suspect him. He may then fall into a trap. Meantime, as I have told you, he is out of my will. He doesn’t know that.’

‘Oh, you are always changing your will. No wonder you have enemies .’ Godfrey felt guilty at having gossiped to Olive about Lettie’s changes in her will. ‘No wonder,’ he said, ‘you don’t know the culprit.’

‘I haven’t heard from Eric lately,’ Dame Lettie remarked, so that he felt more guilty, thinking of all he had told Olive.

Godfrey said, ‘He has been in London the past six weeks. He returned to Cornwall last night.’

‘But he hasn’t been to see me. Why didn’t you let me know before, Godfrey?’

‘I myself did not know he was in London,’ said Godfrey, ‘until I learned of it from a mutual friend