Postern of Fate (Tommy & Tuppence 5)

'Whenever they see a hole,' said Isaac. 'But there was a young gentleman once as used to leave his letters in it, so I've heard. Same as though it was a post-box.'

'Letters? Who were they for?'

'Some young lady, I'd think. But it was before my time,' said Isaac, as usual.

'The things that always happened long before Isaac's time,' said Tuppence, as Isaac, having adjusted Mathilde into a good position, left them on the pretext of having to shut up the frames.

Tommy removed his jacket.

'It's incredible,' said Tuppence, panting a little as she removed a scratched and dirty arm from the gaping wound in Mathilde's stomach, 'that anyone could put so many things or want to put them, in this thing, and that nobody should ever have cleaned it out.'

'Well, why should anyone clean it out? Why would anyone want to clean it out?'

'That's true,' said Tuppence. 'We do, though, don't we?'

'Only because we can't think of anything better to do. I don't think anything will come of it though. Ow!'

'What's the matter?' said Tuppence.

'Oh, I scratched myself on something.'

He drew his arm out slightly, readjusted it, and felt inside once more. A knitted scarf rewarded him. It had clearly been the sustenance of moths at one time and possibly after that had descended to an even lower level of social life.

'Disgusting,' said Tommy.

Tuppence pushed him aside slightly and fished in with her own arm, leaning over Mathilde while she felt about inside.

'Mind the nails,' said Tommy.

'What's this?' said Tuppence.

She brought her find out into the open air. It appeared to be the wheel off a bus or cart or some child's toy.

'I think,' she said, 'we're wasting our time.'

'I'm sure we are,' said Tommy.

'All the same, we might as well do it properly,' said Tuppence. 'Oh dear, I've got three spiders walking up my arm. It'll be a worm in a minute and I hate worms.'

'I don't think there'll be any worms inside Mathilde. I mean, worms like going underground in the earth. I don't think they'd care for Mathilde as a boarding-house, do you?'

'Oh well, it's getting empty at any rate, I think,' said Tuppence. 'Hullo, what's this? Dear me, it seems to be a needle book. What a funny thing to find. There's still some needles in it but they're all rusted.'

'Some child who didn't like to do her sewing, I expect,' said Tommy.

'Yes, that's a good idea.'

'I touched something that felt like a book just now,' said Tommy.

'Oh. Well, that might be helpful. What part of Mathilde?'

'I should think the appendix or the liver,' said Tommy in a professional tone. 'On her right-hand side. I'm regarding this as an operation!' he added.

'All right, Surgeon. Better pull it out, whatever it is.'

The so-called book, barely recognizable as such, was of ancient lineage. Its pages were loose and stained, and its binding was coming to pieces.

'It seems to be a manual of French,' said Tommy. 'Pour les enfants. Le Petit precepteur.'

'I see,' said Tuppence. 'I've got the same idea as you had. The child didn't want to learn her French lesson; so she came in here and deliberately lost it by putting it into Mathilde. Good old Mathilde.'

'If Mathilde was right side up, it must have been very difficult putting things through this hole in her stomach.'

'Not for a child,' said Tuppence. 'She'd be quite the right height and everything. I mean, she'd kneel and crawl underneath it. Hullo, here's something which feels slippery. Feels rather like an animal's skin.'

'How very unpleasant,' said Tommy. 'Do you think it's a dead rabbit or something?'

'Well, it's not furry or anything. I don't think it's very nice. Oh dear, there's a nail again. Well, it seems to be hung on a nail. There's a sort of bit of string or cord. Funny it hasn't rotted away, isn't it?'

She drew out her find cautiously.

'It's a pocket-book,' she said. 'Yes. Yes, it's been quite good leather once, I think. Quite good leather.'

'Let's see what's inside it, if there is anything inside it,' said Tommy.

'There's something inside it,' said Tuppence.

'Perhaps it's a lot of five pound notes,' she added hopefully.

'Well, I don't suppose they'd be usable still. Paper would rot, wouldn't it?'

'I don't know,' said Tuppence. 'A lot of queer things do survive, you know. I think five pound notes used to be made of wonderfully good paper once, you know. Sort of thin but very durable.'

'Oh well, perhaps it's a twenty pound note. It will help with the housekeeping.'

'What? The money'll be before Isaac's time too, I expect, or else he'd have found it. Ah well. Think! It might be a hundred pound note. I wish it were golden sovereigns. Sovereigns were always in purses. My Great-Aunt Maria had a great purse full of sovereigns. She used to show it to us as children. It was her nest egg, she said, in case the French came. I think it was the French. Anyway, it was for extremities or danger. Lovely fat golden sovereigns. I used to think it was wonderful and I'd think how lovely it would be, you know, once one was grown up and you'd have a purse full of sovereigns.'

'Who was going to give you a purse full of sovereigns?'

'I didn't think of anyone giving it to me,' said Tuppence. 'I thought of it as the sort of thing that belonged to you as a right once you were a grown up person. You know, a real grown up wearing a mantle - that's what they called the things. A mantle with a sort of fur boa round it and a bonnet. You had this great fat purse jammed full of sovereigns, and if you had a favourite grandson who was going back to school, you always gave him a sovereign as a tip.'

'What about the girls, the grand-daughters?'

'I don't think they got any sovereigns,' said Tuppence. 'But sometimes she used to send me half a five pound note.'

'Half a five pound note? That wouldn't be much good.'

'Oh yes, it was. She used to tear the five pound note in half, send me one half first and then the other half in another letter later. You see, it was supposed in that way that nobody'd want to steal it.'

'Oh dear what a lot of precautions everyone did take.'

'They did rather,' said Tuppence. 'Hullo, what's this?'

She was fumbling now in the leather case.

'Let's get out of KK for a minute,' said Tommy, 'and get some air.'

They got outside KK. In the air they saw better what their trophy was like. It was a thick leather wallet of good quality. It was stiff with age but not in any way destroyed.

'I expect it was kept from damp inside Mathilde,' said Tuppence. 'Oh, Tommy, do you know what I think this is?'

'No. What? It isn't money anyway. And certainly not sovereigns. '

'Oh no, it isn't money,' said Tuppence, 'but I think it's letters. I don't know whether we'll be able to read them now. They're very old and faded.'

Very carefully Tommy arranged the crinkled yellow paper of the letters, pushing them apart when he could. The writing was quite large and had once been written in a very deep blue-black ink.

'Meeting place changed,' said Tommy. 'Ken Gardens near Peter Pan. Wednesday 25th, 3.30 p.m. Joanna.'

'I really believe,' said Tuppence, 'we might have something at last.'

'You mean that someone who'd be going to London was told to go on a certain day and meet someone in Kensington Gardens bringing perhaps the papers or the plans or whatever it was. Who do you think got these things out of Mathilde or put them into Mathilde?'

'It couldn't have been a child,' said Tuppence. 'It must have been someone who lived in the house and so could move about without being noticed. Got things from the naval spy, I suppose, and took them to London.'

Tuppence wrapped up the old leather wallet in the scarf she'd been wearing round her neck and she and Tommy returned to the house.

'There may be other papers in there,' said Tuppence, 'but most of them I think are perished and will more or less fall to p