“impossible”?’ I asked. He handed me a scrap of paper. I saw it was the corner of a road map, with one word circled heavily: MONS.
‘Not the lower left-hand corner,’ he explained. ‘The upper right. Notice that all the other place-names but Mons are upside-down. The village isSNOW, and it’s in a different part of the county.’
I handed it back. ‘
Snow
. Very suggestive of glaciers. I suppose you’ll find some map-trick to explain the disappearance of Mrs Letworthy?’
He smiled, if one can call it that. ‘No, I think a calendar-trick, this time. Doesn’t this Tuesday business strike you as odd?’
‘Of course it does.’
‘Odd, I mean, in the sense that Tuesday is market day? When Mr Letworthy would likely be absent from his farm?’
I made no answer, so he carried on:
‘Let us assume the police version is correct. Mrs Letworthy did not “disappear”, but simply ran away with another man. That means she must have been seeing the man earlier, and she might well have chosen to do so on Tuesdays. Let us make an even wilder assumption: That the man’s profession forced him to drive a distinctive vehicle that must not be seen parked near the Letworthy farmhouse.’
‘Or he might be the man in the moon,’ I said.
‘Quite. Forget him for the moment, then, and look at the letter: “Mornings I usually take the secondary road”, says Mr Durkell. That suggests that there is a primary road which he takes of an evening –hurrying home from work.’
‘Agreed, but so what?’
‘It gives us two views of Blenford New Town, where he lives,’ Beddoes said. ‘One at his back in the morning, and a possibly quite different view that he faces each evening.’
‘Oh, it’s Blenford that he sees through the trees,’ I said with some sarcasm. ‘Looking to his right, he sees a town that is really behind him. It must all be done with mirrors.’
‘I was just about to suggest that,’ he said. ‘The mystery village is not likely an hallucination, and far too clear for a mirage. We are left with one natural explanation: A mirror or something like a mirror is placed behind that little grove of trees every Tuesday.’
I had to laugh aloud. Pathetically, Beddoes kept clutching at the wispiest straws of ‘natural’ phenomena, to avoid facing the obvious truth.
In the opposite corner of the Faculty Lounge, a few people had gathered round the TV set. I could hear Smith’s voice booming across to us, but I could not make out his words.
Beddoes continued the farce: ‘Naturally I wondered what kind of large mirror might be portable enough to fit the bill. I sent reply-paid telegrams to Mr Letworthy, to the local police and to the local weekly newspaper, asking if they knew the profession of the man supposed to have eloped with Mrs Letworthy. They confirmed what I suspected. The man drove a large van …’
The television was making too much noise, and anyway, I found Beddoes’s hypothesis boring. In a sense, Smith on television was giving him his answer, only Beddoes was too deaf and blind to notice. He droned on:
‘… large sheets of … attached to its sides. A kind of portable …definitely parked in that spot, behind the little copse. There. Does that possibility fit the facts?’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I guess I missed the point.’
‘I said it was common knowledge: Mrs Letworthy’s boyfriend was a
glazier
.’
Smith’s voice suddenly became louder and clearer: ‘… as in the range of poetic or artistic experience, the mystic sees clearer and deeper, if only at times. Insight – the sudden sunburst of pure understanding. That’s what we’re concerned with here. Psychic phenomena are only a small part of it, you see.’
The interviewer asked if he would call himself a rationalist.
‘Well there are rationalists and rationalists, aren’t there? Take for example the rationalist answer to Russell’s Paradox: “In this village there is a barber who shaves all of the men who do not
‘Not the lower left-hand corner,’ he explained. ‘The upper right. Notice that all the other place-names but Mons are upside-down. The village isSNOW, and it’s in a different part of the county.’
I handed it back. ‘
Snow
. Very suggestive of glaciers. I suppose you’ll find some map-trick to explain the disappearance of Mrs Letworthy?’
He smiled, if one can call it that. ‘No, I think a calendar-trick, this time. Doesn’t this Tuesday business strike you as odd?’
‘Of course it does.’
‘Odd, I mean, in the sense that Tuesday is market day? When Mr Letworthy would likely be absent from his farm?’
I made no answer, so he carried on:
‘Let us assume the police version is correct. Mrs Letworthy did not “disappear”, but simply ran away with another man. That means she must have been seeing the man earlier, and she might well have chosen to do so on Tuesdays. Let us make an even wilder assumption: That the man’s profession forced him to drive a distinctive vehicle that must not be seen parked near the Letworthy farmhouse.’
‘Or he might be the man in the moon,’ I said.
‘Quite. Forget him for the moment, then, and look at the letter: “Mornings I usually take the secondary road”, says Mr Durkell. That suggests that there is a primary road which he takes of an evening –hurrying home from work.’
‘Agreed, but so what?’
‘It gives us two views of Blenford New Town, where he lives,’ Beddoes said. ‘One at his back in the morning, and a possibly quite different view that he faces each evening.’
‘Oh, it’s Blenford that he sees through the trees,’ I said with some sarcasm. ‘Looking to his right, he sees a town that is really behind him. It must all be done with mirrors.’
‘I was just about to suggest that,’ he said. ‘The mystery village is not likely an hallucination, and far too clear for a mirage. We are left with one natural explanation: A mirror or something like a mirror is placed behind that little grove of trees every Tuesday.’
I had to laugh aloud. Pathetically, Beddoes kept clutching at the wispiest straws of ‘natural’ phenomena, to avoid facing the obvious truth.
In the opposite corner of the Faculty Lounge, a few people had gathered round the TV set. I could hear Smith’s voice booming across to us, but I could not make out his words.
Beddoes continued the farce: ‘Naturally I wondered what kind of large mirror might be portable enough to fit the bill. I sent reply-paid telegrams to Mr Letworthy, to the local police and to the local weekly newspaper, asking if they knew the profession of the man supposed to have eloped with Mrs Letworthy. They confirmed what I suspected. The man drove a large van …’
The television was making too much noise, and anyway, I found Beddoes’s hypothesis boring. In a sense, Smith on television was giving him his answer, only Beddoes was too deaf and blind to notice. He droned on:
‘… large sheets of … attached to its sides. A kind of portable …definitely parked in that spot, behind the little copse. There. Does that possibility fit the facts?’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I guess I missed the point.’
‘I said it was common knowledge: Mrs Letworthy’s boyfriend was a
glazier
.’
Smith’s voice suddenly became louder and clearer: ‘… as in the range of poetic or artistic experience, the mystic sees clearer and deeper, if only at times. Insight – the sudden sunburst of pure understanding. That’s what we’re concerned with here. Psychic phenomena are only a small part of it, you see.’
The interviewer asked if he would call himself a rationalist.
‘Well there are rationalists and rationalists, aren’t there? Take for example the rationalist answer to Russell’s Paradox: “In this village there is a barber who shaves all of the men who do not
Similar Books
