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forced to listen to anything at all in the morning he found it easier to tolerate the more pofaced Radio Four.
    The short interval after he'd eaten and before he got up from the table was when Steph found it easiest to broach things she was planning. This morning, it was more of a confession she had in mind. "I don't think I told you," she began, not entirely honestly, because she knew for sure that she hadn't raised the subject until now. "A few weeks ago, soon after we moved in properly, when you were at work and I was trying to get some more of those damned teachests unpacked, I heard a noise behind me. Gave me a fright. It was this little cat, no more than a kitten really, playing about with the newspaper we'd wrapped the plates in. You'd think he belonged here." Steph saw an ominous look in her husband's eye and talked on rapidly. "I'd no idea where he came from. Naturally I asked around. Pete, he was a dear little thing with enormous ears and feet for his size and just a few stripes in the middle. I tried the people who were here before us, but they didn't know. In the end I did the right thing and took him up to Claverton."
    "The home for strays?" Diamond said. "Yes, you did the right thing, Steph."
    She nodded. "They get a lot of animals brought in. I didn't like leaving him really, being so young."
    "Too young to care, probably."
    "Oh, I don't know about that. Anyway, the young girl there said she'd let me know if he was claimed."
    "And was he?" Diamond asked hopefully.
    "Er, no."
    "And where is he now? Still there?"
    "I went to see him yesterday."
    "To Claverton? What did that dingbat say?"
    She swung around defiantly. He'd gone too far this time.
    But Diamond wasn't insulting the people who took in strays. He got up from the table and reached for the radio. The speaker was well into some item: ". . . so if any of you geniuses listening out there can make better sense of it than we can, call me now. I'll give you the number presently. Is there something we ought to know? Is it like a Valentine message? Is it in code? Is it a cryptic crossword clue? I tell you one thing, for sure. It had better not be some wise guy trying to slip a commercial into BBC local radio or we're all in shtuck. No, my money is on a good, old-fashioned riddle. I understand we're not the only radio station to have received it. And the same message was sent to the local press. The whole region is going to be racking its brains over this. Let's prove that Radio Bristol has the most intelligent audience. We can crack this together."
    "Give it to us again, then," said Diamond, and you would think he had been heard, the response was so quick.
    "I'm going to give it to you one more time before we move on to the sports news. Make sure you have something to write it down. Ready?
    "'J.M.W.T.
    Surrounded by security.
    Victoria, you challenge me,
    I shall shortly come to thee.'
    "Got it? Chew on that for a bit. Must move on now. Sports news coming up next. But I kid you not, listeners, the message was received this morning, early, but early, and we have no idea what it means, or who sent it. What or who is J.M.W.T.? Who is Victoria when she's at home? Over to you."
    Diamond reached across the table for the pen and the Guardian, placed ready for Stephanie's daily assault on the quick crossword. He made a note in the margin.
    Stephanie remarked, "You're always telling me puzzles are a waste of time."
    "Crossword puzzles, yes," he said, tearing off the scrap of paper and pocketing it.
    She said, "About this kitten. I know if you saw it, you'd be captivated."
    He said abstractedly. "Yes."
    "Then you don't mind if. . ."
    He said, "Anything you say, my love. Got to get off to work now."
    At Manvers Street Police Station he found a worried John Wigfull in the communications room. The big black mustache was drooping ominously.
    "I suppose you've heard," Wigfull said.
    "Depends what you mean."
    "This message about the Turner. It's all over the city. The radio. The