‘From the newspaper? Mr Cipher?’
‘No, sir. He’s not there. Somebody else. A Mr Arthur Trainer, said he was head of the commercial division. There’s been another poem.’
Danilov sat forward. ‘Well, read it out, man.’
Strachan coughed.’The message reads:
‘Have you worked it out,
The game we’re playing,
What’s it all about?
I hear you saying,
The choice is one life,
Yours or your wife?’
Danilov’s face fell as if he had been struck across the mouth by a gloved fist. ‘It can’t be,’ he whispered.
Strachan looked at his notes once more. ‘That’s what the man at the newspaper office said, sir. Those exact words. But I can’t see a location in it, nor a Shakespeare quote.’ He scratched his head. ‘It’s like it was addressed to somebody, a note, or a threat maybe. Quite different from the others.’
‘It is addressed to somebody, Strachan.’
Strachan looked up. ‘Who, sir?’
‘Me.’