Martin Jarvis

That afternoon, when Keith's mother has retired for her rest, we enter the sitting room and glide silently across to the desk.

Keith bends down and peers at the blotter through the magnifying glass from his stamp-collecting kit.

I think I can make out a few odd letters, and perhaps even one or two syllables,

"'Thurs, possibly.

"'And if you... "'Code,' whispers Keith.'

Very pleased he'd taken his Valium.