*This crossword puzzle is found in Dorothy Sayers' short story "The Fascinating Problem of Uncle Meleager's Will" in
Lord Peter: A Collection of All the Lord Peter Wimsey Stories,
Compiled and with an introduction by James Sandoe (New York: Harper & Row, 1972), pp. 33-51 (solution found on p. 273).
**Click here for a PDF version to print off (includes both puzzle and clues).
"The Fascinating Problem of Uncle Meleager’s Will" opens with Lord Peter’s manservant requesting assistance with a crossword puzzle. We next learn from Lord Peter’s sister Mary that her friend Hannah Marryat has a recently deceased uncle who was “a very rich, curmudgeonly sort … who never gave anyone a penny.” The uncle had written two wills and sent Hannah the following letter about them:
My dear Hannah, When I die—which I propose to do at my own convenience and not at that of my family—you will at last discover my monetary worth. It is, of course, considerably less than you had hoped, and quite fails, I assure you, adequately to represent my actual worth in the eyes of the discerning. I made my will yesterday, leaving the entire sum, such as it is [£250,000], to the Primrose League—a body quite as fatuous as any other in our preposterous state, but which has the advantage of being peculiarly obnoxious to yourself. This will will be found in the safe in the library.
I am not, however, unmindful of the fact that your mother is my sister, and you and she my only surviving relatives. I shall accordingly amuse myself by drawing up today a second will, superseding the other and leaving the money to you. I have always held that woman is a frivolous animal. A woman who pretends to be serious is wasting her time and spoiling her appearance. I consider that you have wasted your time to a really shocking extent. Accordingly, I intend to conceal this will, and that in such a manner that you will certainly never find it unless by the exercise of a sustained frivolity.
I hope you will contrive to be frivolous enough to become the heiress of your affectionate
Uncle Meleager
Thus begins a great “Treasure hunt” for the will. We soon learn that Uncle Meleager “was a great man for acrostics,” or at least until he discovered crossword puzzles. The story continues:
“Crosswords?” said Hannah Marryat, knitting her heavy brows. “Oh, those puzzle things! Poor old man, he went mad over them. He had every newspaper sent him, and in his last illness he’d be trying to fill the wretched things in. It was worse than his acrostics and his jig-saw puzzles. Poor old creature, he must have been senile, I’m afraid. Of course, we looked through them, but there wasn’t anything there. We put them all in the attic.
“The attic for me,” said Lord Peter.
“And for me,” said Mary. “I don’t believe there was anything senile about Uncle Meleager.
[…]
A narrow stair brought them to the “attic,” where the Wimseys flung themselves with enthusiasm upon a huge heap of dusty old newspapers and manuscripts. The latter seemed the likelier field, so they started with them. They consisted of a quantity of crosswords in manuscript—presumably the children of Uncle Meleager’s own brain. The square, the list of definitions, and the solution were in every case neatly pinned together. Some (early efforts, no doubt) were childishly simple, but others were difficult, with allusive or punning clues; some of the ordinary newspaper type, others in the form of rhymed distichs. They scrutinized the solutions closely, and searched the definitions for acrostics or hidden words, unsuccessfully for a long time.
“This one’s a funny one,” said Mary, “nothing seems to fit. Oh! it’s two pinned together. No, it isn’t—yes, it is—it’s only been pinned up wrong. Peter, have you seen the puzzle belonging to these clues anywhere?”
“What one’s that?”
“Well, it’s numbered rather funnily, with Roman and Arabic numerals, and it starts off with a thing that hasn’t got any numbers at all:
Truth, poor girl, was nobody’s daughter;’
She took off her clothes and jumped into the water.
“Frivolous old wretch!” said Miss Marryat.
“Friv—here, gimme that!” cried Lord Peter. “Look here, I say, Miss Marryat, you oughtn’t to have overlooked this.”
“I thought it just belonged to that other square.”
“Not it. It’s different. I believe it’s our thing. Listen:
Your expectation to be rich
Here will reach its highest pitch.
That’s one for you, Miss Marryat. Mary, hunt about. We
must find the square that belongs to this.”
But, though they turned everything upside-down, they could find no square with Roman and Arabic numerals.
“Hang it all!” said Peter, “it must be made to fit one of these others. Look! I know what he’s done. He’s just taken a fifteen-letter square, and numbered it with Roman figures one way and Arabic the other. I bet it fits into that one it was pinned up with.”
But the one it was pinned up with turned out to have only thirteen squares.
“Dash it all,” said his lordship, “we’ll have to carry the whole lot down, and work away at it till we find the one it
does fit.”
He snatched up a great bundle of newspapers, and led the way out. The others followed, each with an armful. The search had taken some time, and the atrium was in semi-darkness.
“Where shall I take them?” asked Lord Peter, calling back over his shoulder.
“Hi!” cried Mary; and, “Look where you’re going!” cried her friend.
They were too late. A splash and a flounder proclaimed that Lord Peter had walked, like Johnny Head-in-Air, over the edge of the impluvium, papers and all.
“You ass!” said Mary.
His lordship scrambled out, spluttering, and Hannah Marryat suddenly burst out into the first laugh Peter had ever heard her give.
Truth, they say, was nobody’s daughter;
She took off her clothes and fell into the water.
she proclaimed.
“Well, I couldn’t take my clothes off with you here, could I?” grumbled Lord Peter. “We’ll have to fish out the papers. I’m afraid they’ve got a bit damp.”
Miss Marryat turned on the lights, and they started to clear the basin.
“Truth, poor girl—” began Lord Peter, and suddenly, with a little shriek, began to dance on the marble edge of the impluvium.
“One, two, three, four, five, six—”
“Quite, quite demented,” said Mary. “How shall I break it to mother?”
“Thirteen, fourteen,
fifteen!” cried his lordship, and sat down, suddenly and damply, exhausted by his own excitement.
“Feeling better?” asked his sister acidly.
“I’m well. I’m all right. Everything’s all right. I
love Uncle Meleager. Fifteen squares each way. Look at it.
Look at it. The truth’s in the water. Didn’t he say so? Oh, frabjous day! Calloo! callay! I chortle. Mary, what became of those definitions.
“They’re in your pocket, all damp,” said Mary.
Lord Peter snatched them out hurriedly.
“It’s all right, they haven’t run,” he said. “Oh,
darling Uncle Meleager. Can you drain the impluvium, Miss Marryat, and find a bit of charcoal. Then I’ll get some dry clothes on and we’ll get down to it. Don’t you see?
There’s your missing crossword square—on the floor of the impluvium!”
It took, however, some time to get the basin emptied, and it was not till next morning that the party, armed with sticks of charcoal, squatted down in the empty impluvium to fill in Uncle Meleager’s crossword on the marble tiles. Their first difficulty was to decide whether the red squares counted as stops or had to be filled in, but after a few definitions had been solved, the construction of the puzzle grew apace. The investigators grew steadily hotter and more thickly covered with charcoal, while the attentive Mr Bunter hurried to and fro between the atrium and the library, and the dictionaries piled upon the edge of the impluvium.
Here was Uncle Meleager’s crossword square:
Truth, poor girl, was nobody's daughter;
She took off her clothes and jumped into the water.
ACROSS
I.1 Foolish or wise, yet one remains alone, // 'Twixt Strength and Justice on a heavenly throne.
XI.1 O to what ears the chink of gold was sweet; // The greed for treasure brought him but defeat.
I.2 One drop of vinegar to two of oil // Dresses this curly head sprung from the soil.
X.2 Nothing itself, it needs but little more // To be that nothingness the Preacher saw.
I.3 Dusty though my fellows be, // We are a kingly company.
IV.3 Have your own will, though here, I hold, // The news is
not a patch upon the old.
XIV.3 Any loud cry would do as well, // Or so the poet's verses tell.
I.4 This is the most unkindest cut of all, // Except your skill be mathematical.
X.4 Little and hid from mortal sight. // I darkly work to make all light.
I.5 The need for this (like that it's cut off short) // The building of a tower to humans taught.
XI.5 "More than mind discloses and more than men believe" // (A definition by a man whom Pussyfoot doth grieve).
II.6 Backward observe her turn her way, // The way of wisdom, wise men say.
VII.6 Grew long ago by river's edge // Where grows today the common sedge.
XII.6 One of three by which, they say // You'll know the Cornishmen alway.
VI.7 Blow upon blow; five more the vanquished Roman shows // And if the foot slip one, on crippled feet one goes.
I.8 By this Jew's work the whole we find, // In a glass clearly, darkly in mind.
IX.8 Little by little see it grow // Till cut off short by hammer-blow.
VI.9 Watch him go, heel and toe, // Across the wide Karroo!
II.10 In expectation to be rich // Here you reach the highest pitch.
VII.10 Of this, concerning nothing, much— // Too often do we hear of such!
XII.10 O'er land and sea, passing on deadly wings, // Pain to the strong, to weaklings death it brings.
I.11 Requests like these, however long they be, // Stop just too soon for common courtesy.
XI.11 Caesar, the living dead salute thee here, // Facing for thy delight tooth, claw, and spear.
I.12 One word had served, but he in ranting vein // "Lend me your ears" must mouth o'er Caesar slain.
X.12 Helical circumvolution // Adumbrates correct solution.
I.13 One that works for Irish men // Both by word and deed and pen.
IV.13 Seven out of twelve this number makes complete // As the sun journeys on from seat to seat.
XIV.13 My brothers play with planets; Cicero, // Master of words, my master is below.
I.14 Free of her jesses let the falcon fly, // With sight undimmed into the azure sky.
X.14 And so you dine with Borgia? Let me lend // You this as a precaution, my poor friend.
I.15 Friendship carried to excess // Got him in a horrid mess.
XI.15 Smooth and elastic and, I guess, // The dearest treasure you possess.
DOWN
1.I If step by step the Steppes you wander through // Many of those in this, of these in those you'll view.
11.I If me without my head you do, // then generously my head renew, // Or put it to my hinder end— // Your cheer it shall nor mar nor mend.
1.II Quietly, quietly, "twixt edge and edge, // Do this unto the thin end of the wedge.
10.II "Something that hath a reference to my state?" // Just as you like, it shall be written straight.
1.III When all is read, then give the world its due, // And never need the world read this of you.
4.III Sing
Nunc Dimittis
and
Magnificat— // but look a little further back than that.
14.III Here in brief epitome // Attribute of royalty.
1.IV Lo! at a glance // The Spanish gipsy and her dance.
10.IV Bring me skin and a needle or a stick— // A needle does it slowly, a stick does it quick.
1.V It was a brazen business when // King Phalaris made these for men.
11.V This king (of whom not much is known) // By Heaven's mercy was o'erthrown.
2.VI "Bid ὀν και ὴμ ὀν farewell?" Nay, in this // The sterner Roman stands by that which is.
7.VI This the termination is // Of many minds' activities.
12.VI I mingle on Norwegian shore, // With ebbing water's backward roar.
6.VII I stand a ladder to renown, // Set 'twixt the stars and Milan town.
1.VIII Highest and lowliest both to me lay claim, // The little hyssop and the king of fame.
9.VIII This sensible old man refused to tread // The path to Hades in a youngster's stead.
6.IX Long since, at Nature's call, they let it drop, // Thoughtlessly thoughtful for our next year's crop.
2.X To smallest words great speakers greatness give; // Here Rome propounded her alternative.
7.X We heap up many with toil and trouble, // And find that the whole of our gain is a bubble.
12.X Add it among the hidden things— // A fishy tale to light it brings.
1.XI "Lions," said a Gallic critic, "are not these." // Benevolent souls—they'd make your heart's blood freeze.
11.XI An epithet for husky fellows, // That stand all robed in greens and yellows.
1.XII Whole without holes behold me here, // My meaning should be wholly clear.
10.XII Running all around, never setting foot to floor, // If there isn't one in this room, there may be one next door.
1.XIII Ye gods! think also of that goddess' name // Whose might two hours on end the mob proclaim.
4.XIII The Priest uplifts his voice on high, // The choristers make their reply.
14.XIII When you've guessed it, with one voice // You'll say it was a golden choice.
1.XIV Shall learning die amid a war's alarms? // I, at my birth, was clasped in iron arms.
10.XIV At sunset see the labourer now // Loose all his oxen from the plough.
1.XV Without a miracle it cannot be— // At this point, Solver, bid him pray for thee!
11.XV Two thousand years ago and more // (Just as we do today) // The Romans saw these distant lights— // But, oh! how hard the way!
