Inside No. 9

What's going on? Who are you?

Oh, for God's sake, you scared the living crap out of me then! Jesus!

- Are you all right? - I just need to sit down for a second.

Oh, shit!

Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.

That's all right. You haven't got a towel, have you?

Yes.

Thanks. It's wetter than a nun's cucumber out there tonight.

Thanks. Can you... Can you put the gun down, please?

Of course. It's not loaded,

it was just a prop from a student production of The Seagull.

Can I ask what you're doing in my rooms?

I presume you didn't break in for a towel.

Well, I... I didn't break in. Well, not technically.

My boyfriend told me all professors keep a key above their glory hole,

so I sort of just let myself in.

It was a stupid thing to do. I'm... I'm so sorry.

And you are?

Nina. Nina... Noonah.

Nina Noonah.

Well, not really, obviously, but I don't want to get in any trouble.

You're... You're not going to call the police, are you?

It's all right, Miss Noonah, my bark is worse than my bite.

Just tell me why you're here.

It's just Simon, my boyfriend, he studies at King's College

and he's properly clever.

He's got a bike and scarf and all the Harry Potter shit.

And he's sort of obsessed with doing the crossword.

And I don't mean the quick ones you get

with a picture of Vanessa Feltz in the middle in Chat magazine,

I mean, the cryptic.

I see.

And I try to help him sometimes

and I... I look at the clues and I feel like such a div

because I can't make head nor tail of them.

They may as well be written in Chinese!

In Mandarin, yes. And you're a student also?

Oh, God, no! No. I... I work at Greggs.

I'm what you call... emotionally intelligent.

Well, sadly, that won't help you with the cryptic.

Sorry.

Yeah, tell me about it.

Anyway, Simon reckons you're the Sphinx, or something.

- Do you write the crossword in the student paper? - That's correct.

Crossword-setters traditionally use a pseudonym, a made-up name.

- What, like Nina Noonah? - Yes.

And I am know as the Sphinx.

It's not exactly a secret, especially here on campus.

Anyway, I just thought that if I could maybe see the answers to this week's crossword,

then I could sit with Simon and be, like,

"18-down, do you think that's Parachute?"

And he'd be like, "Yeah! Wow, you're so clever, and..."

It was only meant to be a joke. I'm really sorry.

No, no, no, I quite understand.

We all crave approbation on some level.

Tell me, what does your boyfriend study, Miss Noonah?

- Architecture. - Architecture?

Well, I teach.

Yeah, I know. I didn't think you were a student.

Simon says you teach Classics.

Is that, like, Gone With The Wind and Pretty Woman and that?

I teach wild creature without hospital building.

- Sorry, what? - I teach...

wild creature...

without hospital building.

- 12 letters. - It's a clue!

Yes. Not a very good one, I admit, since you put me on the spot.

So... A cryptic clue always offers up two means of solution.

The beginning or the end of the sentence

gives you the definition of the word.

Much as you might get in a standard vanilla crossword.

And the rest of the clue is the wordplay, if you like,

- which is a kind of riddle. - Like on Catchphrase?

Yes, in a manner of speaking.

So, here we have a 12-letter word, meaning "I teach", or "building".

Now, here we have the word "wild",

which is what we refer to as an anagram-indicator.

It suggests the letters can be jumbled up and rearranged.

So anything such as "upset", "excited", "insane".

- Mashed up! - Yes, if you like.

- Wankered! - That type of thing.

It's telling us to mix up the letters.

So if we take the words "I teach" and "creature"

and make them "wild", we might come up with a solution.

OK, but that's too many letters.

Yes, very good. We're two letters over.

So we look here, "without hospital".

Now, in terms of letters, what could "hospital" be?

- H? - Yeah, but we need two letters, remember.

If you were to have an accident, if I'd shot you here in the dark...

What, with an empty gun? Good luck.

But if I had, you'd head straight for which department?

- A&E? - Excellent!

So if we remove "A" and "E" from "creature"

ie "creature without hospital",

and mix it up with "I teach", then we get an anagram of 12 letters

- meaning "building", which is...? - Sorry, what?

Architecture!

See? Not so hard, was it?

Is that in this week's crossword, then?

No, no, no, no. I haven't parsed it properly.

I buried the anagram-indicator in the fodder, but...

it was simply an illustration.

What, in Pictionary, you can draw it?

No.

No, I was...

I was just showing off.

Trying to give you some insight.

I'm sorry.

OK, then, Professor.

Sorry I woke you.

It's Nigel.

Nina.

Bye.

If you like, I can show you the clues to tomorrow's crossword,

see if any of them make sense.

- You'd teach me? - Yes.

I teach wild creature?

It's not quite Pygmalion, but... I can give you some pointers.

Here.

Have a look.

The answers all go in this grid.

Have a look at one-across and I'll make us some tea.

"To wound and wander destitute (4, 3, 3)"

So, is this another nanagram?

Possibly. Look for a verb or an adjective that suggests movement.

- Wander? - Bingo!

So, how many of these have you done?

Crosswords? Four or five hundred.

You must have a very devious mind.

It has been said.

The Sphinx is a mythical creature of Greek legend.

A woman's head on a lion's body.

She guarded the gates of the ancient city of Thebes.

Any traveller wishing to pass through had first to solve her riddle.

If they failed the test, she would kill them

by means of asphyxiation and then... eat the remains.

No pressure, then.

She was devious and deadly.

Perfect for a cryptic crossword-setter.

- "Down-and-out, meaning destitute." - Excellent!

By Jove, she's got it!

Well, put it up on the grid.

Is that what all the cups are for?

- Sorry? - In the cabinet.

Yes. The Cambridge Cruciverbalist Club, the CCC.

Much like the KKK, only slightly less benevolent.

Is this... Is this your wife?

Monica, yes.

Does she do the crossword?

She did. She died last year.

Sorry. Did you have kids?

No, no.

There is no more sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hall.

Well, you've certainly won a lot.

It's not exactly the boat race, though, is it?

How do you mean?

Well, you can't beat someone at a crossword, can you?

I don't know, competitive solving can be quite combative, believe me.

Blood has been spilt.

Metaphorically, of course.

What's black and white and red all over?

The Cambridge crossword competition.

Or a nun chewing a razorblade.

Or a penguin with sunburn.

I've got one, but it's quite rude, though.

I teach Catullus, dear, I'm hardly a prude.

What's long and hard and full of seamen? A submarine.

Very good.

- And what's pink and hard in the mornings? The... - A cock?

...Financial Times' crossword.

Have a look at... two-down.

"This cover sounds like a 50 Cent song."

Is that, like, a cover version?

"Sounds like" indicates a homophone.

Do you know what a homophone is?

Is it an app for gays, like Grinder?

No. It's two words which sound the same,

but which are spelt differently, like "their" and "there".

- Where? - Think of a four-letter word meaning "to cover",

which sounds like a type of song. Beginning with W?

- Wrap! - Correct! That's two in two minutes!

You'll be challenging for the Cup before long.

And, of course, one-down,

"Indian national product of French-Italian agreement",

is simply "of" in French,

followed by an Italian form of agreement,

making "Desi" a person from India.

Why do you use such difficult words?

Every word is chosen for its letters, Nina.

For example, have a look at 18-across.

18-across: "Tory leader on board for English flower."

- So that's a five-letter word for Tory leader. - Or...?

English flower? Poppy!

- No. - Daisy?

Don't guess, Nina, dear. Deduct!

And don't take anything for granted.

Now... What could "Tory leader" be?

- Boris? - No. Look at the word!

- T. - That's right!