Speaking in code, 2

From 'In the Mood for Love'

Raise your hands; allow your fingers to form the letters, flying back and forth like the shuttle on a loom, weaving words your tongue cannot fathom.

Punch in these four digits; give your mother's maiden name; your dying pet's last words; the date of your daughter's birth, inverted; the colour of the Wellington boots you lost in the November quagmire of a ploughed field between Devilsden Wood and Upper Platts.

The instructions could not be more clear, once you have unravelled them; begin with a slipknot - one that gently draws the loop of red wool tight around your throat. Chain 28: the circumference of your wrist; also, the number of steps leading up to your history professor's corner office; your age when you woke up for the first time in a decade and remembered who you were.

Hold the letter up to the mirror and the reversed writing corrects itself, the message makes itself apparent.

14 down: Daughter - stuck on Tube - has lost her handbag and is unable to call home. (10)