"Let’s clear up one point before we tackle the lettering," Sir Clinton suggested. "That’s to-day’s issue of the Courier; so this advertisement was received at the newspaper office yesterday. Since the thing reached me by the second post, this copy of the paper may have been bought in the normal way—first thing in the morning—and posted at once."
"That’s sound, sir. It’s among the ordinary advertisements—not in the ‘Too Late For Classification’ section."
"It may be a hoax, of course," Sir Clinton mused, "but the telegram-form business would hardly occur to a practical joker. I think one can take it as a genuine contribution until it’s proved to be a fake. Now what do you make of it?"
The Inspector shook his head.
"Cyphers are not my long suit, sir. Frankly, it seems to me just a jumble, and I don’t think I’d make it anything else if I tried."
Sir Clinton reflected for a minute or two in silence, his eyes fixed on the advertisement.
"I’ve a notion that this is only Chapter I, Inspector. There’s more to come, in all probability. If it’s Mr. Justice, he’s not the man to waste time. By the way, did you give the reporters the information you were talking about yesterday?"
"Yes, sir. It was printed in last night’s Evening Herald, and I think both the Courier and the Gazette have got it this morning."
Sir Clinton was still scrutinising the advertisement.
"I’m like you, Inspector—no great shakes on cyphers. But this affair looks to me more like the letters of a plain message arranged in ordinary alphabetical order. I think that most likely we shall get the key from the writer in some form or other before long. In the meantime, though, we might have a dash at interpreting the affair, if we can."
Flamborough’s face showed that he thought very poorly of the chances of success.
"Ever read Jules Verne or Poe?" Sir Clinton demanded. "No? Well, Poe has an essay on cryptography in its earlier stages—nothing like the stuff you’ll find in Gross or Reiss, of course, and mere child’s play compared with the special manuals on the subject. But he pointed out that in cypher-solving you have to pick the lock instead of using the normal key. And Jules Verne puts his finger on the signature of a cypher-communication as a weak point, if you’ve any idea who the sender is. That’s assuming, of course, that there is a signature at all to the thing."
The Inspector nodded his comprehension of this.
"You mean, sir, that ‘Justice’ would be the signature here, like in the wire we got?"
"We can but try," Sir Clinton suggested. "Not that I’m over-hopeful. Still, it’s worth a shot. Suppose we hook out the letters of ‘Justice’ and see what that leaves us. And we may as well disregard the groups of five for the moment and simply collect the remaining letters under A, B, C, etc."
He tore a sheet of paper into small squares and inscribed one letter of the message on each square.
"Now we take out ‘Justice,’" he said, suiting the action to the word, "and simply leave the rest in alphabetical groups."
The Inspector, following the operation, found himself faced with the arrangement:
AAA CCCC D EEEE F HHHHH III NNNN
OOOOOO RR SSSS TTTTTTTTT U W Y
JUSTICE.
"It doesn’t seem much clearer, sir," Flamborough pointed out with a certain tinge of enjoyment in his tone. It was not often that he had a chance of crowing over his superior.
"Wait a moment, Inspector. Just let’s reflect for a bit. At any rate, the letters of ‘Justice’ are there; and that’s always better than a complete blank end. Now consider what Mr. Justice might be burning to tell us about in his unobtrusive way. He had time to see the news printed in last night’s Herald before he composed this little affair. Let’s suppose that he got some fresh ideas from that—since this communication falls pat after the publication and he hasn’t bothered us for days before that. The crucial thing was the identification of the hyoscine. We’ll see if we can get the word out here."
He sifted out the letters rapidly; and the jumble then took the form:
HYOSCINE AAA CCC D EEE F HHHH II
NNN OOOOO RR SSS TTTTTTTTT U W
JUSTICE.
"It fits, so far," Sir Clinton said, surveying his handiwork doubtfully, "but we might have got a couple of words like that out of a random jumble of fifty-six letters. It’s encouraging, but far from convincing, I admit."
He glanced over the arrangement with knitted brows.
"There seem to be a devil of a lot of T’s in the thing, if we’re on the right track. Now what do you associate with hyoscine in your mind, Inspector? Quick, now! Don’t stop to think."
"The Croft-Thornton Institute," said the inspector, promptly.
"Bull’s eye, I believe," the Chief Constable ejaculated. "You could hardly jam more T’s together in English than there are in these three words. Let’s sift ’em out."
The Inspector bent eagerly forward to see if the necessary letters could be found. Sir Clinton separated the ones which he required for the three words, and the arrangement stood thus:
HYOSCINE THE CROFT-THORNTON
INSTITUTE AAA CC D E HH OO SS TT
W JUSTICE.
