Speaker 1: The Moabite Cipher by R. Austin Freeman. A large and
motley crowd lined the pavements of Oxford Street as Thorndyke
and I made our way leisurely eastward. Floral decorations and
drooping bunting announced one of those functions inaugurated from time
to time by a benevolent government for the entertainment of
fashionable loungers and the relief of distressed pickpockets. For a
Russian grand Duke, who had torn himself away amidst valedictory
explosions from a loving if two demonstrative people, was to
pass Anon on his way to the Guildhall, and a
British prince, heroically indiscreet was expected to occupy a seat
in the ducal carriage near Raftbone Place. Thorndyke halted and
drew my attention to a smart looking man who was
lounging in a doorway, cigarette in hand. Our old friend,
Inspector Badger, said Thorndyke. He seems mightily interested in that
gentleman in the light overcoat. How d'ye do Badger? For
at this moment the detective caught his eye and bowed
who is your friend. That's what I'd like to know, Sir,
replied the Inspector. I've been shadowing him for the last
half hour, but I can make him out, though I
believe I've seen him somewhere. He don't look like a foreigner,
but he has something bulky in his pocket, so I
must keep him in sight until the Duke is safely passed.
I wish, he added gloomily, these beastly Russians would stop
at home. They give us no end of trouble. Are
you expecting any occurrences? Then asked Thorndyke. Bless you, Sir,
exclaimed Badger. The whole root is lined with a plainclothesman.
You see, it is known that several desperate characters followed
the Duke to England, and there are a good many
exiles living here who would like to have a wrap
at him. Hallo, what's he up to now? The man
in the light overcoat had suddenly caught the Inspector's too
inquiring eye, and forthwith dived into the crowd at the
edge of the pavement. In his haste, he trod heavily
on the foot of a big, rough looking man by
whom he was in a moment hustled out into the
road with such violence that he fell, sprawling face downwards.
It was an unlucky moment. A mounted constable was just
then backing in upon the crowd, and before he could
gather the meaning of the shout that arose from the bystanders,
his horse had set down one hind hoofed firmly on
the prostrate man's back. The inspector signaled to a constable,
who forthwith made a way for us through the crowd.
But even as we approached the injured man, he rose
stiffly and looked round with a pale, vacant face. Are
you hurt, Thorndyke asked gently, with an earnest look into
the frightened, wondering eyes. No, sir, was the reply. Only
I feel queer sinking just here. He laid a trembling
hand on his chest, and Thorndyke, still eyeing him anxiously, said,
in a low voice to the inspector cab or ambulance
as quickly as you can. A cab was led round
from Newman Street, and the injured man put into it. Thorndyke,
Badger and I entered, and we drove off up Rathbone Place.
As we proceeded, our patient's face grew more and more ashen,
drawn and anxious. His breathing was shallow and uneven, and
his teeth chattered slightly. The cab swung round into Good Street,
and then suddenly, in the tinkling of an eye, there
came a change. The eyelids and jaw relaxed, the eyes
became filmy, and the whole form subsided into the corner
in a shrunken heap, with the strange, gelatinous limpness of
a body that is dead as a whole while its
tissues are still alive. God save us the man, instead,
exclaimed the inspector in a shocked voice, For even policemen
have their feelings. He sat staring at the corpse as
it nodded gently with the jolting of the cab until
we drew up inside the courtyard of the Middlesex Hospital,
when he got out briskly with suddenly renewed cheerfulness, to
help the porter to place the body on the wheeled couch.
Well we shall know who he is now, at any rate,
said he, as we followed the couch to the casualty room.
Thorndyke nodded unsympathetically. The medical instinct in him was, for
the moment, stronger than the legal. The house surgeon leaned
over the couch and made a rapid examination as he
listened to our account of the incident. Then he straightened
himself up and looked at Thorndyke. Internal hemorrhage, I expect,
said he. At any rate, he's dead, poor beggar, as
dead as nebukanezer Ah. Here comes the bobby. It's his
affair now. A sergeant came into the room, breathing quickly,
and looked in surprise from the corpse to the inspector.
But the latter, without loss of time, proceeded to turn
out the dead man's pockets, commencing with the bulky object
which had first attracted his attention, which proved to be
a brown paper parcel tied up with red tape. Poor
pie begad, he exclaimed with a crestfallen air, as he
cut the tape and opened the package. You had better
go through his other pocket, sergeant. The small heap of
odds and ends that resulted from this process tended with
a single exception to throw a little light on the
man's identity, the exception being a letter sealed but not stamped,
addressed in an exceedingly illiterate hand to mister Adolph Schoenberg,
two thirteen Greek Street. Soho he was going to leave
it by hand, I expect, observed the inspector with a
wistful glance at the sealed envelope. I think I'll take
it round myself, and you had better come with me, sergeant.
He slipped the letter into his poe, and, leaving the
sergeant to take possession of the other effects, made his
way out of the building. I suppose, doctor, said he
as we crossed into Berner Street. You are not coming
our way. Don't want to see mister Schoenburg. Thornburgh reflected
for a moment, Well, it isn't very far and we
may as well see the end of the incident. Yes,
let's go together. Number two one three Greek Street was
one of those houses that irresistibly suggested the observer the
idea of a church organ, either jamb of the doorway
being adorned with a row of brass bell handles corresponding
to stop knobs. These, the sergeant examined with the air
of an expert musician, and having as it were, gaged
the capacity of the instrument, selected the middle knob on
the right side and pulled it briskly, whereupon a first
floor window was thrown up and a head protruded, but
it afforded us a momentary glimpse only for having caught
the sergeant's upturned eye. It retired with surprising precipitancy, and
before we had time to speculate on the apparition, the
street door was opened and a man emerged. He was
about to close the door after him, when the inspector interposed,
does mister Adolf Schoenburg live here? The newcomer, a very
typical jew of the red haired type, surveyed us thoughtfully
through his gold rimmed spectacles as he repeated the name Schoenburg. Schoenburg. Ah, yes,
I know, he lives on the third floor. I saw
him go up a short time ago, third floor back,
and indicating the open door with a wave of the hand,
he raised his hat and passed into the street. I
suppose we had better go up, said the inspector, with
a dubious glance at the row of bell poles. He
accordingly started up the stairs, and we all followed in
his wake. There were two doors at the back of
the third floor, but as the one was open, displaying
an unoccupied bedroom, the inspector rapped smartly on the other.
It flew open almost immediately, and a fierce looking little
man confronted us with a hostile stare. Well said he,
mister Adolf Schoenburg, inquired the inspector, vell flat about him,
snapped our new acquaintance. I wish to have a few
words with him, said badger. Then vacta, do still come
bangin at my door? For demanded the other. Why doesn't
he live here? No first floor front, replied our friend,
preparing to close the door. Pardon me, said Thorndyke. But
what is mister Schoenburg like? I mean like, interrupted the resident.
He's like a blooming signeye with a carroty beard and
gold gig lamps. And having presented this impressionist sketch, he
brought the interview to a definite close by slamming the
door and turning the key with a wrathful exclamation. The
inspector turned towards the stairs, down which the sergeant was
already clattering in hot haste, and made his way back
to the ground floor, followed as before by Thorndyke and me.
On the doorstep, we found the sergeant breathlessly interrogating a
smartly dressed youth whom I had seen a light from
a hansom as we entered the house, and who now
stood with a note book tucked under his arm, sharpening
a pencil with deliberate care. Mister James saw him come out, sir,
said the sergeant. He turned up towards the square. Did
he seem to hurry, asked the inspector, Rather, replied the reporter.
As soon as you were inside, he went off like
a lamp lighter. You won't catch him. Now, we don't
want to catch him, the detective rejoined, gruffly. Then, backing
out of earshot of the eager pressman, he said, in
a lower tone, that was mister Schoenberg, beyond a doubt,
and it is clear that he has some reason for
making himself scarce. So I shall consider myself justified. In
opening that note, he suited the action to the word, and,
having cut the envelope open with official neatness, drew out
the enclosure. My hat, he exclaimed, as his eye fell
upon the contents. What in creation is this? It isn't shorthand,
but what the deuce is it? He handed the document
to Thorndyke, who, having held it up to the light
and felt the paper critically, proceeded to examine it with
keen interest. It consisted of a single half sheet of
thin note paper, both sides of which were covered with
strange crabbed characters written with a brownish black ink in
continuous lines, without any spaces to indicate the divisions into words.
And but for the modern material which bore the writing,
it i'd have been a portion of some ancient manuscript
or forgotten codex. What do you make of it? Doctor,
inquired the inspector anxiously, after a pause during which Thorndyke
had scrutinized the strange writing with knitted brows. Not a
great deal, replied Thorndyke. The character is the Moabide or Phoenician,
primitive Semitic in fact, and reads from right to left.
The language I take to be Hebrew at any rate
I can find no Greek words, and I see here
a group of letters which may form one of the
few Hebrew words that I know. The word badim lies.
But you had better get it deciphered by an expert.
If it is Hebrew, said Badger. We can manage it
all right. There are plenty of Jews at our disposal.
You had better take that paper to the British Museum,
said Thorndyke, and submitted to the Keeper of the Phoenician
Antiquities for decipherment. Inspector Badger smiled a foxy smile as
he deposited the paper in his pocket book. We'll see
what we can make of it ourselves first, he said.
But many thanks for your advice. All the same doctor, No,
mister James, I can't give you any information just at present.
You had better apply at the hospital. I suspect, said
Thorndyke as we took our way homewards, that mister James
has collected enough material for his purpose already. He must
have followed us from the hospital, and I have no
doubt that he has his report with full details mentally
arranged at this moment, and I am not sure that
he didn't get a peep at the mysterious paper in
spite of the Inspector's precautions. By the way, I said,
what do you make of the document? A cipher, most probably,
he replied. It is written in the primitive Semitic alphabet, which,
as you know, is practically identical with primitive Greek. It
is written from right to left, like the Phoenician Hebrew
and Moabite, as well as the earliest Greek inscriptions. The
paper is common cream laid note paper, and the ink
is ordinary indelible Chinese ink, such as is used by draftsmen.
Those are the facts, and without further study of the
document itself, they don't carry us very far. Why do
you think it is a cipher rather than a document
and straightforward Hebrew? Because it is obviously a secret message
of some kind. Now, every educated Jew knows more or
less Hebrew, and although he is able to read and
write only the modern square Hebrew character, it is so
easy to transpose one alphabet into another that the mere
language would afford no security. Therefore, I expect that when
the experts translate this document, the translation or transliteration will
be a mere farrago of unintelligible nonsense. But we shall see.
And meanwhile, the facts that we have offer several interesting
suggestions which are well worth consideration. As for instance, now,
my dear Jervis, said Thorndyke, shaking in a monitory forefinger
at me. Don't I pray you give way to mental indolence.
You have these few facts that I have mentioned, consider
them separately and collectively and in their relation to the circumstances.
Don't attempt to suck my brain when you have an
excellent brain of your own to suck. On the following morning,
the papers fully justified my colleague's opinion of mister James.
All the events which had occurred, as well as a
number that had not, were given in the fullest and
most vivid detail, a length the reference being made to
the paper found on the person of the dead anarchist
and written in a private shorthand or cryptogram. The report
concluded with the gratifying, though untrue statement that, in this
intricate and important case, the police have wisely secured the
assistance of doctor John Thorndyke, to whose acute intellect and
vast experience, the portentous cryptogram will doubtless soon deliver up
its secret. Very flattering, laughed Thorndyke, to whom I read
the extract on his return from the hospital. But a
little awkward of it should induce our friends to deposit
a few trifling mementoes in the form of nitro compounds
on our main staircase or in the cellars. By the way,
I met Superintendent Miller on London Bridge. The cryptogram, as
mister James calls it, has set Scotland Yard in a
mighty ferment. Naturally, what have they done in the matter?
They adopted my suggestion, after all, finding that they could
make nothing of it themselves, and took it to the
British Museum. The museum people referred them to Professor Poppelbaum,
the great paleographer, to whom they accordingly submitted it. Does
he express any opinion about it? Yes? Provisionally after a
brief examination he found it to consist of a number
of Hebrew words sandwich between apparently meaningless groups of letters.
He furnished the Superintendent off hand with a translation of
the words, and Miller forthwith struck off a number of
hectograph copies of it, which he has distributed among the
senior officials of his department, So that at present here
Thorndyke gave event to a soft chuckle. Scotland Yard is
engaged in a sort of missing word, or rather missing
sense competition. Miller invited me to join in the sport,
and to that end presented me with one of the
hectograph copies on which to exercise my wits, together with
a photograph of the document. And shall you, I asked,
Not I, he replied, laughing. In the first place, I
have not been formally consulted, and consequently am a passive,
though interested spectator. In the second place, I have a
theory of my own, which I shall test if the
occasion arises. But if you would like to take part
in the competition, I am authorized to show you the
photograph and the translation will pass them on to you,
and I wish you joy of them. He handed me
the photograph in a sheet of paper that he had
just taken from his pocket book, and watched me with
grim amusement as I read out the first few lines. Woe, city, lies, robbery, prey, noise, whip,
rattling wheel horse, chariot, day, darkness, gloominess, clouds, darkness, morning,
mountain people strong, fire them flame. It doesn't look very
promising at first sight, I remarked, what is the professor's theory?
His theory, provisionally, of course, is that the words form
the message and the groups of letters represent mere filled
up spaces between the words. But surely, I protested, that
would be a very transparent device. Thorndyke laughed. There is
a childlike simplicity about it, said he. That is highly attractive,
but discouraging. It is much more probable that the words
are dummies and that the letters contain the message. Or again,
the solution may lie in an entirely different direction. But listen,
is that a cap coming here? It was it? I
drew up opposite our chambers, and a few moments later
a brisk step ascending the stairs heralded a smart rat
tat at our door. Flinging open the ladder, I found
myself confronted by a well dressed stranger, who, after a
quick glance at me, peered inquisitively over my shoulder into
the room. I am relieved. Doctor Jervis said he to
find you and doctor Thorndyke at home, as I have
come on somewhat urgent professional business. My name, he continued
entering in response to my invitation, is Barton. But you
don't know me, though I know you both by sight.
I have come to ask you if one of you,
or better still, both could come to night and see
my brother. That said Thorndyke, depends on the circumstances and
on the whereabouts of your brother. The circumstances, said mister Barton,
are in my opinion, highly suspicious, and I will place
them before you, of course, in strict confidence. Thorndyke nodded
and indicated a chair. My brother, continued, mister Barton, taking
the proffered seat, has recently married for the second time.
His age is fifty five and that of his wife
twenty six, and I may say that the marriage has
been well, by no means a success. Now, within the
last fortnight, my brother has been attacked by a mysterious
and extremely painful affection of the stomach, to which his
doctor seems unable to give a name. It has resisted
all treatment hitherto. Day by day the pain and distress increase,
and I feel that unless something decisive is done, the
end cannot be far off. Is the pain worse after
taking food, inquired Thorndyke. That's just it, exclaimed our visitor.
I see what is in your mind, and it has
been in mine too, so much though that I have
tried repeatedly to obtain samples of the food that he
is taking, and this morning I succeeded. Here he took
from his pocket a wide mouthed bottle, which, disengaging from
its paper wrappings, he laid on the table when I called.
He was taking his breakfast of arrowroot, which he complained
had a gritty taste, supposed by his wife to be
due to the sugar. Now I had provided myself with
this bottle, and during the absence of his wife, I'm
banished unobserved to convey a portion of the arrowroot that
he had left into it. And I should be greatly
obliged if you would examine it and tell me if
this arrow rout contains anything that it should not. He
pushed the bottle across to Thorndyke, who carried it to
the window, and, extracting a small quantity of the contents
with a glass rod, examined the pasty mass with the
aid of a lens. Then, lifting the bell glass cover
from the microscope which stood on its table by the window,
he smeared a small quantity of the suspected matter onto
a glass slip and placed it on the stage of
the instrument. I observe a number of crystalline particles in this,
he said, after a brief inspection, which have the appearance
of arcinious acid. Ah, ejaculated mister Barton, just as I feared.
But are you certain? No, replied Thorndyke. But the matter
is easily tested. He pressed the button of the bell
that communicated with the laboratory, a summons that brought the
laboratory assistance from his lair with characteristic promptitude. Will you
please prepare a marsious apparatus, Polton, said Thorndyke. I have
a couple ready, Sir, replied Pulton, then poured the acid
into one and bring it to me with a tile.
As his familiar vanished silently, Thorndyke turned to mister Barton,
Supposing we find arsenic in this arrowroot, as we probably shall,
what do you want us to do? I want you
to come and see my brother, replied our client. Why
not take a note from me to his doctor? No, no,
I want you to come. I should like you both
to come and put a stop at once to this
dreadful business. Consider it is a matter of life and death.
You won't refuse I beg you not to refuse me
your help in these terrible circumstances, well said Thorndyke, as
his assistant reappeared. Let us first see what the test
has to tell us. Poulton advanced to the table, on
which he deposited a small flask, the contents of which
were in a state of brisk effervescence, a bottle labeled
calcium hypochlorite, and a white porcelain tile. The flask was
fitted with a safety funnel and a glass tube drawn
out to a fine jet, to which Polton cautiously applied
a lighted match. Instantly there sprang from the jet a tiny,
pale violet flame. Thorndyke now took the tile and held
it in the flame for several seconds, when the appearance
of the surface remained unchanged save for the small circle
of condensed moisture. His next proceeding was to thin the
arrowroot with distilled water until it was quite fluid, and
then pour a small quantity into the funnel. It ran
slowly down the tube into the flask with the bubbling
contents of which it became speedily mixed. Almost immediately a
change began to appear in the character of the flame,
which from a pale violet turned gradually to a sickly blue,
while above it hung a faint cloud of white smoke.
Once more, Thorndyke held the tile above the jet, but
this time no sooner had the pallid flame touched the
cold surface of the porcelain than there appeared on the
latter a glistening black stain. That is pretty conclusive, observed Thorndyke,
lifting the stopper out of the reagent bottle. But we
will apply the final test. He dropped a few drops
of the hypochlorite solution onto the tile, and immediately the
black stain faded away and vanished. I now answer your question,
mister Barton, said he replacing the stopper as he turned
to our client. The specimen that you brought us certainly
contains arsenic and in very considerable quantities, then exclaimed mister Barton,
starting from his chair, You will come and help me
to rescue my brother from this dreadful pearl. Don't refuse me,
doctor Thorndyke, for mercy's sake, don't refuse. Thorndyke reflected for
a moment before we decide, said he we must see
what engagements we have. With a quick, significant glance at me,
he walked into the office, whither I followed in some bewilderment,
for I knew that we had no engagements for the
evening now, Jervis, said Thorndyke, as he closed the office door.
What are we to do? We must go, I suppose,
I replied. It seems a pretty urgent case. It does.
He agreed. Of course, the man may be telling the truth.
After all, you don't think he is. Then, no, it
is a plausible tale, but there is too much arsenic
in that arrow root. Still I think I ought to go.
It is an ordinary professional risk, but there is no
reason why you should put your head into the noose.
Thank you, I said, somewhat huffily. I don't see what
risk there is, but if any exists, I claim the
right to share it. Very well, he answered, with a smile.
We will both go. I think we can take care
of ourselves. He re entered the sitting room and announced
his decision to mister Barton, whose relief and gratitude were
quite pathetic. But said Thorndyke, you have not yet told
us where your brother lives. Rexford, was the reply. Rexford
in Essex. It isn't out of the way place, but
if we catch the seven fifteen from Liverpool Street, we
shall be there in an hour and a half. And
as to the return, you know the trains, I suppose,
Oh yes, replied our client. I will see that you
don't miss your train back. Then I will be with
you in a minute, said Thorndyke, and taking the still
bubbling flask, he retired to the laboratory. Whence he returned
in a few minutes carrying his hat and overcoat. The
cab which had brought our client was still waiting, and
we were soon rattling through the streets toward the station,
where we arrived in time to furnish ourselves with dinner
baskets and select our compartment at leisure. During the early
part of the journey, our companion was in excellent spirits.
He despatched the cold fowl from the basket and quaffed
the rather indifferent claret with as much relish as if
he had not had a single relation in the world,
And after dinner he became genial to the verge of hilarity.
But as the time went on, there crept into his
manner a certain anxious restlessness. He became silent and preoccupied,
and several times furtively consulted his watch. The train is
confoundedly late, he exclaimed, irritably, seven minutes behind time. Already
a few minutes more or less are not of much consequence,
said Thorndyke. No, of course not. But still, ah, thank Heaven,
here we are. He thrust his head out of the
off side window and gazed eagerly down the line. Then,
leaping to his feet, he bustled out onto the platform
while the train was still moving. Even as we alighted,
a warning bell rang furiously on the up platform, and
as mister Barton hurried us through the empty booking office
to the outside of the station, the rumble of the
approaching train could be heard above the noise made by
our own trade moving off. My courage does not seem
to have arrived yet, exclaimed mister Barton, looking anxiously up
the station approach. If you will wait here a moment,
I will go and make inquiries. He darted back into
the booking office and threw it onto the platform, just
as the up train roared into the station. Thorndyke followed
him with quick but stealthy steps, and, peering out of
the booking office door, watched his proceedings. Then he turned
and beckoned to me. There he goes, said he, pointing
to an iron footbridge that spanned the line, And as
I looked, I saw clearly defined against the dim night sky,
a flying figure racing toward the upside. It was hardly
two thirds across when the guard's whistle sang out its
shrill warning. Quick Jervis exclaimed Thorndyke, She's off. He leaped
down onto the line, whither I followed instantly, and crossing
the rails, we clambered up together onto the footboard opposite
an empty first class compartment. Thorndyke's magazine knife, containing among
other implements, a railway key, was already in his hand.
The door was speedily un locked, and as we entered,
Thorndyke ran through and looked out onto the platform. Just
in time, he exclaimed, he is in one of the
forward compartments. He relocked the door, and, seating himself, proceeded
to fill his pipe. And now said I, as the
train moved out of the station, perhaps you will explain
this little comedy with pleasure, he replied, if it needs
any explanation. But you can hardly have forgotten mister James's
flattering remarks in his report of the Greek Street incident,
clearly giving the impression that the mysterious document was in
my possession. When I read that, I knew I must
look out for some attempt to recover it, though I
hardly expected such promptness. Still, when mister Barton called without
credentials or appointment, I viewed him with some suspicion. That
suspicion deepened when he wanted us both to come. It
deepened further when I found an impossible quantity of arsenic
in his sample, and it gave place to certainty when
having allowed him to select the trains by which we
were to travel, I went up to the laboratory and
examined the timetable for I then found that the last
train for London left Rexford ten minutes after we were
due to arrive. Obviously, this was a plan to get
us both safely out of the way while he and
some of his friends ransacked our chambers for the missing document.
I see, and that accounts for his extraordinary anxiety at
the lateness of the train. But why did you come
if you knew it was a plant, my dear fellow,
said Thorndyke. I never miss an interesting experience if I
can help it. There are possibilities in this too, don't
you see? But supposing his friends have broken into our
chambers already that contingency has been provided for. But I
think they will wait for mister Barton and us. Our train,
being the last one up, stopped at every station and
crawled slussfully in the intervals, so that it was past
eleven o'clock when we reached Liverpool Street. Here we got
out cautiously, and mingling with the crowd, followed the unconscious
Barton up the platform, through the barrier, and out into
the street. He seemed in no special hurry, for after
pausing to light a cigar, he set off at an
easy pace up New Broad Street. Thorndyke hailed a hansom, and,
motioning me to enter, directed the cabman to drive to
Clifford's Inn. Passage. Sit well back, said he. As we
rattled away up New Broad Street. We shall be passing
our gay deceiver presently. In fact, there he is a
living walking illustration of the folly of underrating the intelligence
of one's adversary. At Clifford's in passage, we dismissed the cab, and,
retiring into the shadow of the dark narrow alley, kept
an eye on the gate of Inner Temple Lane. In
about twenty minutes we observed our friend approaching on the
south side of Fleet Street. He halted at the gate,
plied the knocker, and after a brief parley with the
night porter, vanished through the wicket. We waited yet five
minutes more, and then, having given him time to get
clear of the entrance, we crossed the road. The porter
looked at us with some surprise. There's a gentleman just
gone down to your chambers, sir, said he. He told
me you were expecting him. Quite right, said Thorndyke, with
a dry smile. I was good night. We slunk down
the lane, past the church and through the gloomy cloisters,
giving a wide berth to all lamps and lighted entry,
until emerging into paper buildings. We crossed at the darkest
part to King's Bench Walk, where Thorndyke made straight for
the chambers of our friend. Anstey, which were two doors
above our own. Why are we coming here, I asked
as we ascended the stairs, But the question needed no
answer when we reached the landing, for through the open
door of our friend's chambers, I could see in the
darkened room ants Tea himself with two uniformed constables and
a couple of plains clothes men. There has been no
signal yet, sir, said one of the latter, whom I
recognized as a detective sergeant of our division. No, said Thorndyke,
but the m C has arrived. He came in five
minutes before us, then exclaimed Anstey. The ball will open shortly,
Ladies and gents. The boards are wax the fiddlers are
tuning up and not quite so loud. If you please, sir,
said the sergeant, I think there is somebody coming up
Crown Office Row. The ball had in fact opened. As
we peered cautiously out of the open window, keeping well
back in the darkened room, a stealthy figure crept out
of the shadow, crossed the road, and stole noiselessly into
the entry of Thorndyke's chambers. It was quickly followed by
a second figure, and then by a third, in which
I recognized our elusive client. Now listen for the signal,
said Thorndyke. They won't waste time. Confound that clock. The
soft voiced bell of the Inner Temple clock, mingling with
the harsher tones of Saint Dunstan's and the law courts,
slowly told out the hour of midnight. And as the
last reverberations were dying away, some metallic object, apparently a coin, dropped,
with a sharp clink onto the pavement under our window.
At the sound, the watchers simultaneously sprang to their feet.
You two go first, said the sergeant, addressing the uniformed men,
who thereupon stole noiselessly in their rubber soled boots down
the stone stairs and along the pavement. The rest of
us followed with less attention to silence, and as we
ran up to Thorndyke's chambers, we were aware of quick
but stealthy footsteps on the stairs above. They've been at work,
you see, whispered one of the constables, flashing his lantern
onto the iron bound outer door of our sitting room,
on which the marks of a large jemmy were plainly visible.
The sergeant nodded grimly, and, bidding the constables to remain
on the landing, led the way upwards. As we ascended,
faint rustlings continued to be audible from above, and on
the second floor landing we met a man descending briskly
but without hurry from the third It was mister Barton,
and I could not but admire the composure with which
he passed the two detectives. But suddenly his glance fell
on Thorndyke, and his composure vanished. With a wild stare
of incredulous horror, he halted as if petrified. Then he
broke away and raced furiously down the stairs, and after
a moment, a muffled shout and the sound of a
scuffle told us that he had received a check. On
the next flight, we met two more men, who, more
hurried and less self possessed, endeavored to push past, but
the sergeant barred the way. Why bless me, exclaimed the latter.
It's Moky and isn't that Tom Harris. It's all right, sergeant,
said Mokey, plaintively, striving to escape from the officer's grip.
We've come to the wrong house. That's all, the sergeant
smiled indulgently. A I know, he replied, but you're always
coming to the wrong house, smoky, and now you're just
coming along with me to the right house. He slipped
his hand inside his captive's coat and adroitly fished out
a large folding gemmy, whereupon the discomfited burglar abandoned all
further protest. On our return to the first floor, we
found mister Barton sulkily awaiting us, handcuffed to one of
the constables and watched by Polton with pensive disapproval. I
needn't trouble you tonight, doctor, said the sergeant, as he
marshaled his little troop of captors and captives. You'll hear
from us in the morning. Good night, sir. The melancholy
procession moved off down the stairs, and we retired to
our chambers with anstey to smoke a last pipe. A
capable man that Barton observed, Thorndyke ready plausible and ingenious,
but spoilt by prolonged contact with fools. I wonder if
the police will perceive the significance of this little affair.
They'll be more acute than I am. If they do,
said I naturally, interposed Anstey, who loved to cheek his
revered senior, Because there isn't any It's all Thorndyke's bounce.
He is really in deduce of a fog himself. However
this may have been. The police were a good deal
puzzled by the incident, for on the following morning we
received a visit from no less a person than Superintendent
Miller of Scotland Yard. This is a queer business, said he,
coming to the point at once, this burglary. I mean,
why should they want to crack your place right here
in the temple too? You've got nothing of value here?
Have you? No hard stuff as they call it? For instance,
not so much as a silver teaspoon, replied Thorndyke, who
had a conscientious objection to plate of all kinds. It's odd,
said the Superintendent, deuced odd. When we got your note,
we thought that anarchist idiots had mixed you up with
the case. You saw the papers, I suppose, and wanted
to go through your rooms for some reason. We thought
we had our hands on the gang, instead of which
we find a party of common crooks that we're sick
of the sight of I tell you, sir, it's annoying
when you think you've hooked a salmon to bring up
a blooming eel. It must be a great disappointment. Thorndyke agreed,
suppressing smile, it is, said the detective. Not but what.
We're glad enough to get these beggars, especially Halkett or Barton,
as he calls himself, a mighty slippery customer. Is Halkett
and mischievous too, But we're not wanting any disappointments. Just now,
there was that big jewel job in Piccadilly Taplin and Horns.
I don't mind telling you that we've not got a
ghost of the clue. Then there's this anarchist affair. We're
all in the dark there too. But what about the cipher,
asked Thorndyke. Oh hang the cipher, exclaimed the detective irritably.
This Professor Popelbaum may be a very learned man, but
he doesn't help us much. He says. The document is
in Hebrew and he has translated into double Dutch. Just
listen to this. He dragged out of his pocket a
bundle of papers, and, dabbing down a photograph of the
document before Thorndyke commenced to read the professor's report. The
document is written in the characters of the well known
inscription of Mesha, king of Moab, who the devil's he
never heard of him well known. Indeed, the language is Hebrew,
and the words are separated by groups of letters, which
are meanings and obviously introduced to mislead and confused the reader.
The words themselves are not strictly consecutive, but by the
interpolation of certain other words, a series of intelligible sentences
as obtained, the meaning of which is not very clear,
but is no doubt allegorical. The method of decipherment is
shown in the accompanying tables and the full rendering suggested
on the enclosed sheet. It is to be noted that
the writer of this document was apparently quite unacquainted with
the Hebrew language, as appears from the absence of any
grammatical construction. That's the professor's purport, doctor, And here are
the tables showing how he worked it out. It makes
my head spin to look at him. He handed to
Thorndyke a bundle of ruled sheets, which my colleague examined
attentively for a while, and then passed on to me.
This is very systematic and thorough, said he. But now
let us see the final result at which he arrives.
It may be all very systematic, growled the Superintendent, sorting
at his papers. But I tell you, sir, it's all
bosh the latter word, he jerked out viciously as he
slapped down on the table the final product of the
professor labors there, he continued, that's what he calls the
fool rendering, And I reckon, it'll make your hair curl.
It might be a message from Bedlam. Thorndyke took up
the first sheet, and as he compared the constructed renderings
with the literal translation, the ghost of a smile stole
across his usually immovable countenance. The meaning is certainly a
little obscure, he observed, though the reconstruction is highly ingenious.
And moreover, I think the professor is probably right, that
is to say, the words which he has supplied are
probably the omitted parts of the passages from which the
words of the cryptogram were taken. What do you think, jervis?
He handed me the two papers, of which one gave
the actual words of the cryptogram, and the other a
suggested reconstruction with omitted words supplied. The first read whip, noise, prey, robbery, lies, city, woe, horse,
wheel rattling, darkness, day, chariot, mountain, mourning, darkness, cloud, gloominess,
flame them, fire, strong people. Turning to the second paper,
I read out the suggested rendering, woe to the bloody city.
It is full of lies and robbery. The prey departeth
not the noise of a whip, and the noise of
the rattling of the wheels, and of the prancing horses,
and of the jumping chariots. A day of darkness and
of gloominess, a day of clouds and of thick darkness.
As the mornings spread upon the mountains, a great people
and a strong A fire devoueth before them, and behind
them a flame burneth. Here the first sheet ended, and
as I laid it down, Thorndyke looked at me inquiringly.
There is a good deal of reconstruction in proportion to
the original matter, I objected. The professor has supplied more
than three quarters of the final rendering exactly burst in
the superintendent. It's all, Professor, and no cryptogram. Still, I
think the reading is correct, said Thorndyke. As far as
it goes, that is good, Lord, exclaimed the dismayed detective.
Do you mean to tell me, sir, that all that
ball our dash is the real meaning of the thing.
I don't say that, replied Thorndyke. I say it is
correct as far as it goes, but I doubt it's
being the solution of the cryptogram. Have you been studying
that photograph that I gave you, demanded Miller with sudden eagerness.
I have looked at it, said Thorndyke evasively, but I
should like to examine the original if you have it
with you, I have, said the detective. Professor Popelbaum sent
it back with a solution. You can have a look
at it, though I can't leave it with you without
special authority. He drew the document from his pocket book
and handed it to Thorndyke, who took it over to
the window and scrutinized it closely. From the window, he
drifted into the adjacent office, closing the door after him,
and presently the sound of a faint explosion told me
that he had lighted the gas fire of course, said Miller,
taking up the translation again, disgibricious, the sort of stuff
you might expect from a parcel of crack brained anarchist.
But it doesn't seem to mean anything, not to us,
I agreed. But their phrases may have some prearranged significance.
And then there are the letters between the words. It
is possible that they may really form a cipher. I
suggested that to the professor, said Miller, But he wouldn't
hear of it. He is sure they are only dummies.
I think he is probably mistaken, and so I fancy
does my colleague. But we shall hear what he has
to say presently. Oh I know what he will say,
growled Miller. He will put the thing under the microscope
and tell us who made the paper and what the
ink is composed of, and then we shall be just
where we are. The superintendent was evidently deeply depressed. We
sat for some time pondering in silence on the vague
sentences of the professor's translation, until at length thorndyke reappeared,
holding the document in his hand. He laid it quietly
on the table by the officer, and then inquired, is
this an official consultation, certainly, replied Miller. I was authorized
to consult your respecting the translation, but nothing was said
about the original. Still, if you want it for further study,
I will get it for you. No, thank you, said Thorndyke.
I have finished with it. My theory turned out to
be correct. Your theory, exclaimed the asuperre intended eagerly. Do
you mean to say? And as you are consulting me officially,
I may as well give you this. He held out
a sheet of paper, which the detective took from him
and began to read. What is this, he asked, looking
up at Thorndyke with a puzzled frown. Where did it
come from? It is the solution of the cryptogram, replied Thorndyke.
The detective re read the contents of the paper, and,
with the frown of perplexity deepening, once more, gazed at
my colleague. This is a joke, sir, You are fooling me,
he said, sulkily. Nothing of the kind, answered Thorndyke. That
is the genuine solution. But it is impossible, exclaimed Miller.
Just look at it, doctor Jervis. I took the paper
from his hand, and as I glanced at it, I
had no difficulty in understanding his surprise. It bore a
short inscription in printed Roman capitals. Thus the pickerdilly stuff
is up to Chimbley for sixteen Warder Street, second floor back.
It was hid because of old Moki's Jewde Moki is
a blighter, then that fellow wasn't an anarchist at all,
I exclaimed, No, Miller, he was one of Moki's gang.
We suspected Mochi of being mixed up with that job,
but we couldn't fix it on him. By jove, he added,
slapping his thigh. If this is right, and I can
lay my hands on the loop, can you lend me
a bag? Doctor, I'm off to Warder Street this very moment.
We furnished him with an empty suit case, and from
the window watched him making for Miter Court at a
smart double. I wonder if he will find the booty,
said Thorndyke. It just depends on whether the hiding place
was known to more than one of the gang. Well,
it has been a quaint case and instructive too. I
suspect our friend Barton and the evasive Schoenberg were the
collaborators who produced that curiosity of literature. May I ask
how you deciphered the thing? I said, it didn't appear
to take long. It didn't. It was merely a matter
of testing a hypothesis. And you ought not to have
to ask that question, he added, with marked severity, seeing
that you had what turned out to have been all
the necessary facts two days ago. But I will prepare
a document and demonstrate to you tomorrow morning. So Miller
was successful at his quest, said Thorndyke. As we smoked
our morning pipes after breakfast, the entire swag, as he
calls it, was up the chimbly undisturbed. He handed me
a note which had been left with the empty suit
case by a messenger shortly before, and I was about
to read it when an agitated knock was heard at
our door. The visitor, whom I admitted, was a rather
haggard and disheveled, elderly gentleman, who, as he entered, peered
inquisitively through his concave spectacles from one of us to
the other. Allow me to introduce myself, gentlemen, he said,
I am Professor Poppelbaum. Thorndyke bowed and offered a chair.
I called. Yesterday afternoon, our visitor continued at Scotland Yard,
where I heard of your remarkable decipherment and of the
convincing proof of its correctness. Thereupon I borrowed the cryptogram
and have spent the entire night in studying it. But
I cannot connect your solution with any of the characters.
I wonder if you would do me the great favor
of enlightening me as to your method of decipherment, and
so save me further sleepless nights. You may rely on
my discretion. Have you the document with which you asked Thorndyke?
The professor produced it from his pocket book and passed
it to my colleague, You, observe, professor, said the latter,
that this is a laid paper and has no water mark. Yes,
I noticed that, and that the writing is an indelible
Chinese ink. Yes, yes, said the savant impatiently. But it
is the inscription that interests me, not the paper in ink, precisely,
said Thorndyke. Now it was the ink that interested me
when I caught a glimpse of the document three days ago. Why,
I asked myself, should anyone use this troublesome medium. For
this appears to be stick ink when good writing ink
is to be had. What advantages has Chinese ink over
writing ink? It has several advantages as a drawing ink,
but for writing purposes it has only one. It is
quite unaffected by wet. The obvious inference, then, was that
this document was for some reason likely to be exposed
to wet. But this inference instantly suggested another, which I
was yesterday able to test. Thus he filled a tumbler
with water, and, rolling up the document, dropped it in.
Immediately there began to appear on it a new set
of characters of a curious gray color. In a few seconds,
Thorndyke lifted out the wet paper and held it up
to the light. Now there was plainly visible an inscription
in transparent lettering, like a very distinct water mark. It
was printed in Roman capitals, written across the other writing,
and read the pickerdilly stuff is up the chimbly four
one sixth Warder Street, second floor back. It was hid
because of old Moki's Jewde Moky is a blighter. The
professor regarded the inscription with profound disfavor. How do you
suppose this was done, he asked gloomily. I will show you,
said Thorndyke. I have prepared a piece of paper to
demonstrate the process to doctor Jervis. It is exceedingly simple.
He fetched from the office a small plate of glass
and a photographic dish, in which a piece of thin
note paper was soaking in water. This paper, said Thorndyke,
lifting it out and laying it on the glass, has
been soaking all night and is now quite pulpy. He
spread a dry sheet of paper over the wet one,
and on the former wrote heavily with a hard pencil,
Moky is a blighter. On lifting the upper sheet, the
writing was seen to be transferred in a deep gray
to the wet paper, and when the latter was held
up to the light, the inscription stood out clear and transparent,
as if written with oil. When this dries, said Thorndyke,
the writing will completely disappear, but it will reappear whenever
the paper is again wetted. The professor nodded. Very ingenious,
said he A sort of artificial palump set in fact.
But I do not understand how that illiterate man could
have written in the difficult Moabite script. He did not,
said Thorndyke. The cryptogram was probably written by one of
the leaders of the gang, who no doubt supplied copies
to the other members to use instead of blank paper
for secret communications. The object of the Moabite writing was
evidently to divert attention from the paper itself in case
the communication fell into the wrong hands. And I must
say it seems to have answered its purpose very well.
The professor started, stung by the sudden recollection of his labors. Yes,
he snorted, but I am a scholar, sir, not a policeman.
Every man to his trade. He snatched up his hat
and with a curt good morning, flung out of the
room in dudgeon. Thorndyke laughed softly, Poor professor, he murmured,
our playful friend Barton has much to answer for. And
of the Moabite cipher by R. Austin Freeman