Eustace Rutland, being banished from his father's house, and not being
able to obtain from his father the funds necessary for his disreputable
career, was taking advantage of his sister's devoted affection for
him, and was in the habit of calling upon her to supply him with
money--which, no doubt, the young lady did to the best of her ability.
Curiosity led me to the task of endeavoring to discover whether the
alphabetical letters and the figures in the framework bore any relation
to this communication. With only the nine words exposed through the
pips of the Nine of Hearts which I had cut away, I saw that the first
word, "death," was the sixth, and the second word, "stares," was the
second, and the third word, "me," was the seventh. The sequence of the
figures, therefore, was 6, 2, 7. Now, how were these three figures
arranged in the framework? The figure 6 came after the letter M, the
figure 2 came after the letter X, the figure 7 came after the letter
H. Satisfied that I had found the key, I began to study how these
figures from 1 to 9, representing the nine words in the communication
and the Nine of Hearts in the playing-card, were arranged in the
framework in such a manner as to lead an informed person at once to the
solution. There must be a starting-point with which both Eustace and
his sister Mabel were acquainted. What was this starting-point? One of
the letters of The Alphabet. What letter? A. Starting, then, from A in
the framework, I found that the figures from 1 to 9 ran thus: 6, 2,
7, 3, 9, 1, 4, 5, 8. Upon following, in this order, the course of The
words which were exposed by the playing-card with the nine pips cut
out, I came to the conclusion that I had correctly interpreted this
first mystery-letter. I was very pleased, believing that the key I had
discovered would lead me to a correct reading of Eustace's second and
third letter to his sister.
So absorbed had I been in the unravelling of this mystery-letter,
which occupied me a good hour and a half, that I had lost sight during
the whole of that time of the two words which had at first enchained
my attention--"diamond bracelet." "Death stares me in the face send
money instantly" had appeared to me so reasonable a construction to be
placed upon the communication of a man who must often have been in a
desperate strait for want of funds, that the thought did not obtrude
itself that these words might be merely a blind, and that, in the words
that remained after the obliteration of this sentence, the correct
solution was to be found. The longer I considered, the stronger became
my doubts: with "diamond bracelet" staring me in the face, I felt that
I had been following a Will-o'-the-wisp.
I had asked Dr. Daincourt the date of the dinner-party at which Mr.
Rutland had detected the absence of the diamond bracelet on his
daughter's arm. That date was the 8th of September. I examined the
post-mark on the envelope of Eustace Rutland's first communication; it
was the 26th of September. Mr. Rutland had laid upon his daughter the
injunction that the diamond bracelet was to be shown to him before the
end of the month. What month? September. She had produced it in time,
and her brother's missive must have conveyed to her some information
respecting the missing article of jewellery. The elation of spirits in
which I had indulged took flight; I had _not_ discovered the clew.
I set myself again to work. I felt now as a man feels who is hunting
out a great mystery or a great criminal, and upon the success of whose
endeavor his own safety depends. It seemed to me as if it were not so
much Edward Layton's case as my own in which I was engaged. Never in
the course of my career have I been so interested. I determined to set
aside the words, "Death stares me in the face, send money instantly,"
and to search, in the words that remained, for the true meaning of
Eustace Rutland's first communication. I copied them in the order in
which they were arranged, and they ran as follows:
T 20 X 2 C 14 H 7 E 3
17 D
B birds the 9
6 in runs back got I F
M 10
your hundred
11 J
trees the won are
A 1
8 river diamond gayly K
T 19
on bracelet four singing
18 R
cherry the
W 12
13 B 5 N 16 P 15 V 4 U
I counted the number of words; there were twenty-two. Now, was the true
reading of the communication contained in the whole of these twenty-two
words, or in only a portion of them, and if in only a portion, in
what portion? In how many words? There lay the difficulty. The words
"diamond bracelet" gave me a distinct satisfaction, but there were
other words which I could not by any exercise of ingenuity connect them
with, such as "birds"--"trees"--"river"--"gayly"--"cherry"--"singing."
Undoubtedly the communication was a serious one, and these words seemed
to be inimical to all ideas of seriousness. How to select? What to
select? How to arrange the mystery? What was the notation? Ah, the
notation! I had discovered the notation of the sentence I had set aside
for the time. What if the same notation would lead me to the clew
I was in search of? The arrangement of the figures from 1 to 9 was
arbitrated by the first letter in the alphabet, A. I would try whether
that arrangement would afford any satisfaction in the twenty-two words
that remained. It would be an affectation of vanity on my part if I
say that this idea occurred to me instantly. It did not do so. It was
only after long and concentrated attention and consideration that it
came to me, and then I set it immediately into practical operation.
The first figure in the sentence I had discovered was 6. I counted six
in the present arrangement of the words. It ended with the word "Got."
Crossing out the word "Got," and placing it upon a separate sheet of
paper, I proceeded. The second figure in the sentence I had discarded
was 2. I counted two on from the word "Got," and arrived at "Your." I
crossed out this word "Your" and proceeded. The third figure in the
sentence I had discarded was 7. I counted seven words on from "Your,"
and came to "Diamond." I treated this word in a similar way to the last
two, and continued the process. "Got your diamond." Now for "Bracelet."
The next figure was 3. I counted on three words from "Diamond" and came
to "Bracelet."
I was more excited than I can describe. There is scarcely anything in
the world that fills a man with such exultation as success, and I was
on the track of success: "Got your diamond bracelet." The following
figure was 9. I counted on nine and came to the word "Back." "Got your
diamond bracelet back." I continued. The next figure was 1. This was
represented by the word "I." The next figure was 4, represented by the
word "Won." The next figure was 5, represented by the word "Four." The
next figure was 8, represented by the word "Hundred." I continued the
same process and came back to the figure 6, represented by the word
"On." The next figure was 2, represented by the word "Cherry."
I stopped here, for a reason, and I read the words I had crossed out
and written on a separate sheet of paper. They ran thus:
"Got your diamond bracelet back I won four hundred on Cherry."
It was not without a distinct reason that I paused here. Mixing with
the world, and moving in all shades and classes of society, I must
confess--as I have no doubt other men would confess if they were
thoroughly ingenuous--to certain weaknesses, one of which is to put
a sovereign or two (seldom more) upon every classic horse-race,
and upon every important handicap during the year. I nearly always
lose--and serve me right. But it happened, strangely enough, that
in this very month of September, during which Eustace Rutland sent
his mysterious communications to his sister Mabel, one of the most
celebrated handicaps of the year was won by a horse named Cherry, and
that I had two sovereigns on that very horse. It started at long odds.
I remembered that the bet I made was two sovereigns to a hundred, and
that I had won what is often called a century upon the race. I was
convinced that I had come to the legitimate end of Eustace Rutland's
letter: "Got your diamond bracelet back. I won four hundred on Cherry."
This young reprobate, then, was indulging in horse-racing. His sister
Mabel had written to him an account of the scene between herself and
her father at the dinner-party. She had given him her diamond bracelet
to extricate him from some scrape, and he had been luckily enabled, by
his investment on the horse Cherry, to redeem it most likely from the
pawnbroker--in time for his sister to exhibit it to her father. So as
to be certain that I had got the proper clew, and had arrived at the
gist of Eustace's communication, I wrote down the words that remained,
which were,
"Birds--the--the--in--are the trees--runs--rivers--gayly--singing."
It was an easy task now for me to apply the same test to these
remaining words, and I found that they formulated themselves in this
fashion:
"The river runs gayly. The birds are singing in the trees."
I was curious to ascertain whether there were any special sign in
the framework of Eustace Rutland's communication by which the person
engaged with him in the mystery-letter could be guided. I counted the
words in each sentence. The words in the first sentence were nine--the
Nine of Hearts. The number of words in the second sentence was eleven.
The number of words in the third sentence was eleven. After the
alphabetical letter A in the framework I saw the figure 11, and I was
satisfied, the last eleven words being meaningless, that it was the
second sentence of eleven words, referring to the diamond bracelet
and to his winning on Cherry, that Eustace wished his sister Mabel
to understand. At the same time I was satisfied in my own mind that,
without the Nine of Hearts to guide him, a man might spend days over
the cryptograph without arriving at the correct solution.
I had taken no count of the passing time. Engrossed and absorbed in my
occupation, I was surprised, when it had reached what I believed to be
a successful termination, to find that it was nearly six o'clock in the
morning.
IV.
Dr. Daincourt called while I was dressing, after a few hours' sleep.
I am not usually a dreamer, but I had a dream so strange that I awoke
with the memory of it in my mind. It was of hands--ladies' hands--every
finger of which was covered with rings. Holding the theory, as I have
already explained, that the imagination during sleep is not creative,
but invariably works upon a foundation of fact, I was endeavoring to
trace the connection between my singular dream and some occurrence or
circumstance within my knowledge, when Dr. Daincourt entered.
"Well," were his first words, "have you made anything of the letters
which I left with you last night?"
"I was employed only upon one," I said, "which kept me up until six
o'clock this morning. I don't begrudge the time or the labor, because I
have discovered the clew to Master Eustace Rutland's communications to
his sister."
"That means," said Dr. Daincourt, excitedly, "that you have discovered
the mystery of the Nine of Hearts."
"In so far," I replied, "as respects the playing-cards found in Miss
Rutland's desk--yes, I have discovered that part of the mystery; but I
have not yet discovered the mystery of the particular Nine of Hearts
which was found in the pocket of Edward Layton's ulster."
I showed Dr. Daincourt the result of my labors on the previous night,
and he was delighted and very much interested, but presently his face
became clouded.
"I am still disturbed," he said, "by the dread that the task you are
engaged upon may bring Miss Rutland into serious trouble."
"I hope not," was my rejoinder to the remark, "but I shall not allow
considerations of any kind to stop me. Edward Layton is an innocent
man, and I intend to prove him so."
"If he is innocent," said Dr. Daincourt, "then Miss Rutland must also
be innocent."
"Undoubtedly," I said, with a cheerful smile, which did much to
reassure the worthy doctor.
"Have you opened the two sealed letters," asked Dr. Daincourt, "which I
brought from Mrs. Rutland's house?"
"No," I replied. "I have devoted myself only to the first of the opened
letters found in Miss Rutland's desk. I shall proceed immediately with
the second, and then I shall feel myself warranted in opening and
reading the letters which arrived for Miss Rutland during her illness.
By-the-way, doctor, I have had a singular dream, and upon your entrance
I was endeavoring to track it. It was a dream of ladies' hands, covered
with rings."
"Any bodies attached to the hands?" inquired Dr. Daincourt, jocosely.
"No; simply hands. They seemed to pass before my vision, and to rise
up in unexpected places pretty, shapely hands. But it was not so much
the hands that struck me as being singular as the fact that they were
covered with rings of one particular kind."
"What kind?"
"I must have seen thousands of rings upon the shapely fingers, and
there was not one that was not set with diamonds and turquoises."
A light came into Dr. Daincourt's face.
"And you mean to tell me that you can't discover the connection?"
"No I can't for the life of me discover it."
"That proves," said Dr. Daincourt, "how easy it is for a man engaged
upon a serious task to overlook important facts which are as plain as
the noonday sun."
"What facts have I overlooked, doctor?"
"Have you the newspapers in the room containing the reports of the
trial?"
"Give me the one containing the report of the third day's proceedings?"
I handed it to him, and he ran his eyes down the column in which the
evidence of the waiter in Prevost's Restaurant was reported.
"The waiter was asked," said Dr. Daincourt, "whether the lady who
accompanied Edward Layton were married, and whether there were rings
upon the lingers of her ungloved hand?"
"Yes, yes," I cried, "I remember! And the waiter answered that she wore
a ring of turquoises and diamonds. Of course--of course. That explains
my dream."
"Yes," said Dr. Daincourt, "that explains it."
"I need no further assurance," I said, "to prove that it was Miss
Rutland who was in Edward Layton's company on the night of the 25th
of March, but I wish you to ask her mother whether the young lady
possesses such a ring, and is in the habit of wearing it. Your face
is clouded again, doctor. You fear that I am really about to bring
trouble upon Miss Rutland. You are mistaken I am working in the cause
of justice. If I prove Edward Layton to be innocent, no shadow of
suspicion can rest upon Miss Rutland. You must trust entirely to me.
Can you not now understand why Edward Layton refused to be defended by
a shrewd legal mind? He would not permit a cross-examination of any of
the witnesses which would bring the name of Mabel Rutland before the
public. To save her honor, to protect her from scandal and calumny, he
is ready to sacrifice himself. He shall not do so. I will prevent it.
Your patient is in a state of delirium, you tell me. She knows nothing
of what passes around her, she recognizes no one, she has not heard of
the peril in which Edward Layton stands. Say that she remains in this
state of ignorance until Edward Layton is sentenced and hanged for a
crime which he did not commit--say, then, that she recovers and hears
of it--reads of it--why, she will go mad! It would be impossible for
her to preserve her reason in circumstances so terrible. There is a
clear duty before us, Dr. Daincourt, and we must not shrink from it.
I need not urge upon you to use your utmost skill to restore Mabel
Rutland to health, and to the consciousness of what is passing around
her. If before Edward Layton is put again upon his trial I do not clear
him, I shall not hesitate to make some kind of appeal to Miss Rutland
which, even should she remain delirious, shall result in favor of the
man who is so nobly and rashly protecting her good name."
"Remember," said Dr. Daincourt, gravely, "that she is in great danger."
"You man that she may die soon?"
"Yes."
"But not suddenly?" I asked, in alarm.
"I think not suddenly."
"Still," I said, "there is a chance of her being restored to health?"
"Yes, there is a chance of it."
"If the worst happens," I said, "is it likely that she would recover
consciousness before her death?"
"It is almost certain that she would."
"Then it would be necessary," I said, "to take her dying deposition.
Doctor, it is my firm conviction that the man and the woman who entered
Edward Layton's house after midnight on the 25th of March were not
Edward Layton and Mabel Rutland."
"But the coachman drove them home!" exclaimed Dr. Daincourt.
"So he said."
"And took them from Prevost's Restaurant."
"So he said. Recall that part of the coachman's evidence bearing upon
it. He says that Edward Layton, accompanied by a lady, issued from the
restaurant at five minutes to twelve; that Layton appeared excited;
which he, the coachman, attributed to the fact of his having taken
too much wine. To rebut this we have the evidence of the waiter, who
declared that Layton simply tasted the wine that was ordered. He could
not have drunk half a glass. The man and the woman who came from the
restaurant jumped quickly into the carriage, and but one word, 'Home!'
was uttered in a thick voice. Now, Layton, in his ridiculously weak
cross-examination, put two questions to the witness. 'Did it occur to
you,' he asked, 'or does it occur to you now, that the voice which
uttered that word was not my voice?' The witness replied that it had
not occurred to him. Then Layton said, 'You are certain it was my
voice?' And the witness replied, 'Yes, sir.' To me, these two questions
put by Layton are convincing proof that it was not he who entered the
carriage from Prevost's Restaurant."
"But he wore his ulster," said Dr. Daincourt.
"Here, again," I said, "we have evidence which, to my mind, is
favorable. The waiter testifies that when Layton entered the room
in which the supper was ordered he took off his ulster and hung it
on a peg in the wall, at some distance from the table at which he
sat. Moreover, he sat with his back to the coat. Layton, in his
cross-examination, asked the waiter, 'Did I put the overcoat on before
I left the room?' The waiter replied, 'Yes.' The judge intervened with
the rebuke, 'You have said in examination that you did not see the
prisoner and his companion leave the room.' And the witness replied,
'But when I returned, after being away for three or four minutes,
monsieur was gone, and the coat was also gone.' The prisoner put his
last question to the waiter, 'You did not see me put on the overcoat?'
And the witness answered, 'No.' Doctor, I see light. Bring me news of
the ring set with turquoises and diamonds. I shall be at home the whole
of the evening."
After Dr. Daincourt's departure I made a hurried breakfast, went
through my correspondence, and resumed my task of examining Eustace
Rutland's letters to his sister. The second opened communication was
exactly of the same shape and form as the first which I had deciphered.
I give here an exact copy of it:
K 10 N 17 D 6 L 13 C 1
3 R
A of to distraction start 19
12 awfully yours an till I E
X at love hard night 5
7 W
F up angel chester power my 11
14 corner her ida all o'clock G
2
S is death in will T
20
nine I do Tuesday 15
M H
8 J 16 V 4 B 18 P 9
The notation of the nine figures, representing the nine pips in the
playing-card, in Eustace's first communication, was 6, 2, 7, 3, 9, 1,
4, 5, 8. Taking as my guide the alphabetical letter A, I found that the
notation in Eustace Rutland's second communication was 3, 6, 1, 5, 2,
9, 4, 8, 7. I placed the playing-card, with its pips cut out, over the
paper, and the following was revealed:
"Of--street--at--night--chester corner o'clock--nine--Tuesday."
Arranging these words according to the new notation of figures, they
formed this sentence:
"At corner of Chester Street Tuesday night nine o'clock."
"Now," thought I, "this may have been an appointment."
If so--and nothing was more likely--I could derive no assistance from
it. It conveyed no information, and contained nothing which would
assist me in my inquiries. It was very likely that I should light upon
something further, and I proceeded with my task. The figure immediately
following the alphabetical letter A was 12, which meant, if I were on
the right track, that the second sentence in this communication was
composed of twelve words. I followed the same process I had previously
employed, and the twelve words formed themselves thus:
"Awfully hard up ida is an angel I love her to distraction."
So as to finish this communication, I unravelled the last ten words,
and found them to be,
"I will do all in my power yours till death."
This I set aside as being intended to convey no meaning. The first
sentence, making an appointment at the corner of Chester Street,
was, whether correct or not, of little importance. I concentrated my
attention upon the second sentence of twelve words: "Awfully hard up
ida is an angel I love her to distraction."
So the young scamp was hard up again, and knew that his sister would
respond to his appeal. And he was in love, too, and ida was an angel.
Ida, of course, with a capital I.
I jumped to my feet as if I had been shot. Ida! What was the name of
Mrs. Layton's maid who had given such damning evidence against the man
I meant to set free? Ida White!
Not a common name. An unusual one. I walked about the room in a state
of great excitement. Ida White, the angel, and Eustace Rutland,
the scamp. But the woman must be at least eight or ten years older
than Eustace. What mattered that? All the more likely her hold upon
him. Young fools frequently fall in love with women much older than
themselves, and when the women get the chance they don't let the
youngsters escape easily. Yes, opposite to each other stood two
men--one a worthless ne'er-do-well, the other a martyr! Opposite to
each other stood two women--one a scheming woman of the world, the
other a suffering, heart-broken girl! I would save the noble ones. Yes,
I would save them! The chain was forming link by link.
* * * * * *
I broke off here to despatch telegrams to two of my confidential
agents. My instructions to them were to employ themselves immediately
in discovering where Ida White, the maid who had given evidence against
her master at the trial, was living, and having found it, not to lose
sight of her for a single moment, but to set a strict watch upon her,
and to take note of her proceedings and movements, however trivial they
might be. These telegrams being despatched, I returned to my task.
The two sealed letters which Dr. Daincourt had received from Mrs.
Rutland lay before me. I took up the first, which I knew to be in
Eustace's handwriting. I opened it. It was of a similar nature to the
two I had already examined and interpreted. There is no need here to
repeat the details of the process by means of which I read this third
communication, a copy of which I also append:
C 11 S 2 J 11 A 7 N 13
8 G
H know am I me address 1
16 I I be an D
M me awful me the 19
4 L
X innocent laid to that guilty 15
20 find do against you R
K not charge am not desert 9
14 old swear may where B
V 10
3 F 17 P 6 W 12 E 5 T
I will simply say that the notation was 7,1, 9, 5, 6, 3, 4, 8, 2, and
that the words resolved themselves into the following:
"Yon know where to find me. The old address."
"An awful charge may be laid against me. I am not guilty."
"Do not desert me. I swear that I am innocent."
I decided that the whole of this was intended to be conveyed to
Mabel Rutland's understanding, and that in the last of Eustace's
communications to his sister there was not one idle word.
"An awful charge may be laid against me." That charge, undoubtedly,
was the murder of Mrs. Layton. "I am not guilty. I swear that I
am innocent." But all guilty men are ready to swear that they are
innocent. Not a moment was to be lost in setting my agents to work to
discover Eustace Rutland's address as well as the address of Ida White.
I quickly opened the letter which Edward Layton had written in prison
to Mabel Rutland, and which I had posted. It was very short, to the
following effect:
"Dear Miss Rutland,--All is well. Have no fear. Do not write to me
until you hear from me again. Believe me, faithfully yours,
"Edward Layton."
Thus it was that he endeavored to keep from the woman he loved the true
knowledge of the peril in which he stood. To save her good name, he was
ready to go cheerfully to his death.
V.
I rose early this morning in the expectation of a busy day. Dr.
Daincourt called on Saturday evening, as I had expected, and narrated
to me the result of his inquiries respecting Mabel Rutland's jewellery.
Among it there was a ring set with turquoises and diamonds which had
been given to her by her mother, and which she wore constantly. Dr.
Daincourt had received from Mrs. Rutland further instances of the
profound attachment which Mabel bore for her twin-brother.