The Cab of the Sleeping Horse Part 27

The Fifth a.s.sistant was sitting with his feet on his desk, a cigar in his mouth, his gaze fixed on vacancy.

"d.a.m.n your old cipher, Harleston!" he remarked, coming out of his abstraction. "It's bothered me more than anything I've tackled for years. I can't make head nor tail of it. Its very simplicity--or seeming simplicity--is what's tantalizing. It's in French. Of so much I feel sure, though I've little more than intuition to back it. As you know, this Vigenerie, or Blocked-Out Square, cipher is particularly difficult.

I've tried every word and phrase that's ever been used or discovered. We have a complete record of them. None fit this case. Can you give me anything additional that will be suggestive?"

"Here's what I've brought," Harleston replied--and related, so far as they seemed pertinent, the incidents of the previous afternoon and evening.

"A French message in an English envelope, inclosing an unmounted photograph of Madeline Spencer, a well-known German Secret Agent in Paris," Carpenter remarked slowly; "and the letter is borne by Madame Durrand to the French Amba.s.sador. You see, my intuition was right? the letter is in French; and as it is of French authors.h.i.+p the key-word is French. That narrows very materially our search. Find the key-word to the Vigenerie cipher of the French Diplomatic Service and we shall have the translation."

"You haven't that word?" Harleston asked.

"We've got quant.i.ties of keys to French ciphers, and numerous ones to the Blocked-Out Square, but they won't translate this letter." He took up a small book and opened it at a mark. "Here are samples of the latter: _ecclesiastiques, coeur de roche, a deau eaux, fourreau, chateau d'eau_, and so on. But, alas, none of them fits; the French Government has a new key. Indeed, she changes it every month or oftener; sometimes she changes it just for a single letter."

"Then we must apply ourselves to obtaining the French key-word,"

Harleston remarked. "Can you--do it?"

"Maybe we can pilfer it and maybe we can't. At least we can make a brisk attempt. I will give orders at once. In the meantime, if you'll keep me advised of what happens, we may be able to piece your and my information together and make a word."

"I'll do it!" Harleston replied and started toward the door. Half-way across the room he suddenly whirled around. "Lord, Carpenter. what an imbecile I am!" he exclaimed. "I fancy I've had the key-word all the while and never realized it."

"There are too many petticoats in this case," Carpenter shrugged.

"Never mind the petticoats!" Harleston laughed. "Get out the letter and try this phrase on it: _a l'aube du jour_."

Without a word of comment, Carpenter set down the cipher message, letter by letter, and wrote over it _a l'aube du jour_. Then he took up a printed Blocked-Out Square and with incredible swiftness began to write the translation.

"Where did you get this 'at the break of day,' Harleston?" he asked as he wrote.

"Found it in Crenshaw's pocket-book when he returned to hold me up,"

Harleston replied.

"Only this isolated phrase?"

"Yes--and signed with the single initial 'M.'"

"Hump!" Carpenter commented. "Mrs. Spencer's name, I believe you said, is Madeline. I tell you there are too many women in this affair."

Suddenly he threw down the pen. "What's the use in going on with it. If you can supply a key to this key we may arrive. Such an array of unp.r.o.nounceables may be Russian, it a.s.suredly isn't French or English.

Look at it!" and he handed the translation to Harleston, who read:

AGELUMTONZUCLPMUHRHUNBARGPUH PJICLWYIAOIWFPHLUOZFRXUFJWH WASNVDPS

"Good Lord!" said Harleston. "I pa.s.s. Did you ever see so many consonants. I reckon my key-word isn't the key."

"Try being held up again," Carpenter advised; "you may succeed the second time. If Madeline Spencer is the holdee, no telling what you'd find."

"I'd find nothing," Harleston rejoined.

"You'd be holding a particularly lovely and attractive bit of skirts!"

Carpenter smiled.

"I don't want to hold that at present."

"Not even--Mrs. Clephane?"

Harleston raised his eyebrows slightly.

"What do you know about Mrs. Clephane?" he asked.

"That she's even lovelier and more attractive than Mrs. Spencer."

"You've seen her--you know her?"

"You told me," replied Carpenter.

"I told you!--I never referred to Mrs. Clephane's appearance."

"Exactly: your careful reticence told me more than if you had used tons of words. I'm a reader of secret ciphers; you don't imagine a mere individual presents much of a problem. I tell you there are too many petticoats mixed up in this affair of the cab of the sleeping horse,"

Carpenter repeated. "Be careful, Harleston. Women are a menace--they spoil about everything they touch."

"Marriage in particular?" Harleston inquired.

"Exactly!"

"A bachelor's wisdom!" Harleston laughed.

"Why are you a bachelor?" Carpenter shrugged.

"Because I never--"

"--found the woman; or have been adroit enough to avoid her wiles,"

Carpenter cut in. "And whichever it is, you've shown your wisdom. Don't spoil it now, Harleston, don't spoil it now. Millionaires and day-labourers are the only cla.s.ses that have any business to marry; the rest of us chaps either can't afford the luxury, or are not quite poor enough to be forced to marry in order to get a servant."

"You would be popular with the suffragettes," Harleston remarked.

"Worldly wisdom of any sort is never popular with those against whom it warns."

"An aphorism!" Harleston laughed.

"Aphorism be d.a.m.ned; it's just plain horse sense. Don't do it, old man, don't do it!"

"Don't do what?"

"Don't fall in love with Mrs. Clephane."

"Good Lord!" Harleston exclaimed.

"Good Lord all you want, you're on the verge and preparing to leap in--and you know it. Let some other man be the life-saver, Harleston.

You're much too fine a chap to waste yourself in foolishness."