Chapter XXI

_A Lost Clue_

"Suppose we admit, for the sake of argument," began Betty "that John Thaneford was in possession of the secret. Then everything points back to his father, old Fielding, who certainly had all the brains of the family. Last and most important, it was a secret which Mr. Thaneford, senior, desired to impart to me; he did tell me all he could."

"The series of numbers, you mean? I recall them perfectly: 1-4-2-4-8. And what then?"

"Do you remember the story of Christian and his fellow pilgrim, Hopeful, imprisoned in Giant Despair's stronghold of Doubting Castle? After languishing for a week or more in darkness and misery, Hopeful suddenly bethinks him of a key which he has in his bosom, a key that will unlock any door in the castle. The rest is easy.

"So, too, I had my key, but I had only used it once--to unlock the first and most obvious door----"

"The combination of the safe," I interrupted.

"Precisely. It never occurred to either of us that it might be a master-key to which all locks must yield. But so it was.

"Not that I learned to use it without a lot of trouble and discouragement. It took months and months, and I only got it fully working on the train trip down from Stockbridge.

"Of course, you have guessed that the whole story lay buried in that leather-bound book belonging to Fielding Thaneford which we found in the safe. I remembered all that you had told me about 'Le Chiffre Indéchiffrable,' but even granting that that particular cypher had been employed, how was I ever to stumble upon the indispensable key-word, or more likely, key-sentence?

"One day I had an inspiration. There was the series of numbers: 1-4-2-4-8. Considered as numbers merely they could be of no use, since most cypher codes are built up on letters. But I might put the numbers into their written word equivalents, thus: One-four-two-four-eight It was certainly conceivable that these letters might form the key-sentence; it would be all the more easily memorized since, in its numerical form, it served as a combination to the safe.

"I had with me the magic square which you had made for me, and I began very carefully to work out the problem according to your directions.

"The initial procedure was to put down my theoretical key-sentences, thus:"

O N E F O U R T W O F O U R E I G H T

"Underneath I must write the cypher message, and half a dozen letters would be enough to show if I were on the right track. I opened Mr. Fielding Thaneford's old book, and copied down the first seven letters, ranging them vertically under the key-letters. That gave me this arrangement:"

O N E F O U R Q W O T T U I

"Now the rule goes on to say that you must find the letter O in the top horizontal column, and follow that column vertically downward until you come to the first cypher letter, in this case Q. The letter at the outside, left end of this second horizontal column, will be the first letter of the original message.

"Well, I tried it, and got the letter B. The next pair yielded an I, which was encouraging, as one would expect a vowel in this position. But the third try gave me a J, and that was not so promising; then I got an N and an E. So far my decoded message read: BIJNE; not very enlightening. The next pair showed the letter U in both key-sentence and cypher. Such a combination is impossible on our magic square, and I had to put down a blank space. The final letter obtained was a Q, and the complete result read: BIJNE-Q. Pure gibberish of course. I tried out a few more pairs, and then gave up in disgust; my beautiful theory had fallen to pieces.

"Just the same, I wasn't ready to give it up. I knew, right in my bones, that old Mr. Thaneford had wanted to tell me something of supreme importance at that last moment on his deathbed, when my hand lay in his and I could feel the intermittent pressure of his fingers. It was impossible that I should be mistaken about any of the figures, for he went over the series three or four times; besides, they did open the safe.

"I was still sure that the numbers meant something more than the mere combination to an old strong-box that held nothing of any pecuniary value. The real secret lay between the covers of that leather-bound book, and I was certain that the old man had been desirous that I should discover it. The Thanefords and the Hildebrands had not been friends for a long while, although nobody knew just why. Probably, it was some ancient grudge Or unforgiven wrong, and old Mr. Thaneford had done his part in keeping it up. But now that he was sick and paralyzed and dying, and especially since he and I had become friends of a sort, he was willing to bury the hatchet. So he told all he could--you remember that he couldn't speak--and he seemed to feel satisfied that I would find the hint sufficient, that I would be clever enough to solve the puzzle.

"And surely it was a puzzle. My best guess had come a flivver, and I didn't see how I could go a step further. Perhaps it was silly to attach so much importance to what the old man had tried to tell me, but I had an intuition that our future happiness and safety were bound up in those crumbling leather covers.

"Time went on, and the solution was as far off as ever; at least apparently. Little Hugh and I had come to Irvington for the winter; it was close to Christmas, and I had the blues terribly. Just to think of Christmas and that abyss lying between us! For I knew that you would not come unless I called, and I could not send for you quite yet. Suppose that the discovery of the secret should be close at hand; I might need Chalmers to help out on some difficult scientific point.

"It is always the little things that show the way out. Hilda's weekly letter had come, and I was reading it eagerly hoping to find some mention of you. Now Hilda, poor dear! is an awful speller; she never could learn to visualize words. As I read along I came on a word which looked odd; then I saw that she had committed the careless stenographer's error of spelling 'forty' with an u, thus: 'fourty.' Of course, the pronunciation is the same in either case--and then it was that I got my _big_ idea. Was it possible that the phonetic sounds in my series of numbers might fit words of entirely different meaning than their ordinary equivalents in letters? Let me try.

"1-4-2-4-8. Why, yes, 1 is 'one' and also 'won'; 4 is 'four' and also 'for'; 2 is 'two' and also 'too'--quick! let me get them all down. And here was the result: Won--for--too--for--ate. You see that, in every instance, the phonetic sound of the number can be represented exactly by a word of entirely different meaning. But this peculiar quality in the series, 1-4-2-4-8, would not be apparent at a casual glance, and the figures could even be written down for future reference, or sent to a distant correspondent, without any probability of that inner significance becoming revealed. Very clever of Fielding Thaneford--that is if my deductions were really correct!

"The first step was to set down the new key-sentence with the cypher writing underneath. Here it is; this time using fifteen letters."

W O N F O R T O O F O R A T E Q W O T T U I J X I S V A Z P

"Applying the decoding rule I got the following in my first six tries:"

T H A N E C

"You can imagine how excited I was. If my theory were correct the next four letters should be OURT, completing the word 'Thane Court,' Eureka! it is coming! It is coming! I got both the O and the U.

"From the height of exultation to the depths of despair. For instead of R in the ninth place, I had to set down an I; and then, in succession: CDD-FKL. Perfectly impossible! Look at it: THANECOUICDD-FKL, etc.

"And yet the cypher had certainly started to uncode; what could have thrown me off the track? For I had succeeded in getting 'Thanecou,' and that unusual combination was significant in the highest degree. What word could it be but 'Thane Court,' the ancestral home of the Thanefords? Why the chances were a million to one against my reaching such a series for--for----"

"Fortuitously," I prompted.

"Yes, that's it; something like the 'fortuitous concourse of atoms' that the philosophers talk about. I remember the phrase from my school days.

"And yet the mix-up came to spoil everything. For what could any sensible person make of THANECOUICDD-FKL?

"I tried carrying on the series until my brain was positively dizzy, but I got nothing except incomprehensible rubbish. And yet I knew that I had found a real clue; how in the world had I lost it again? I used to work until I actually went fast to sleep at my desk, but nothing came of it. It was enough to drive one mad.

"The middle of May I went up to Stockbridge, and of course I carried my troubles with me. Wherever I looked I seemed to see that tantalizing key-sentence: Won--for--too--for--ate; it was as bad as the squaring of the circle. Just some little, insignificant error was keeping me from the solving of the puzzle, but for the life of me I couldn't put my finger on it. Honestly now, Hugh, do you think you would have been clever enough to have figured it out?"

I checked up Betty's "layout" and went over the decoding process with meticulous care. I got precisely the same result: THANECOU--and then chaos.

"It beats me," I confessed. "It's enough to make one dotty."

"I dare say that is what Aunt Alice Crew thought of me in her heart of hearts," laughed Betty, "although she was too polite to say so. And, really, it was getting on my nerves. I couldn't eat, and a _nuit blanche_ was no uncommon thing with me. I couldn't get it out of my head, you understand, that the solving of the problem must be of immense importance. There _was_ a mystery at the 'Hundred,' and so long as it remained a mystery there could be no enduring peace or happiness for us. If you had been willing to sell the 'Hundred' there might have been some chance of escaping the curse; hadn't poor Eunice said as much in that weird statement which she left behind her. But you would not consider the suggestion even."

"I suppose I was pig-headed and altogether in the wrong," I admitted humbly. "But it all seemed so fantastic and incredible--here in the twentieth century."

"Granting that the mystery had continued unsolved," said Betty, looking me straight in the eye. "What then?"

"But you have given me to understand----" I began.

"Never mind that," interrupted my wife. "Even now you don't know the secret, and I might find it inadvisable to tell you. Admitting the possibility that the ghost has not been truly laid, would you still insist upon remaining master of 'Hildebrand Hundred'?"

A vision of those strong, cruel hands, with their black-tufted knuckles, rose before me, and I shuddered.

"Or would you be willing that Little Hugh should enter upon his inheritance with this cloud hanging over it?"

"No, I wouldn't," I said soberly. "To be honest, I hadn't thought of it in that light."

"You see a woman has to consider all these things," rejoined Betty. "But you have been very patient, Hugh, and the winding up of my yarn won't take long. The crisis begins with Chalmers' coming to Stockbridge."

"For me, that was the denouement, the end of all things," I said shamefacedly, and Warriner roared.

"You see, I never suspected even that I was cast for the role of breaker up of homes," he remarked meditatively. "Betty and I were good friends, of course, but once you appeared on the sky line I was reduced to playing gooseberry. Besides, there never had been anyone else than Hilda for me."

"I'm only trying to explain my conduct," I retorted. "I'm well aware that nothing can excuse it. Shoot, Betty."

"Of course, Chalmers was coming to Stockbridge," went on Betty, "for the simple reason that Hilda was visiting me. Nevertheless, I was looking forward to his arrival, because he had promised to dig up certain data for me.

"You remember the list of Hildebrand tragedies as given by Eunice; how Yardley Hildebrand had succeeded his father, Oliver, in 1860, and had died the following year; then how his younger brother, Randall, had become master of the 'Hundred,' and had only lived a twelvemonth; and so on.

"Well, I thought it might be useful to ascertain all these dates exactly, and, in order to do that, it would be necessary to take transcripts from the parish register at S. Saviour's. I wrote to Chalmers, and asked him to look up this information and bring it with him when he came to Stockbridge. Not only did he do this, but he took the trouble to type out the complete record, so that all the facts in the case might lie under the eye. I'll read it."

Betty pulled out a folded sheet of paper from the portfolio lying in her lap and began:

Yardley Hildebrand, b. March 5, 1806; succeeded his father, Oliver, 1860; d. June 20, 1861.

Randall Hildebrand, b. May 11, 1809; succeeded his brother, Yardley, 1861; d. June 22, 1862.

Horace Hildebrand, elder son of Randall, b. December 4, 1830; succeeded his father, 1862; d. June 22, 1865.

Richard Hildebrand, younger son of Randall, b. June 1, 1835; succeeded his elder brother, 1865; d. June 20, 1918.

Francis Hildebrand Graeme, great-nephew to Richard, b. April 13, 1874; succeeded his great-uncle, 1918; d. June 21, 1919.

Eunice Trevor, b. September 2, 1892; d. June 20, 1920.

"And now we may add a final entry," continued Betty: "John Thaneford, nephew to Richard, b. July 16, 1892; d. June 22, 1922."

Betty handed me over the list. "Do you notice anything peculiar about those dates?" she asked.

I read the paper through, and then again. "You have already pointed out," I began hesitatingly, "that the tenure of 'Hildebrand Hundred' was for the comparatively brief period of one to three years. Except for Richard, who held the property for over fifty."

"I don't mean that. Examine the actual dates."

I scanned the record with still greater attention. "Ah!" I exclaimed, "here _is_ something strange. Everyone of these men, and Eunice, too, died in June; yes, and on a day of the month that varied between the twentieth and the twenty-second. Is that what you had in mind?"

"Yes, and it seemed to indicate clearly that those particular three days, the twentieth, twenty-first, and twenty-second of June----"

"In astronomical parlance, the summer solstice," interrupted Warriner.

"----was the danger period."

"Yes, and then?"

"Your letter came, saying that you had been obliged to enter the library to look after the window repairs; you added that you would probably have to go again to finish up the job. As I have already told you, that letter reached me on Thursday morning, June the twenty-first; Chalmers and I left at once for New York. On the way down I succeeded in reading the cypher, and so got Fielding Thaneford's message in full."

"But how in the world----" I began.

"You'll know in good time," cut in Betty. "First, I want you to consider another of my sources of information. Here it is," and she held up a small book bound in tattered leather.

"This," continued my wife, "is a diary kept by Horace Hildebrand, who succeeded to the 'Hundred' in 1862, and died June 22, 1865. The notes refer chiefly to the weather, a record that many country gentlemen are fond of keeping for their own amusement. The only period which interests us is that covering those fatal June days in 1863, 1864, and 1865."

Betty thumbed over the leaves, and stopped at the latter part of June, 1863.

"You see that the twentieth, twenty-first, and twenty-second are described as overcast and rainy. Now for 1864:

"'June 20, cloudy; June 21, clear. (Note: A total eclipse of the sun took place to-day, the period of partial and complete darkness lasting from 10.45 A. M. to 2.10 P. M.); June 22, cloudy.' Finally, we take 1865:

"'June 20, rainy; June twenty-first, heavy rains; June 22, fine and clear.' This is the last entry in the book as Horace Hildebrand was found dead later on in that same day.

"Just one more point. What possible hypothesis can we establish to account for Richard Hildebrand's half century of immunity? Now it happened that I had questioned Effingham on this very subject before I left the 'Hundred.' Effingham had lived, as boy and man, on the Hildebrand estate for over sixty years. Consequently, he knew Marse Richard, as he called him, very well, and was familiar with his habits of life.

"According to Effingham, Richard Hildebrand disliked the warm weather, and always left the 'Hundred' the first of June; he would spend the summer at the 'Old White,' returning to Maryland toward the end of September. But in 1918, the last year of his life, he was too feeble to go away from home. His favorite room was the library, and there he was found dead the evening of the twentieth of June, 1918. He was supposed to have died of heart disease; certainly there was no suspicion of foul play.

"So that was the sum total of my investigations to date," concluded Betty. "Do you make anything of it?"

"It's beyond me," I confessed frankly. "What is the answer?"

"Only Fielding Thaneford himself can give it," replied Betty. "Here is his fully decoded statement, and I'll ask Chalmers to read it aloud. As I said a moment ago, we worked it out together that long day on the train. When we reached town we had the whole story, and knew what to expect. Except one thing: Would it be a cloudy day? But it turned out fair and hot, with only a faint suggestion of thunder in the air. There was a bad wreck on the Cape Charles route, and anyhow we had missed the connection for the morning train. So we hired a car, threw away the speedometer, and made to strike the 'Hundred' by midday. We couldn't quite do it, but the tide of chance had turned at last, and it didn't matter. Now go on, Chalmers."

Warriner ruffled the dozen or more sheets of paper between his fingers and began: