h." Though it is perplexing to the inexperienced, it
is regarded in the club as quite a trivial thing. Yet it serves to show
the close observation of these sharp-witted fellows. The original
photograph hangs on the club wall, and has baffled every guest who has
examined it. Yet any child should be able to solve the mystery. I will
give the reader an opportunity of trying his wits at it.

Some of the members were one evening seated together in their clubhouse
in the Adelphi. Those present were: Henry Melville, a barrister not
overburdened with briefs, who was discussing a problem with Ernest
Russell, a bearded man of middle age, who held some easy post in Somerset
House, and was a Senior Wrangler and one of the most subtle thinkers of
the club; Fred Wilson, a journalist of very buoyant spirits, who had more
real capacity than one would at first suspect; John Macdonald, a
Scotsman, whose record was that he had never solved a puzzle himself
since the club was formed, though frequently he had put others on the
track of a deep solution; Tim Churton, a bank clerk, full of cranky,
unorthodox ideas as to perpetual motion; also Harold Tomkins, a
prosperous accountant, remarkably familiar with the elegant branch of
mathematics--the theory of numbers.

Suddenly Herbert Baynes entered the room, and everybody saw at once from
his face that he had something interesting to communicate. Baynes was a
man of private means, with no occupation.

"Here's a quaint little poser for you all," said Baynes. "I have received
it to-day from Dovey."

Dovey was proprietor of one of the many private detective agencies that
found it to their advantage to keep in touch with the club.

"Is it another of those easy cryptograms?" asked Wilson. "If so, I would
suggest sending it upstairs to the billiard-marker."

"Don't be sarcastic, Wilson," said Melville. "Remember, we are indebted
to Dovey for the great Railway Signal Problem that gave us all a week's
amusement in the solving."

"If you fellows want to hear," resumed Baynes, "just try to keep quiet
while I relate the amusing affair to you. You all know of the jealous
little Yankee who married Lord Marksford two years ago? Lady Marksford
and her husband have been in Paris for two or three months. Well, the
poor creature soon got under the influence of the green-eyed monster, and
formed the opinion that Lord Marksford was flirting with other ladies of
his acquaintance.

"Now, she has actually put