ther slow-witted. Right under my
eyes and yet only an accident opened them.

"Well, you recall the night at the Utinam when we met Mr. Chivers and I
accepted his very liberal proposition to become an adjuster of
averages. Of course, it was a trap, but what connoisseur of the
adventure grotesque could refuse such a bait? All I wanted to know was
with whom I was expected to match wits.

"Of course, the thousand-dollar bills were counterfeits--stage money?
Not at all; every one was as good as the gold it called for at the
sub-treasury. Bribery? From whom and for what? Doubtless I should know
later. As it happened, I found out a little ahead of time.

"You remember the incident of the honest cabman and the hieroglyphic
letter which he turned over to me? Here it is, addressed, as you
observe, to Mr. Chivers."

Indiman drew from a locked drawer in the big centre-table the long
strip of bluish paper covered with its incomprehensible dashes. "One of
the oldest of devices for secret writing," he remarked. "This slip of
paper was originally wrapped about a cylinder of a certain diameter and
the message traced upon it, and it can only be deciphered by rerolling
it upon another cylinder of the same diameter. Easy enough to find the
right one by the empiric method--I mean experiment. Once you recognize
the fundamental character of the cryptogram the rest follows with
ridiculous certainty. Behold!"

Indiman took a long, round, slender stick from the mantel-piece and
proceeded to wrap the ribbon of bluish paper about it, touching both
ends with paste to keep the slip in place. It read in part:

"He will not find the girl, but so long as those records remain in his
possession the possibility continues to exist. I leave it with you to
make the bargain, and if he is not altogether a fool he will be content
with his ten thousand dollars, and Nos. 13-15 Barowsky Chambers will be
again without a tenant. Otherwise--and it is generally otherwise with
these meddlers--there will have to be a new adjustment of
averages--what a felicitous phrase!--and this, as usual, I will take
upon myself. One way or the other, and, personally, I don't care a
straw which it is."

The name signed to this curious epistle was David Magnus.

"Our Dr. Magnus of the Utinam," explained Indiman, but I hardly heard
him. One overwhelming thought obscured everything else--there was a
real Lady Allegra, after all. That was it--to find her, and I had the
clew. I m