you in two parts. The second
message will be the key that explains this one. He knew if he wrote
plainly, and it fell into the wrong hands--" Roddy interrupted
himself, and for a moment remained silent. "'Page 54, paragraph 4,'"
he repeated. "Has he sent you a book?" he asked. "Has any book come to
you anonymously?"

The girl shook her head. "No, I thought of that," she said, "but no
books have come to us that we haven't ordered ourselves."

"What do the others think?" asked Roddy.

The girl colored slightly and shook her head.

"I have not told them. I knew my mother would ask Pino to help her,
and," she explained, "though I like Pino, for certain reasons I do not
wish to be indebted to him for the life of my father. Before appealing
to him I have been trying for two days to find out the meaning of the
cipher, but I could not do it, and I was just about to show it to my
mother when Captain Codman told us of your offer. That made me
hesitate. And then, as between you and Pino, I decided you were better
able to help us. You live in Porto Cabello, within sight of the
prison. Pino will be in the field. His revolution may last a month, it
may last for years. During that time he would do nothing to help my
father. When you risked being shot yesterday, it seemed to me you
showed you had spirit, and also, _you_ are from the States, and Pino
is a Venezuelan, so----"

"You needn't take up the time of the court," said Roddy, "in
persuading me that I am the man to help you. To save time I will
concede that. What was the other message you received from your
father?"

The eyes of the girl grew troubled and her voice lost its eagerness.

"It was charged in a French paper," she said, "that the prisoners in
San Carlos were being killed by neglect. The French minister is a
friend of our family, and he asked Alvarez to appoint a committee of
doctors to make an investigation. Alvarez was afraid to refuse, and
sent the doctors to examine my father and report on his health. One of
them told him that Alvarez would permit him to send a message to my
mother, and to tell her himself whether he was, or was not, ill. This
is the message that they gave us as coming from my father.

"'I don't know what you gentlemen may decide as to my health,' he
said, 'but _I_ know that I am dying. Tell my wife that I wish to be
buried in my native country, and to place upon my tombstone my name
and this epitaph: "He wrote history, and made history."'"