On the following morning the papers fully justified my colleague’s opinion of Mr. James.  All the events which had occurred, as well as a number that had not, were given in the fullest and most vivid detail, a lengthy reference being made to the paper “found on the person of the dead anarchist,” and “written in a private shorthand or cryptogram.”

The report concluded with the gratifying—­though untrue—­statement that “in this intricate and important case, the police have wisely secured the assistance of Dr. John Thorndyke, to whose acute intellect and vast experience the portentous cryptogram will doubtless soon deliver up its secret.”

“Very flattering,” laughed Thorndyke, to whom I read the extract on his return from the hospital, “but a little awkward if it should induce our friends to deposit a few trifling mementoes in the form of nitro-compounds on our main staircase or in the cellars.  By the way, I met Superintendent Miller on London Bridge.  The ‘cryptogram,’ as Mr. James calls it, has set Scotland Yard in a mighty ferment.”

“Naturally.  What have they done in the matter?”

“They adopted my suggestion, after all, finding that they could make nothing of it themselves, and took it to the British Museum.  The Museum people referred them to Professor Poppelbaum, the great palaeographer, to whom they accordingly submitted it.”

“Did he express any opinion about it?”

“Yes, provisionally.  After a brief examination, he found it to consist of a number of Hebrew words sandwiched between apparently meaningless groups of letters.  He furnished the Superintendent off-hand with a translation of the words, and Miller forthwith struck off a number of hectograph copies of it, which he has distributed among the senior officials of his department; so that at present”—­here Thorndyke gave vent to a soft chuckle—­“Scotland Yard is engaged in a sort of missing word—­or, rather, missing sense—­competition.  Miller invited me to join in the sport, and to that end presented me with one of the hectograph copies on which to exercise my wits, together with a photograph of the document.”

“And shall you?” I asked.

“Not I,” he replied, laughing.  “In the first place, I have not been formally consulted, and consequently am a passive, though interested, spectator.  In the second place, I have a theory of my own which I shall test if the occasion arises.  But if you would like to take part in the competition, I am authorized to show you the photograph and the translation.  I will pass them on to you, and I wish you joy of them.”

He handed me the photograph and a sheet of paper that he had just taken from his pocket-book, and watched me with grim amusement as I read out the first few lines.

[Illustration:  THE CIPHER.]

“Woe, city, lies, robbery, prey, noise, whip, rattling, wheel, horse, chariot, day, darkness, gloominess, clouds, darkness, morning, mountain, people, strong, fire, them, flame.”