“I think we’ve got enough to go on with,” said Price, “and anyway, whatever this stuff may be, whether it makes sense or not, we’re up against one thing, and that is, how the deuce can these long rigmaroles of letters be repeated with such accuracy?”
While Little and Boyes adjourned with the record to see if they could be deciphered, the company discussed the evening’s performance.
“Whatever Little’s verdict may be,” said the Doc., “the sceptics who think I am doing this have had a bit of a jar to-night.”
“How so?” I asked innocently.
The Doc. tapped the spook-board with a grimy forefinger.
“This is a new arrangement of the letters,” he said, “which was sprung on me to-night.”
“Well, what about it?” I asked.
The Doc. leant across the board and glared at me. “What about it? Why, ye cormorant! Who but you accused me the other night of rememberin’ the letters, an’ how can I remember them when I’ve never seen them before? Yet the thing wrote sense! It said, ‘Yes, ask something,’ in plain Sassenach!”
I looked at the board critically.
“That cock won’t fight, Doc.,” I said. “So far as I can see, this circle looks like a copy of the old one. I remember that combination N-I-F next each other.”