This was new to me—the “difference in feel” was quite unconsciously caused on my part—but it was up to me to support the Doc.
“I’ve noticed that myself,” I said. “Every one of them writes a different way.”
“Of course, what they say is always characteristic,” said Price. “I admit that! But here is Doc. recognizing them not from what they say, but from the way they say it—from the way the glass moves.”
“An’ why not?” said the Doc. “Silas has one way of writing—he’s energetic and slap-bang. An’ Sally has another—she’s world-wise and knowing. But Dorothy! Dorothy that’s always gentle and sweet! She is the one I like!”
We were all still laughing and teasing the Doc. when Little came back.
“No good,” he said, “the stuff won’t make sense. I’ve been right through it.”
“Then we’ve got to explain how It remembered and managed to repeat all that rigmarole,” said Price.
“Let’s ask Silas,” Alec suggested, and Doc. and I put our fingers on the glass again.
Then Boyes burst into the room, waving a sheet of paper. “It’s all right,” he gasped breathlessly. “The blessed thing has been coding our code! It’s been writing one letter to the left all the way through, and makes perfect sense. Listen.” He began reading out the decoded sentences. I looked across at Doc. He was grinning at me—a most aggressive grin! I leant back in my chair and poured myself out a tot of Raki from Alec’s bottle.
“I feel I deserve this,” I said, raising my mug.