“This is amazing, Mr. Trant,” Cuthbert Edwards said. “But you have left unexplained the most perplexing feature of all—the hammering!”
“To communicate with one another from their solitary cells, Russian prisoners long ago devised a code of spelling letters by knocking upon the wall—a code widely spread and known by every revolutionist. It is extremely simple; the letters of the alphabet”—Trant took from his pocket a slip of paper—“are arranged in this manner.”
He set down rapidly the alphabet, omitting two letters, arranged in four lines, thus:
a b c d e f
g h i k l m
n o p r s t
u v w x y z
“A letter is made,” the psychologist explained, “but giving first the proper number of knocks for the line, a short pause, then knocks for the number of the letter in the line. For instance, e is one knock and then five; y is four knocks and then five.
“By means of this code I translated the figures in the advertisement and obtained Meyan’s name and address. I suppose he used it not only in the advertisement, but at the office, because his long experience had taught him that Herman Silber, as many another man condemned to the horrors of a Russian prison for a term of years, had probably lost the power of speech, and continued to communicate, in freedom, by the means he had used for so many years in prison.”
“Wonderful, Mr. Trant, wonderful!” exclaimed Cuthbert Edwards. “I only regret that we can do nothing to Meyan; for there is no law, I think, by which he can be punished.”
The psychologist’s face darkened. “Vengeance is not ours,” he answered simply. “But I have given the key of Meyan’s room to Munikov!”
The elder Edwards, clearing his throat, moved over to Eva and put his arm about her as though to protect her. “Since you must see that you cannot go back to Russia, my dear,” he said awkwardly, “will you not let me welcome you now into your place in my home?”
And as the son sprang swiftly forward and caught his father’s hand, Trant took up his instrument cases under his arm, and went out alone into the warm April night.