“Read it aloud, Lieutenant!” urged Michael Splendor, glancing up with a nod.
Red Pennington bent closer.
“'Proceed with original contract,’” he read, “'for delivery October or not later than the first of the year. We will expect San Francisco order on schedule as this Empire contact is highly important. Our telegraph operator advises that many messages suggest Cho-San as the ideal sales name for our delightful produce which suggests China Seas and that catchy name brings orders.’”
“Say, Don!” the red-haired lieutenant commented. “If that’s in code, it’s a loo-loo! Sounds just like an ordinary business letter, or something!”
“You’re right, so it does!” chuckled Michael Splendor. “But there’s the catch. Ye note that the message is typed in five word lines. Very well, take this pencil and cross out all but the first word in the first line, the second word in the second line, and so on through the fifth. At the sixth line begin again with the first word. When ye’ve finished, read me what ye have left.”
With a low whistle of comprehension, Don Winslow took the pencil and, stepping over to the cabin’s desk, swiftly made the indicated changes. A few seconds later, he read off slowly the words which remained:
“'Proceed—October—first—San Francisco—Empire—contact—Operator—Cho-San—for—China Seas—orders.’”
“Well, I’ll be keelhauled!” blurted Red Pennington. “That’s a Scorpion message, all right. It sounds plain enough, too, except for the word 'Empire’ and 'Cho-San.’ Do they make any sense to you, Mr. Splendor?”
The man in the wheel chair did not reply. While Don had been decoding the message, the cripple had moved his rubber tired vehicle over to the porthole. He was now gazing out at the sunlit shore line, with an expression of grim thoughtfulness.
Following the man’s look, Don gave a start of amazement.