“Bring me the check,” ordered Westcott, in a querulous tone.
“Yes, sir,” said the waiter, in a thick, foreign accent.
He drew a pad from his pocket and moved a few paces away while he tried to figure out the total of the dinners.
Both Bob and Mallory watched him intently. They smiled as they observed the man’s stupidity. It was obvious that he could scarcely add up figures.
The waiter completed his task. He laid three slips in front of Thaddeus Westcott, who signed them. He handed the man a dollar bill as a tip.
“Don’t disturb us again,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
The waiter shambled away. Bob grinned as Hiram Mallory reopened the paper. The three men began to study the cryptic characters once more.
In the kitchen, the stupid-looking waiter retired to a corner. There, he looked at the pad which he held in his hand.
He smiled. On the pad was a duplication of the characters which appeared on the paper held by Hiram Mallory. The man had quickly drawn them from memory while he had been pretending to add up the amounts on the dinner checks.