“That’s right!” The voice from the doorway spoke its approval. “You’ve done enough, now. Give it up, and sit at your desk for a minute. Don’t look this way.”
Burke did as he was told. He felt like a movie actor in front of the camera, following the director’s instructions. He busied himself at his desk, and tried to conduct himself in an indifferent manner.
“Back to the window,” came the next order. “Try again; but fail. Rub your forehead, as though you were very warm.”
Burke went through the pantomime.
“I am closing the door,” came the voice. “Work at the window a few seconds longer. Then walk away, as though you were going for the janitor. Leave the office, and come to Room 463.”
BURKE kept up the pretense. Finally, with a grimace of disgust, he turned away from the window.
Stepping out of the light, he quickly picked up his hat and coat and left the office. He went to the room designated.
It was a sparsely furnished office, with an alcove in one corner. The man who had conversed with him was awaiting his arrival. Without a word, he handed Burke a sealed envelope. The newspaperman opened it. Within was a message:
EKRUB: YLER YLLUF NO EHT NAM OHW SEVIG UOY SIHT. NODNERALC.
Within a few seconds after Burke’s keen eyes had begun to scan the carefully lettered words, the writing disappeared completely. The code was a simple one. Reversed, the words were: BURKE: Rely fully on the man who gives you this. CLARENDON.