The Writer leant back in his chair, and the Soldier stared at him, puzzled.
“It’s a bit too cryptic for me,” he confessed.
“Thank God! it wasn’t too cryptic for the office,” said the Writer. “There was no Ronaldshay affair, so I knew that would draw their attention. And perhaps you’ve forgotten the name of our star reporter, who dealt in criminal matters. It was Cresswill. And if you write the word cress with a capital C and leave out the full stop after it, you’ll see the message I got through to the office.”
“It’s uncommon lucky for you his name wasn’t Snooks,” remarked the Actor with a grin. “What happened?”
“Well, we had dinner, and I can only suppose that my attempts to appear at ease had failed to convince my companions.
“The last thing I remember that night was drinking a cup of coffee—the old trick—and suddenly realising it was drugged. I staggered to my feet, while they remained sitting round the table watching me. Then, with a final glimpse of the grey-haired man’s face, I passed into oblivion.
“When I came to I was in a strange room, feeling infernally sick. And I shall never forget my wild relief when the man by the window turned round and I saw it was Cresswill himself. He came over to the bed and smiled down at me.
“ ‘Well done, youngster,’ he said, and a glow of pride temporarily replaced my desire for a basin. ‘Well done, indeed. We’ve got the whole gang, and we’ve been looking for ’em for months. They were bank-note forgers on a big scale, but we were only just in time to save you.’
“ ‘How was that?’ I asked weakly.
“ ‘I think they had decided that your sphere of usefulness was over,’ he remarked with a grin. ‘So after having removed suspicion by telegraphing your report, they gave you a very good dinner, when, as has been known to happen with young men before, you got very drunk.’