“Mayn’t it be just a mere accident?” Courage was needed to say anything. To say that called for much.
He laughed harshly. The gay irresponsible boy might never have been. “Accidents don’t happen to the Universal Press.”
“But why shouldn’t they—once in a while?” Her voice had a maternal caress in it.
“The U. P. is the most efficient machine ever invented. It lives for and by efficiency—damnable word! That’s the talisman with which it sways five continents. God help us all! No accident here.”
“Can you really be sure?”
“Internal evidence. The few casual, cut-and-dried phrases I used, hardly more than a formal returning of thanks, have been so twisted round that they are the exact opposite of what was meant.”
“Perhaps there’s been a confusion of names.”
“No! no! Much too circumstantial—John Endor—luncheon—this afternoon—Blackhampton Town Hall. There’s no excuse. And the trick is so simple, so easy, once you condescend to its use. Take that final phrase, ‘I believe in the Sword.’”
Helen waited eagerly.
“Knock out the first letter of the last word and you have the phrase I used.”