Then a glance at the address enlightened him.
“Same old game, sir? Letters clipped from telegraph forms and gummed on to the wrapper. It looks like Mr. Justice again.”
“The chances are in favour of it,” Sir Clinton agreed, with a faint tinge of mockery in his voice at the Inspector's eager recognition of the obvious. “Well, what about it?”
Flamborough scanned the advertisement once more, but no sign of comprehension lightened his face.
“Let's clear up one point before we tackle the lettering,” Sir Clinton suggested. “That's to-day's issue of the Courier; so this advertisement was received at the newspaper office yesterday. Since the thing reached me by the second post, this copy of the paper may have been bought in the normal way—first thing in the morning—and posted at once.”
“That's sound, sir. It's among the ordinary advertisements—not in the ‘Too Late For Classification’ section.”
“It may be a hoax, of course,” Sir Clinton mused, “but the telegram-form business would hardly occur to a practical joker. I think one can take it as a genuine contribution until it's proved to be a fake. Now what do you make of it?”
The Inspector shook his head.
“Cyphers are not my long suit, sir. Frankly, it seems to me just a jumble, and I don't think I'd make it anything else if I tried.”
Sir Clinton reflected for a minute or two in silence, his eyes fixed on the advertisement.