“You can take it from me now, Mr. Dangerfield, that the Dangerfield Secret is of no importance whatever from to-day onwards. Least of all to you personally. Make your mind quite easy on that score.”
Rollo nodded; but quite evidently he was not altogether relieved from anxiety. Eileen’s face showed that she was puzzled by Westenhanger’s words, but she refrained from asking any question.
“We’ll take the document next,” Westenhanger continued, picking it up from the table as he spoke. “You know its contents, two texts and a chess-position. The chess-position is a dud affair. There’s a mate in one move staring one in the face as soon as one looks at it. Obviously the thing isn’t a problem, and no one would trouble to write down an end-game so simple as this. I made nothing of it.”
He looked across at the old man. Rollo’s face had taken on its old mask of inscrutability. Quite evidently he could not see whither all this was leading.
“I come now to Miss Cressage’s part in the affair,” Westenhanger proceeded. “So far as I was concerned there was nothing confidential in the matter. You hadn’t pledged me to secrecy—because you had told me nothing. Still, before speaking to Miss Cressage about it, I asked her to promise she would say nothing. We know that she can keep her promises.”
Rollo’s glance at the girl made it quite clear that he had full confidence in her.
“Between us,” Westenhanger went on, “we hit on the key to the first text. Nox nocti—night unto night. Spell the word with a K, and you get Knight—the chess-piece.”
Old Dangerfield sat up sharply.
“Do you know, Mr. Westenhanger, two generations of us have puzzled over that scrawl, and not one of us saw it. I congratulate you on your acuteness, both of you. That was very clever indeed.”
“Just a chance,” Westenhanger had to admit. “It’s a thing one could only hit upon in the course of talk, and even then it would be only by accident.”