“Alva has a wooden sword the exact shape and dimensions of this,” said Ashton-Kirk, tapping the weapon. “When he desired to send a message to his confederate in Schwartzberg he’d wrap a string about the stick and carefully ink his communication, letter after letter, down its length. After this he’d unwind the cord, tie it about a parcel of blank paper and dispatch it. There was nothing about it that would excite suspicion; it held its secret until wrapped around the blade of the sword; then bit by bit the inked portion fell into place, forming the letters, and the writing was read.”
“All these strings are messages then,” said Scanlon. He frowned perplexedly, and asked: “But why write this way? Why not a letter, and a cipher inside?”
“The letter might, in some way, be opened.”
“But it couldn’t be read.”
“Perhaps not; nevertheless a cipher writing would attract notice, and in the face of such happenings as Schwartzberg has been experiencing, suspicion would be sure to follow.”
“That’s right,” said Bat. Then with a nod at the strings: “Going to read them all?”
“No,” said Ashton-Kirk. “It is hardly worth while.” He threw the heavy sword upon a table and crossed to the harp once more. “They must be very brief, and little could be got from them at best. They, for the most part, merely appointed a time for the real communications.”
“The real ones!”
“Yes; and those were received and answered upon the strings of the harp.”
Scanlon gazed at the girl, and then his eyes went wonderingly back to the other. Miss Knowles took an eager forward step.