He took the paper, and referring to the numbers of the texts which he had written in his pocket-book, began to knit his brows over Mr. John Rex's impious and hypocritical production. “I thought so,” he said, at length. “Those texts were never written for nothing. It's an old trick, but cleverly done.”
“What do you mean?” said Meekin. “Mean!” cries Frere, with a smile at his own acuteness. “This precious composition contains a very gratifying piece of intelligence for Mr. Blicks, whoever he is. Some receiver, I've no doubt. Look here, Mr. Meekin. Take the letter and this pencil, and begin at the first text. The 102nd Psalm, from the 4th verse to the 12th inclusive, doesn't he say? Very good; that's nine verses, isn't it? Well, now, underscore nine consecutive words from the second word immediately following the next text quoted, 'I have hope,' etc. Have you got it?”
“Yes,” says Meekin, astonished, while all heads bent over the table.
“Well, now, his text is the eighteenth verse of the thirty-fifth Psalm, isn't it? Count eighteen words on, then underscore five consecutive ones. You've done that?”
“A moment—sixteen—seventeen—eighteen, 'authorities'.”
“Count and score in the same way until you come to the word 'Texts' somewhere. Vickers, I'll trouble you for the claret.”
“Yes,” said Meekin, after a pause. “Here it is—'the texts of Scripture quoted by our chaplain'. But surely Mr. Frere—”
“Hold on a bit now,” cries Frere. “What's the next quotation?—John iii. That's every third word. Score every third word beginning with 'I' immediately following the text, now, until you come to a quotation. Got it? How many words in it?”
“'Lay up for yourselves treasures in Heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt',” said Meekin, a little scandalized. “Fourteen words.”
“Count fourteen words on, then, and score the fourteenth. I'm up to this text-quoting business.”