“The word '£1000',” said Meekin. “Yes.”
“Then there's another text. Thirty-eighth—isn't it?—Psalm and the fourteenth verse. Do that the same way as the other—count fourteen words, and then score eight in succession. Where does that bring you?”
“The fifth Psalm.”
“Every fifth word then. Go on, my dear sir—go on. 'Method' of 'escape', yes. The hundredth Psalm means a full stop. What verse? Seventy-four. Count seventy-four words and score.”
There was a pause for a few minutes while Mr. Meekin counted. The letter had really turned out interesting.
“Read out your marked words now, Meekin. Let's see if I'm right.” Mr. Meekin read with gradually crimsoning face:—
“'I have hope even in this my desolate condition... in prison Van Diemen's Land... the authorities are held in... hatred and contempt of prisoners... read in any colonial newspaper... accounts of cruelty and tyranny... inflicted by gaolers on convicts... severe flogging and heavy chaining... for slight breaches of discipline...I... come... the pious... it... pays...£1,000... in the old house in Blue Anchor Yard... stolen goods and watches studs rings and jewellery... are... now... placed... safely...I... will... find... some... method of escape... then... for revenge.'”
“Well,” said Maurice, looking round with a grin, “what do you think of that?”
“Most remarkable!” said Mr. Pounce.
“How did you find it out, Frere?”