“Because, if it were really meant for a measure, it would contain something, either notes or rests, or both.”
“You may thank your lucky stars I’m not a musician,” Billy declared, and he snorted loudly in contempt. “You’re hide-bound, so to speak, by the technique of your art. Thank heaven, I have an open mind. Because the thing is different, you assert that it can’t possibly have any meaning. For my part, on the contrary, the fact that it’s different is just why I suspect it to be of importance. I give the late Mr. Abernethey credit for some cleverness. Also, I deem him to have been capable of a bit of originality. The manner of his will suggests that possibility, at least. If he amused himself by evolving a musical cipher, I’ll warrant he didn’t construct a mere tonic sol-fa—whatever that may be—which any piano-banger could sing at sight to this tune here. I’ve always thought that much knowledge of technique was deadening. Now, I know it. The critic knows technique perfectly; the genius never does. Here, I’ll take it. You’ll do no good, muddling over it!” With this pronouncement, Billy Walker rudely leaned forward, and snatched the sheet of music from the rack, and stalked away with it to the morris chair, leaving Saxe well content with such ending of the inquisition.
It was a half-hour later. Saxe had joined Roy and David, and the three were talking pleasantly of many things as they smoked. Throughout the whole time, Billy had remained huddled in the easy chair, his cigar, unlighted, clenched firmly between his teeth, his fierce, shaggy brows drawn down, his little, dull eyes set steadfastly on the sheet of music, which lay on his knees. Occasionally, there sounded an unintelligible mumbling from his lips, or a raucous grunt of dissatisfaction. Then, with disconcerting abruptness, the scholar lifted his head, ran his hands roughly through the bristling, unkempt thatch of hair, and exploded into Gargantuan laughter.
The three regarded him in perplexity, smiling a little under the contagion of his merriment. He gave no heed to their questions for a full minute, but continued his rollicking mirth.
“Well, I’ve made the first step toward the treasure,” he announced, at last. The rolling volume of his voice was more thunderous even than its wont.
Came a chorus of ejaculations and questions from the others, as they sprang to their feet, and crowded about him.
Billy waved his hand imperiously for silence.
“But it’s only the first step, remember!” he warned. “The first step! And, incidentally, it proves that I was right about the value of this document.” He flourished the music aloft, in a gesture of triumph.
“Tell us! Tell us!” was the cry.
Billy regarded his friends quizzically.