"Give me time. What does he mean by 'steer nor.'-east,' I wonder?"
"That's what has been puzzling me, for in his log Humphrey states definitely that he followed the 'San Philipo' in a nor'-westerly direction, consequently the directions appear to be misleading."
"Possibly they were intended to be so," replied my father dryly. "But these marks of latitude and longitude—do they convey anything?"
"Nothing, except that certain numbers are evidently intended to fill in the squares so indicated, and the puzzle is, what are these numbers?"
"Ah, what?"
"I tell you what; I can see it all now. Amongst the other papers that were stolen was the key to the cipher. Don't you remember my saying that one sheet contained a host of figures? Howard, old man, I am a careless idiot and deserve to be kicked for my negligence."
"It can't be helped," replied my father philosophically. "What is done cannot be undone, so the less said about it the better. We must rack our brains to find a solution to the cipher without the aid of the key. Don't look so glum, Herbert. Better luck next time."
Long after I had gone to bed my parent and his brother pored over the stubborn cipher, either with the aid of frequent references to the log of the "Anne" or the chart of the Pacific, which had been ordered from Potter's some time ago. They must have sat up half the night, for they were both late at breakfast next morning and were horribly short-tempered in consequence.
I went to school that morning as usual, but the excitement of the previous day proved too much for my attention, and, in consequence, I was sent to detention for an hour. If there is anything I loathe, detention holds an easy first, for the monotony of an hour's imprisonment at the end of the day, is particularly galling to a boy fond of outdoor pursuits. I am sure the junior masters do not appreciate the task of looking after the delinquents either, and Newman, the Second Form master, was no exception. So in less than a quarter of an hour he cleared out, leaving us to our own devices.
The fellow at the desk next to mine, a boarder named Ward, of the Upper Fifth, who was ever in hot water, was busily engaged in covering sheets of paper with roughly drawn lines, and as he appeared to derive a considerable amount of satisfaction from the task, I remarked: