“No, I’m not an artist. I’m a man of science, and for that reason I don’t want to see my life work lost to the world. Well then, if you refuse to be my disciple, will you be my trustee? You refuse to play for me,—will you see that the system is published after my death? It is a contribution to science; at the same time by its divination of the laws of chance, it will destroy the spirit of gambling. Not only the Casino of Monte Carlo, but gambling institutions all over the world will fall. The Casino is only an item in my programme. I destroy chance; I replace it with certitude. My work is not complete, but others will follow. They will perfect it. Will you then do this much for me? Will you see my great work in print?”
“Yes, I’ll do that. I promise. But hang it all, professor, you’ve got another thirty years to live.”
“One never knows. There have been no attempts on my life lately, but I must take no chances. I will begin now and teach you all there is to know.”
The professor opened his safe and took from it a thick folio bound in limp leather.
“Voila! My treatise. It’s all there, the condensed result of the labour of thirty years. The red note-book contains the application of my system to roulette; but in this folio is the result of all my researches, the scientific explanation of the invention by which I annihilate chance. Look at it.”
“But it’s all in cypher.”
“Yes, all. Not one cypher but many. For the alphabet alone I have three different sets of characters; for the figures, six. You will have to learn over a hundred symbols before you can translate this. And these must not be put on paper; they must be carried in the head. I will teach them to you but you must promise never to write them. I have protected myself well. Without the cypher keys that folio is valueless.”
So Hugh spent the next few days committing to memory the hundred odd cypher characters of the professor’s great discovery.
3.
When he was not engaged with the professor, he occupied most of his time dangling after Mrs. Belmire. She had definitely attached him to her train of admirers and he had fallen in line, not without a certain ill grace. The life she led was at variance with his tastes; and while he submitted to her charm, he was constantly on the point of rebellion. He was like a man who chafes at his chains but cannot break them. He resented the easy way in which she took his homage for granted. There were moments when he almost hated her. What rotten luck to fall in love with a woman so far beyond and above him! If it had only been June Emslie, or even Margot. But who can help these things? In the end he decided to let himself drift,—with a certain regard to the direction of his drifting.