“I can’t quite see Robinson in the part of guilt,” mused Bertram. “What’s next?”
“More veiled accusation. The medium is a church society announcement of a lecture on Japanese Feudalism. Date, August seventeenth. Inscription: ‘If there is no blood on your soul, why do you not face your judges?’”
“Little anti-climactic, don’t you think?”
“What about this one of September seventh, then? Direct reference back to the drug habit implied in the commitment blank. It’s a testimonial booklet of one of the poisonous headache dopes, Lemona Powders. The message is pricked through the cover. ‘Better these than the hell of suspense.’”
“Trying the power of suggestion, eh?”
“Quite so. The second attempt at it is even more open. An advertisement of Shackleton’s Safeguard Revolvers. Date, September twenty-second. Advice, by pin: ‘As well this as any other way.’”
“Drug or suicide,” remarked Bertram. “The man at the other end doesn’t seem particular which.”
“There’s the insane asylum always to fall back on. Under date of October first, comes the Latherton Soap Company’s impassioned appeal to self-shaving manhood. Great Cæsar! No wonder poor Robinson was upset. Listen to this: ‘God himself hates you.’ After that there’s a three-weeks respite, for there’s October twenty-second on this one, Kirkby and Dunn’s offering of five percent water bonds. ‘The commission has its spies watching you constantly.’ Calculated to inspire confidence in the most timid soul! Now we come to the soup course: Smith and Perkins’ Potted Chowder. Date of November third. Er—Bert—here’s something—er—really worth while, now. Hark to the song of the pin.”
He read sonorously:
“Animula, vagula, blandula,
Hospes, comesque corporis;
Quae nunc abibis in loca?”