"There is a game, you know, in which you mix up the letters of a long word, such as Plenipotentiary, and then try to recombine them into subsidiary words, the biggest list winning the prize. Perhaps there were other esoteric or inside words in my key-sentence, a still deeper meaning and significance to this apparently haphazard collection of alphabetical symbols. I started experimenting, and almost immediately I did get another word, Fort. Now I'll write out the series again, using vertical lines to divide off the word-groups. Here it is:"
| W | O | N | | | F | O | R | T | | | O | O | F | | | O | R | A | T | E |
"The only perplexity was in the third section, for although OOF is a Yiddish slang word for money or cash it isn't much in use in our rural locality; in all probability, old Mr. Thaneford had never even heard of it. All the other words were good English.
"What was the ninth letter, the alphabetical rock upon which my fine theory had gone to pieces? Why it was none other than the second O in that very word, OOF. Then I saw the solution in a flash. Do you?"
I shook my head.
"There is another English work which corresponds phonetically to the number 2 or two. Of course it is TO. Let us make the substitution, thus:"
| W | O | N | | | F | O | R | T | | | O | F | | | O | R | A | T | E |
"A complete English sentence, you see. It doesn't make very good sense, but that is of no consequence, since it is merely what Chalmers calls er—er—well, what do you call it, Chalmers?"
"Mnemonic guide," smiled Warriner. "An artificial aid to one's memory. It would be somewhat easier to write down the key-letters correctly if this absurd sentence were kept in mind. You have to be absolutely accurate in the coding of a cypher message."
"Now then, Hugh, do you see?" demanded my wife.