“I think it is, sir,” returned the other, stiffly. “At least I have the message which warned Brunell of your raid upon his shop. It’s another cipher, a different one this time.”
“Indeed? That’s good work, Guy. But how did you know it was a warning to old Jimmy of the raid? Could you read it?”
Morrow shook his head.
“No, and I don’t see how anyone else could! It must have been a warning of some sort, for it was what caused them both, old Jimmy and his daughter, to run away. Here it is.”
He passed the cryptogram over to his chief, who studied it for a while with a meditative frown, then laid it aside and listened in a non-committal silence to his story. When the incidents of the day had been narrated, Blaine said:
“That was a close call, Guy, that shot from the darkness. It must have come from the opposite side of the street, of course, from before your own lodgings. The bullet glanced upward in its course, didn’t it?”
“No, sir. That’s the funny part of it! The spot where it is embedded in the wall is very little higher than the hole in the window pane.”
“And Mrs. Quinlan’s, where you board, is directly opposite?”
“Yes. It’s the only house on the other side of the street for fifty feet or more on either side.”
“Then you’d better look out for trouble, Guy. That shot came from your own house, probably from the window 197 of your own room, if it is the second floor front, as you say. There’s a traitor in camp. Any new lodgers to-day that you know of?”