“I’ll do all I can,” was Hales’ outspoken reply, “for I recognise that there’s some very ingenious conspiracy afoot somewhere.” Then, after a long pause, during which he had re-filled his long clay, and his eyes fixed thoughtfully upon mine, the old man added, “You told me a little while ago that Blair had left you his secret, but you didn’t explain to me the exact terms of his will. Was anything said about it?”
“In the clause which bequeaths it to me is a strange rhyme which runs—
”‘King Henry the Eighth was a knave to his queens.
He’d one short of seven—and nine or ten scenes!’
“and he also urged me to preserve the secret from every man as he had done. But,” I added bitterly, “the secret being in cipher I cannot obtain knowledge of it.”
“And have you no key?” smiled the hard-faced old seafarer in the thick reefer.
“None—unless,” and at that moment a strange thought flashed for the first time upon me, “unless the key is actually concealed within that rhyme!” I repeated the couplet aloud. Yes, all the cards of that piquet pack were mentioned in it—king, eight, knave, queen, seven, nine, ten!
My heart leapt within me. Could it be possible that by arranging the cards in the following order the record could be read?
If so, then Burton Blair’s strange secret was mine at last!
I mentioned my sudden and startling theory, when the tall old fellow’s grey face broadened into a triumphant grin and he said—
“Arrange the cards and try it.”