Instead
he began talking of Raphael's cherubs, the remark being called into life
by the high complexion of a young man who was passing. Miss Thorne
glanced at him once keenly, her splendid eyes fairly aglow, and the fan
rattled on in the code.
"Dash-dot! Dot! Dot-dash! Dot-dash-dot!"
"N--e--a--f." Mr. Grimm was still spelling it out.
Then came a perfect jumble. Mr. Grimm followed it with difficulty, a
difficulty utterly belied by the quizzical lines about his mouth. As he
caught it, it was like this: "J--5--n--s--e--f--v--a--t--5--f,"
followed by an arbitrary signal which is not in the Morse code:
"Dash-dot-dash-dash!"
Mr. Grimm carefully stored that jumble away in some recess of his brain,
along with the unknown signal.
"D--5--5--f," he read, and then, on to the end: "B--f--i--n--g
5--v--e--f w--h--e--n g g--5--e--s."
That was all, apparently. The soft clatter of the fan against the arm of
the chair ran on meaninglessly after that.
"May I bring you an ice?" Mr. Grimm asked at last.
"If you will, please," responded the senorita, "and when you come back
I'll reward you by presenting you to Miss Thorne.
Pages:
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35