"Confound the thing," he said, as he threw the paper from him, and seated himself in a chair before his looking-glass in order that his confidential valet, Belton, might shave him. "I’ll think no more of it. Mrs. Jeffreys must solve the mystery for herself. It has worried me too much already." He laid his head back upon the rest and allowed his valet to run the soap brush over his chin. But, however much he might desire it, his Old Man of the Sea was not to be discarded so easily; the word "Brazils" seemed to be painted in letters of fire upon the ceiling. As the razor glided over his cheek he thought of the various constructions to be placed upon the word--the Country--Stocks--and even nuts--Brazil nuts, Spanish nuts, Barcelona nuts, walnuts, cob nuts--and then, as if to make the nightmare more complete, no less a thing than Nutall’s Dictionary. The smile the last suggestion caused him came within an ace of leaving its mark upon his cheek. He signed to the man to stay his hand. "Egad!" he cried, "who knows but this may be the solution of the mystery? Go down to the study, Belton, and bring me Nuttall’s Dictionary." He waited with one side of his face still soaped until his valet returned, bringing with him the desired volume. Having received it he placed it upon the table and took up the telegram. "Seventy--eight Brazils," it said, "one--twenty--nine." Accordingly he chose the seventieth page, and ran his fingers down the first column. The letter was B, but the eighth word proved useless. He thereupon turned to the seventy-eighth page, and in the first column discovered the word _Bomb_. In a second the whole aspect of the case changed, and he became all eagerness and excitement. The last words on the telegram were "one-twenty-nine," yet it was plain that there were barely a hundred upon the page. The only explanation, therefore, was that the word "One" distinguished the column, and the "twenty-nine" referred to the number of the word in it. Almost trembling with eagerness he began to count. Surely enough the twenty-ninth word was Bomb. The coincidence was, to say the least of it, extraordinary. But presuming that it was correct, the rest of the message was simplicity itself. He turned the telegram over, and upon the back transcribed the communication as he imagined it should be read. When he had finished, it ran as follows: Owing to O’Grady’s silence, the Society in Chicago is growing uneasy. Two men, who are the first and last, or, in other words, the principal members, are going to do something (Nineteen-twelve) to-day with fifty thousand somethings, so arrange about the bombs.