Cheyne felt himself extraordinarily thrilled by this recital, and the more he examined the mysterious markings on the sheet the more interested he grew. He had always had a _penchant_ for puzzles, and ciphers appealed to him as being perhaps the most alluring kind of puzzles extant. Particularly did this cipher attract him because of the circumstances under which it had been brought to his notice. He longed to get to grips with it, and he looked forward with keen delight to a long afternoon and evening over it with Joan Merrill, whose interest in it would, he felt sure, be no whit less than his own. Certainly, he thought, his former enemies had made a good beginning. So far they were playing the game, and he began to wonder if he had not to some extent misjudged them, and if the evil characters given them by the gloomy Speedwell were not tinged by that despondent individual’s jaundiced outlook on life in general. Dangle had left the room, and he now returned with a bottle of whisky and a box of cigars. “A drink and a cigar to cement our alliance, Mr. Cheyne,” he proposed, “and then I think our business will be done.” Cheyne hesitated, while a vision of the private room in the Edgecombe Hotel rose in his memory. Dangle read his thoughts, for he smiled and went on: “I see you don’t quite trust us yet, and I don’t know that I can blame you. But we really are all right this time. Examine these tumblers and then pour out the stuff yourself, and we’ll drink ours first. We must get you convinced of our goodwill.” Cheyne hesitated, but Dangle insisting, he demonstrated to his satisfaction that his companions drank the same mixture as himself. Then Dangle opened the cigar box. “These are specially good, though I say it myself. The box was given to Blessington by a rich West Indian planter. We only smoke them on state occasions, such as the present. Won’t you take one?” Cheyne felt it would be churlish to refuse, and soon the three were puffing such tobacco as Cheyne at all events had seldom before smoked. Sime then excused himself, explaining that though business might be neglected it could not be entirely ignored, and Cheyne, thereupon taking the hint, said that he too must be off. “Tomorrow we shall be kept late in town,” Dangle explained, as they stood on the doorstep, “but the next evening we shall be here. Will you and Miss Merrill come down and report progress, and let us have a council of war?” Cheyne agreed and was turning away, when Dangle made a sudden gesture. “By George! I was forgetting,” he cried. “Wait a second, Mr. Cheyne.” He disappeared back into the house, returning a moment later with a small purse, which he handed to Cheyne. “Do you happen to know if that is Miss Merrill’s?” he inquired. “It was found beside the chair in which we placed her last night when we carried her in.” Cheyne recognized the article at once. He had frequently seen Joan use it.