"Stop a moment please! Let me see the marks on the wall before any one
enters; the passage is narrow and they may be rubbed off." A glance was
enough, just time enough to formulate which was the symbol of "a" and
which of "b." The perpendicular strokes were "a" and the horizontal "b."
Marjory had kept her head, even at this trying time, and was leaving a
message for me as she was forced along. I understood why the struggle
had ceased. Seized and forced through the narrow doorway, she had at
first struggled hard. Then, when she realised that she could leave a
clue behind her, she had evidently agreed to go quietly; for so she
might have her hands free. It would be a hard job to carry or force
along an unwilling captive through that narrow uneven passage; doubtless
the captors were as willing as she was that she should go quietly. I
said to the detectives:
"These marks on the wall are in a cipher which I can read. Give me the
best lamp we have, and let me go first."
So, in an orderly procession, leaving two men in the library with Mrs.
Jack to guard the entrance, we passed into the secret passage. As I read
off the words written on the wall, the man with the note-book took them
down, his companion holding a candle so as to enable him to do so. How
my heart beat as I read my dear girl's message, marked on the wall on
the inner side whichever way the curves ran. Obviously it would create
less attention by guiding herself in this wise as she passed. She had
kept her hand well down so that her signs should not be confused with
the marks made by the men who, guiding themselves likewise, had held
their hands at a natural height. Her sign marks ran continuously,
even after we had passed into the passage between the chapel and the
monument; the writing ran as follows:
"Four men came in--two waiting in passage through bookcase--late--striking
one--struggled--then quiet--hands free--same voice we heard in Chapel.
Feathers thin voice, small man, dark--all masked--Whisky Tommy hoarse
voice, big man, sandy, large hands--Dago, deep voice, swarthy, little
finger missing left hand--Max, silent, nods for speech, think dumb--two
others on ahead too far see, hear."
In a pause I heard the chief detective murmur:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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