“No, that’s true; it does seem difficult. But there must be some explanation, mustn’t there? Wait a minute . . . I know! When Carmichael got that book from the porter, the porter said he had taken it _off that train_. But a porter, when he says ‘off the 3.47’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘off the 3.47 on Tuesday’—the day you are asking about. The 3.47 is to him a single entity which renews itself from day to day. He took that book off the train on Monday, depend upon it. Brotherhood left Momerie in the train when he came down on the Monday afternoon; consequently, Brotherhood probably never read the cipher that would have warned him of his danger. It wasn’t till Friday that Carmichael made inquiries about the book, and of course by that time the porter wouldn’t be able to remember, even if he tried, which _day_ it was that the book was found.” “There’s sense in that. I don’t like it, though, I’m hanged if I do.” The hour after breakfast on Sunday was an hour of suspended animation in Paston Oatvile dormy-house. Very few of the members ever went to church, and fewer than ever this week, when several of them had “kept a roller” (in Oxford parlance) by attending Brotherhood’s funeral. On the other hand, it was not considered good form to start on the morning round until the padre had set out for the half-past nine service. Until that moment you smoked, read the Sunday papers, and in general tried to cultivate the air of a man in two minds as to whether he should go to church or no. The weather prospects were anxiously forecast; the political situation was greeted with apoplectic comments from the older members, and the Club acrostician went to and fro eliciting items of expert knowledge from anybody who was available. The atmosphere was one of Sabbath peace, yet the kind of peace that can only be secured by preparing for golf. Gordon had decided to take a rest from detection, and was intending to go round with Carmichael: Mordaunt Reeves was determined not to touch a club until the Links Mystery should be solved. “If it comes to that,” said Reeves, as they went upstairs, “have you considered this side of the question? A book cipher is ordinarily prearranged between the two parties. Now, in this one it is very unlikely that it was prearranged, for the message looks as if it came from an enemy. Therefore the message could only be sent by some one who knew that Brotherhood was reading Momerie’s _Immortality_ at the moment—knew, in fact, that the book was close to his hand. Well, how could Davenant know all that? He had not seen Brotherhood, he had not travelled with him—how was he to know that his thoughts would instinctively turn towards that particular book? For Davenant, it’s impossible. What we want to find is somebody who knew that Brotherhood would have access to that particular book at that particular moment.”