The Slipper Point Mystery (novella)/Chapter 6
CHAPTER VI.
LIGHT DAWNS ON MISS CAMILLA
"Sally Carter, I have a new idea!" It was Doris who spoke. the two girls were sitting in the pine grove on the heights of Slipper Point. Each was knitting—an accomplishment they had recently learned. Genevieve was paddling in the water on the golden sand-bar below.
"What is it?" asked Sally, scowling over her work. She had come to some difficult purling in the khaki sweater and wished Miss Camilla were near to help her out. It was Miss Camilla who had taught them to knit, urging that every one should be so occupied in strenuous war time.
"It's nearly a month now," went on Doris, "since that day you gave the paper to Miss Camilla, and she's never said a word about it since. And she asked us not to mention the subject any more and forgive her silence, as the matter seemed to concern something that was painful to her."
"Yes, I know," agreed Sally, breathing a sigh of relief as she managed successfully to pick up the dropped stitch; "and she kept the paper, though I'm positively certain she has never been able to puzzle it all out; and all our hopes of finding buried treasure are over!" she ended with a regretful smile. "But what's your big idea?"
"Why, it's just this," explained Doris. "She said that paper was in her brother's handwriting. Now, ever since then, I 've supposed it must be a note or something that he left for her. It's quite natural that he would have wanted to leave her something to explain things, is n't it?"
Sally agreed.
"And, of course, he would want to do it in a way no one else would understand. There may have been an important reason for it at the time. Well, all along, I 've been thinking that scrap of paper was the note—and now I'm just sure it is n't!"
Sally stared. "What in the world is it, then?" she demanded.
"I read a book once," went on Doris, with apparent irrelevance, "a detective story. I never thought of it till to-day, but it had a lot in it about a secret code by which people could communicate with each other, those who understood it, and no one else could guess what the writing was all about. The code was n't a bit like this thing," she pulled the bit of paper from her pocket, "but it started me to thinking that this might be a code to read a note by, and not the real note at all."
Sally grasped the idea at once and jumped up in wild and admiring excitement. "Oh, Doris, you 're a wonder to have thought of such a thing! Rut how can we ever puzzle it all out, and where do you suppose the real note is?"
"Miss Camilla must have the note somewhere, if there really is one," admitted Doris, "and the only way I can see to puzzle it out would be to put the two together and try and make some sense out of them."
"But how are we going to do that?" demanded Sally. "Certainly we could n't very well ask her to let us see it, especially after what she said to us that day."
"No, we could n't, I suppose," said Doris, thoughtfully. "And yet,—" she hesitated,—"I somehow feel perfectly certain that Miss Camilla does n't know the meaning of all this yet, has n't even guessed what we have about this paper. She does n't act so. Maybe she does n't even know there is a note—you can't tell. If she has n't guessed, it would be a mercy to tell her, would n't it?"
"Yes, I suppose so," admitted Sally dubiously. "But I would n't know how to go about it. Would you?"
"I could only try and do my best, and beg her to forgive me if I were intruding," said Doris. "Yes, I believe she ought to be told. You can't tell how she may be worrying about all this. She acts awfully worried, seems to me. Not at all as she did when we first knew her. I believe we ought to tell her right now. Call Genevieve and we 'll go over."
Sally called to Genevieve, who was playing in the boat on the beach below, and that young lady soon came scrambling up the bank. Hand in hand, all three started to the home of Miss Camilla, and, when they had reached it, found her sitting on her tiny porch knitting in apparently placid content. But true to Doris's observation, there were anxious lines in her face that had not been seen a month ago. She greeted them, however, with real pleasure, and, with her usual hospitality, proffered refreshments, this time in the shape of some early peaches she had gathered only that morning.
But Doris, who with Sally's consent had constituted herself spokesman, before accepting the refreshment began:
"Miss Camilla, I wonder if you 'll forgive us for speaking of something to you? It may seem as if we were intruding, but we really don't intend to."
"Why, speak right on!" exclaimed that lady in surprise. "You are too well bred to be intrusive, that I know. If you feel you must speak of something to me, I know it is because you think it wise or necessary."
Much relieved by this assurance, Doris went on, explaining how she had suddenly had a new idea concerning the mysterious paper and detailing what she thought it might be. As she proceeded, a new light of comprehension seemed to creep into the face of Miss Camilla, who had been listening intently.
"So we think it must be a code,—a secret code,—Miss Camilla. And if you happen to have any queer sort of note or communication that you 've never been able to make out, why, this may explain it," she ended.
When she had finished, Miss Camilla sat perfectly still—thinking. She thought so long and so intently that it seemed as if she must have forgotten completely the presence of the three on the porch with her. And after what seemed an interminable period, she did a strange thing. Instead of replying with so much as a word, she got up and went into the house, leaving them open-mouthed and wondering.
"Do you suppose she's angry with us?" whispered Sally. "Do you think we ought to stay?"
"No, I don't think she is angry," replied Doris, in a low voice. "I think she is so—so absorbed that she hardly realizes what she's doing or that we are here. We'd better stay."
They stayed. But so long was Miss Camilla gone that even Doris began to doubt the wisdom of remaining any longer.
But presently she came back. Her recently neat dress was grimy and disheveled. There was a streak of dust across her face and a cobweb lay on her hair. Doris guessed at once that she had been in the old, unused portion of her house. But in her hand she carried something, and resuming her seat, she laid it carefully on her knee. It was a little book about four inches wide and six or seven long, with an old-fashioned brown cover, and it was coated with what seemed to be the dust of years. The two girls gazed at it curiously; and when Miss Camilla had got her breath, she explained:
"I can never thank you enough for what you have told me to-day. It throws light on something that has never been clear to me—something that I have even forgotten for long years. If what you surmise is true, then a mystery that has surrounded my life for more than fifty years will be at last explained. It is strange that the idea did not occur to me when first you girls discovered the cave and the tunnel, but even then it remained unconnected in my mind with—this." She pointed to the little book in her lap. Then she went on:
"But now, in the circumstances, I feel that I must explain it all to you, relying still on your discretion and secrecy. For I have come to know that you are both unusually trustworthy young folks. There has been a dark shadow over my life, a darker shadow than you can, perhaps, imagine. I told you before of my father's opinions and leanings during the years preceding the Civil War. When that terrible conflict broke out, he insisted that I go away to Europe with my aunt and stay there as long as it lasted, providing me with ample funds to do so. I think he did not believe at first that the struggle would be so long.
"I went with considerable reluctance, but I was accustomed to obeying his wishes implicitly. I was gone two years, and in all that time I received the most loving and affectionate letters constantly, both from him and from my brother. They assured me that everything was well with them. My brother had enlisted at once in the Union army and I had learned that he had fought gallantly through a number of campaigns. My father remained here, but was doing his utmost, so he said, in a private capacity to further the interests of the country. Altogether, their reports were glowing. And though I was often worried as to the outcome and apprehensive for my brother's safety, I spent the two years abroad very happily.
"Then, in May of 1863, my first calamity happened. My aunt died very suddenly and unexpectedly, while we were in Switzerland, and, as we had been alone, it was my sad duty to bring her back to New York. After her funeral, I hurried home here, wondering very much that my father had not come on to be with me, for I had sent him word immediately upon my arrival. My brother, I suspected, was away with the army.
"I was completely astounded and dismayed, on arriving home, at the condition of affairs I found here. To begin with, there were no servants about. Where they had gone or why they had been dismissed, I could not discover. My father was alone in his study when I arrived, which was rather late in the evening. He was reserved and rather taciturn in his greeting of me, and did not seem very much pleased to have me back. This grieved me greatly after my long absence, but I could see that he was worried and preoccupied and in trouble of some kind. I thought that perhaps he had had bad news about my brother Roland, but he assured me that Roland was all right.
"Then I asked him why the house was in such disorder and where the servants were, but he only begged me not to make inquiries about that matter at present, but to go to my room and make myself as comfortable as I could, and he would explain it all later. I did as he asked me and went to my room. I had been there about an hour, busying myself with unpacking my grip, when there was a hurried knock at my door. I went to open it, and gave a cry of joy, for there stood my brother Roland.
"Instead of greeting me, however, he seized my hand and cried: 'Father is very ill. He has had some sort of a stroke. Hurry downstairs to him at once. I must leave immediately. I can't even wait to see how he is. It is imperative!'
"‘But, Roland!' I cried, 'surely you won't go leaving Father like this!' But he only answered. 'I must, I must. It's my duty!' He seized me in his arms and kissed me, and was gone without another word. But before he went, I had seen—a dreadful thing. He was enveloped, from head to foot in a long, dark military cape of some kind, reaching almost to his feet. But as he embraced me, under the light of the hall lamp, the cloak was thrown aside for an instant and I had that terrible glimpse—my brother was wearing a uniform of Confederate gray under the concealing cloak!
"I almost fainted at the sight, but he was gone before I could utter a word, without probably even knowing what I had seen. This then, was the explanation of the mysterious way they had treated me. They had gone over to the enemy. They were traitors to their country and their faith, and they did not want me to know. For this they had even sent me away out of the country!
"But I had no time to think about that then. I hurried to my father and found him on the couch in his study, inert in the grip of a paralytic stroke that had deprived him of the use of his limbs and also of coherent speech. I spent the rest of the night trying to make him easier, but the task was difficult. I had no one to send for a doctor, and could not leave him to go myself, for, of course, the nearest doctor was several miles away. There was not even a neighbor who could be called upon for assistance.
"All that night, however, my father tried to tell me something. His speech was almost absolutely incoherent, but several times I caught the sounds of words like 'note-book' and 'explain.' But I could make nothing of it, and in the early morning he passed away very quietly in my arms.
"I can scarcely bear, even now, to recall the days that followed. After the funeral, I retired very much into myself and saw almost no one. I felt cut off and abandoned by all humanity. I did not know where my brother was, could not even communicate to him the death of our father. Had he been in the Union army I would have inquired. But the glimpse I had had that night of his rebel uniform was sufficient to seal my lips forever. There was no one in the village whom I knew well enough to discuss any such matters with, nor any remaining relative with whom I was in sympathy. I could only wait for my brother's return to solve the mystery.
"But my brother never returned. In all those years I have neither seen him nor heard of him, and I know beyond doubt that he is long since dead. And I have remained here by myself like a hermit, because I feel that the shame of it all has hung about me and enveloped me, and I cannot get away from it. Once, a number of of years ago, an old village gossip here, now long since gone, said to me: 'There was something queer about your father and brother, now was n't there, Miss Camilla? I 've heard tell as how they were Rebs on the quiet during the big war awhile back. Is that so?' Of course, the chance remark only served to confirm the suspicions in my mind, though I said to her that it was impossible.
"I also found to my amazement, when I went through the house after all was over, that many things I had loved and valued had strangely disappeared. All the family silver, of which we had had a valuable set inherited from Revolutionary forefathers, was gone. Some antique jewelry that I had picked up abroad and prized highly was also missing. But chief of all, my whole collection of precious porcelains and pottery was nowhere to he found. I searched in every conceivable nook and cranny in vain. And at last the disagreeable truth was forced on me that my father and brother had sold or disposed of them, for what ends I could not guess. But it only added to my bitterness to think they could do such a thing without so much as consulting me.
"SHE LAID IT OPEN AND THEY EXAMINED ITS PAGES"
She held it out to them, and they pressed eagerly to her side. But as she laid it open and they examined its pages, a disappointed look crept into Sally's eyes.
"Why, there's nothing here but numbers!" she exclaimed. And it was even so. The first few lines were as follows:
56+14—63+43+34+54+64+43+16—
52+66+52+15+23—66+24—15+44+43—
43+64+43+-24+15—61+53—36+24+14
51+15+53+54+43+52+42+43+15
16+66+52+36+52+15+43+23—
And all the rest were exactly like them in character.
But Doris, who had been quietly examining it, with a copy of the supposed code in her other hand, suddenly uttered a delighted cry:
"I have it! At least, I think I'm on the right track. Just examine this code a moment, Miss Camilla. If you notice, leaving out the line of figures at the top and right of the whole square, the rest is just the letters of the alphabet and the figures one to nine and another 'o' that probably stands for 'naught.' There are six squares across and six squares down, and those numbers on the outside are just one to six, only all mixed up. Don't you see how it could be worked? Suppose one wanted to write the letter T. It could be indicated by the number 5 (meaning the square it comes under according to the top line of figures) and 1 (the number according to the side line). Then 51 would stand for letter T, would n't it?"
THE KEY TO THE MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE
"Great!" interrupted Sally, enthusiastically, who had grasped the method even more quickly than Miss Camilla. "But suppose it worked the other way, reading the side line first? Then T would be 15."
"Of course, that's true," admitted Doris. "I suppose there must have been some understanding between those who invented this code about which line to read first. The only way we can discover it is to puzzle it out both ways, and see which makes sense. One will and the other won't."
It all seemed as simple as rolling off a log, now that Doris had discovered the explanation. Even Miss Camilla was impressed with the value of the discovery.
"But what is the meaning of these plus and minus signs?" she queried. "I suppose they stand for something."
"I think that's easy," answered Doris. "In looking over it, I see there are a great many more plus than minus signs. Now, I think the plus signs must be intended to divide the numbers in groups of two, so that each group stands for a letter. Otherwise they'd be all hopelessly mixed up. And the minus signs divide the words. And every once in a while, if you notice, there's a multiplication sign. I imagine those are the periods at the end of sentences."
They all sat silent a moment after this, marveling at the simplicity of it all. But at length Doris suggested:
"Suppose we try to puzzle out a little of it and see if we are really on the right track? Have you a piece of paper and a pencil, Miss Camilla?" Miss Camilla went indoors and brought them out, quivering with the excitement of the new discovery.
"Now, let's see," began Doris. "Suppose we try reading the top line first. 56 would be 1 and 14 would be 2. Now, if that is 'twelve' it may stand for a word or it may not. Now let's try it the other way. Side line first. Then 56 is m, and 14 is y. 'My' is a real word, anyway, and not a number, so perhaps we 're on the right track. Let's go on."
From the next series of letters she spelled the word "beloved" and after that "sister." It was plain beyond all doubting that at last they had stumbled on a wonderful discovery.
But she got no farther than the words, "My beloved sister," for no sooner had Miss Camilla taken in their meaning than she huddled back in her chair and, very quietly, fainted away.