by David Pirie
I was interested to hear his reasoning but knew I hardly deserved praise. Indeed, I thought, it might be argued that matters would have moved more swiftly if I had not been there at all. For, in such a circumstance, Mrs Marner would never have left without seeing Bell and then he would have had all he needed from her at once without having to extract it from me.
Back in his room at the inn, Bell cleared the little desk and placed the paper carefully before him in order to begin his work.
I did not enquire further but offered to bring him something to eat. Of course, I expected him to reject the idea and was somewhat surprised when he heartily endorsed it, indeed he asked for two plates of bread and cheese and some assorted meats and two tankards of ale. Yet, when I returned with the food, he ignored it completely as he bent over the table, the light from the lamp shining fiercely on his face, staring at the sheet of strange writing below him.
The pad beside him was now covered in a series of numbers, letters and words. But his pencil had been thrown down and he had turned his attention back to the rune itself.
He did not look up as I stood there. But of course he had heard me enter and, after a while, without turning, he started to talk.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘the opening lines seem indeed to be runes or runic symbols. These have all kinds of associations with witchcraft, but it is my suspicion the words below them are a code of some kind. There are suggestive aspects, most notably the use of “N”. You will recall the methods I used on the Beale ciphers, Doyle, but I fear it will not be susceptible to those. For I believe this is a polyalphabetic cipher, by far the most difficult in my experience.’
Naturally, I asked him to elaborate and he said he would welcome the chance to clarify his procedure for his own benefit as well as mine. ‘You will recall,’ he said, ‘when we discussed ciphers in the context of the puzzle at Abbey Mill that I showed you the basic skills involved. At its most elementary, this consists of comparing the frequency of letters in the text to be deciphered with the commonness of letters in English.
‘I can,’ he continued, still with the paper before him in his hand, ‘cite you one immensely dramatic example from English history. You may recall Mary Queen of Scots was executed in 1587 for plotting against Queen Elizabeth. What is much less well known are the circumstances. It seems that Elizabeth’s first minister Walsingham had managed to break the code in which Mary was writing. This historic act of decipherment was done simply by a process of elimination. The code being used, which was, I believe, created by a young man called Babington, was ingenious but fallible. Every letter was substituted for another. But by trial and error, Walsingham established that the “o” of this code alphabet represented “a” and the strangely formed “o” with a tail was our “e”. Once you have these important vowels you can always, by a process of elimination, very quickly establish other letters, words begin to take shape and the text falls into place.’
Now he put the paper back on the desk in front of him, as the candle spluttered, sending a shadow flickering over his face as his expression darkened. ‘However, with a polyalphabetic cipher, such an approach is, I fear, completely impossible.’
‘Does it need a key?’ I asked, for I remembered from previous discussions with Bell how a textual key can be used to decrypt a cipher in a variety of ways, sometimes even by taking a whole text and numbering all the words so that if the fiftieth word of the text is ‘even’, then fifty stands for ‘E’ but if the hundred and fiftieth word is ‘early’, then 150 also stands for the same letter.
‘In a sense,’ said Bell, ‘but a polyalphabetic cipher needs only one word or phrase. It employs a system called the Vigenere square, published by the author of that name in a book in 1586. Once you have used the square you do not forget it and I have drawn one out now in case it is of help to us.’
He pulled out a sheet of paper. On it was written a series of alphabets:
A A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
B B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A
C C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B
D D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C
E E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D
F F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E
G G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F
H H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G
I I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H
J J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I
K K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J
L L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K
M M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B G D E F G H I J K L
N N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M
O O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N
P P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O
Q Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P
R R S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q
S S T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R
T T U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S
U U V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T
V V W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U
W W X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V
X X Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W
Y Y Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X
Z Z A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y
‘In many ways,’ said Bell, looking down at the strange mosaic, ‘it is a simple system with devilishly complex results. As you see, every letter is given its own alphabet, starting wherever that particular letter is placed in the English alphabet and ending at the same place. I will put it at its absolute simplest.’ He looked up and his eye fell on the untouched dinner. ‘Supposing you wanted to encode the word “cheese”. And the key agreed between the parties is another simple culinary word “bread”.’
He took up his pencil. ‘Very well, first you write your key at the top of your encipherment and repeat it over and over until the message you are enciphering ends. Our message is very short so we only need to write it twice.
B R E A D B R E A D
Now we put the word we want to encode below it.
B R E A D B R E A D
C H E E S E
‘Now we refer to the square. Our master alphabet is at the top, and we wish to translate our word “cheese” into a polyalphabetic cipher using the key word “bread”. It is simple: the first “c” is checked against the letter above in the key word which is “b” and therefore we look along the B alphabet in the square and find the corresponding letter for our “c” in “cheese” is “d”. For the second using our key word the key letter is “r” so we look along the R alphabet for our “h” in “cheese” and find “y”. The process continues exactly like this and we have:
Key word: B R E A D B
Text word: C H E E S E
Code word: D Y I E V F
‘So there is the coded “cheese”, Doyle. “D Y I E V F”,’ said Bell, neatly completing the word. ‘And even if we write hundreds of sentences out in this way, without the key of “bread” it is potentially impregnable, for you will notice in the word “cheese” there are no less than three “e”s, all rendered by different letters. There is, therefore, not the slightest point in trying to decipher a polyalphabetic cipher by the usual methods I have shown you. Without the key it is an impossibility.’
‘So what hope have we with this?’ I asked.
‘Ah well,’ he said, ‘we must find the key. I have hopes. And as I have said there are other very odd features here in the rune at the start which are most interesting. I will work on it further.’
I left him then to obtain some dinner of my own. The inn was deserted that night and after my meal I wondered if I should venture
out, but I could think of nothing concrete that would further our investigation. Indeed, as I kicked my heels and stared out at the moon I found myself reflecting how little I had contributed to the case so far. In previous investigations, I had always at least some sense of an indirect involvement in the process of detection. Here I seemed merely to be an observer occasionally repeating to Bell what I had heard. In a case as important as this, one in which I had so huge a stake, it was not pleasant to reflect that it would have made little difference to our current position if I had stayed in London.
I am aware such thoughts did me little credit, for what did it matter in the end so long as we succeeded? But probably I was still suffering from the ordeal I had endured in Wiltshire where I had been so completely humiliated and then failed abjectly in the quest for revenge.
A cheerful booming voice interrupted my reverie. ‘Well, you have stirred up Sir Walter and I can hardly think of a more worthwhile occupation. The man has always run his farm as if he were some French nobleman rather than a minor Englishman from a somewhat chequered family.’
Bulweather grinned down at me and I greeted him. ‘Yes, Angus just looked in and described to me some of the events at the hall. How I wish I had seen it unfold. So I thought I would buy you a brandy and congratulate you. It was ingenious.’
We repaired to the snug which was as empty as the bar beyond it and I accepted his kind offer. Naturally I told him that Bell was, at this moment, attempting to make something of the document and described it as well as I could.
Bulweather was most interested in my description of the rune. ‘I will be intrigued to hear if Dr Bell can arrive at an understanding of it,’ he said when I was finished. It would be truly wonderful if we could put this whole ghastly business behind us.’
The words were spoken with such a heartfelt misery that I suddenly found myself sorry for the man before me. You could see how much Bulweather hated what was happening to his community. So I told him what was true, namely that if anyone could solve the mystery, it would be Bell. And then he recalled he had other news. Evidently there had been some kind of disturbance at the Westleton House asylum. A window was broken and minor damage done, yet none of the patients was missing or put out in any way. The room involved had been empty. ‘It is a mystery,’ said Bulweather, ‘and I expect Bell will want to add it to his list when he is done with the present business.’
After that we talked further about the place, for I was very keen to ask Bulweather if there were other institutions like it. He offered to get Dr Cornelius to make enquiries. ‘I have told you how grateful I am to him,’ he added. ‘Do you have a personal interest in such things?’
I hesitated but at last I told him of my father’s condition. He listened with great sympathy but also with genuine interest. When I had finished he paused for a moment and then spoke in a gentler tone.
‘Doyle, you have made me a confidence, one with which I greatly sympathise. These things happen, they are not a mark of fate or weakness. They are illnesses. And now I believe I owe you a confidence in return.’ He took a drink of his brandv and went on. ‘I have not yet, you see, completed my story for reasons you, of all people, will appreciate. What I always intended to tell you and Bell, when given the opportunity, is that the matter of my wife’s illness, while true in every detail, is not the whole truth. Yes Mary died of septicaemia. But it arose after she had inflicted a terrible wound on herself. You see she also suffered from a mental disorder.’
I was amazed but also naturally all my sympathies were aroused. I knew only too well what my mother had suffered in such circumstances. ‘But was it always thus and was she confined?’ I asked.
‘Oh no,’ he said with passion. ‘It happened suddenly as is sometimes the way. And it was never so bad that she had to be in an asylum. There were wonderful periods even towards the end when she was quite herself. When I talked of her anxiety, and of her worry for her sister, that was all true. She did make me promise to do all I could for her. And then the illness arose in a worse form.’
As he revealed the details, it became clear to me what this man must have endured. We talked for some time, and he voiced his firm belief that in some respects an illness of the mind was the same as the illness of any organ. ‘In time to come,’ he said, ‘I feel sure my wife’s illness and your father’s will not be regarded as a disgrace. People do not wish themselves ill. It is not their fault. It is certainly not fate. It may not even be hereditary. They merely become ill, whether it is an illness of the mind or of the knee bone.’
We talked more of this before he left me. Inspired by all he had said, I made myself a silent promise. I would visit my father within a few weeks and certainly early in the New Year. Then I returned to Bell’s room to see how he was progressing.
Before I reached the door it was opened by Bell who looked pleased to see me. ‘Ah Doyle, come in, I thought I heard you and I wanted to show you something.’
I entered and noticed with pleasure the Doctor had eaten every scrap of food and also drunk the beer. I was not surprised he was hungry after such an eventful day.
But now he was turning down the lamp so it was very shadowy in the room and opening the curtain. Outside the night was clear and the moonlight shone through the window, making a patch on the carpet, which seemed to satisfy him.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I am ready.’ And he indicated a chair.
We sat and waited. I did not know what on earth for. Did he expect some spirit to materialise? Nothing happened in that dark room. And why would it? I was about to make some remark. And then I became aware of a slight noise as of furtive movement. I turned. Nothing. It came again.
The noise was louder, and in the shadows beside the bed I began to think I could just make out a shape at floor level. Gradually it became clearer. And then it started to move foward. Slowly it entered a patch of moonlight.
I started at what I saw. It was twisted and ungainly with bare flesh, and a bull-like animal neck. What kind of thing had Bell brought here? As I watched, a sound came from it, low at first like a moan but gradually rising to a scream. And then it was a cacophonous howl.
There was no mistaking the noise. It was what Charlotte Jefford and I had heard in the wood. Yet in this confined space it was not merely frightening but utter agony. I put my hands to my ears. Still the sound persisted, a great shrieking, threatening to drown the entire inn.
I shouted fiercely at Bell, but the Doctor was already jumping to his feet, raising an arm. The noise stopped and, in that instant, the thing withdrew.
All was silent now but he was too late, for we could hear footsteps and soon there was a knocking on the door.
The Doctor went over to it quickly and opened it a crack. A startled man stood there. Behind him, other doors were opening.
‘Forgive me,’ said Bell to the man, ‘there is no alarm at all. Please tell anyone who heard. A friend’s dog had to have a thorn removed but the animal is fine now. My great apologies to you.’
He closed the door politely, and I thanked heaven Miss Jefford was a floor away on the other side.
‘And now,’ said Bell, turning to me and smiling, indicating I should get up, ‘I will introduce you to the late Mr William Bowker.’
THE UNQUIET GRAVE
He went over and raised the lights in the room. Slowly the shape appeared again but it was relaxed now and all its body seemed to have uncoiled. In the full light and without these distortions, I recognised it to my amazement as a man I had glimpsed briefly downstairs as Bulweather and I entered the bar. Seen in ordinary life without his contortions he was certainly striking, with a bare fleshy head that was greatly oversized for his squat body, but he bore almost no resemblance at all to the thing I had just encountered. Indeed even the nakedness was an illusion, for he had merely lowered his skin-coloured shirt below his shoulders.
‘But,’ added Bell as the man got up and came forward to me, smiling very politely, ‘I am sure we should now honour him with his re
al name, which is Daniel Morton.’
The man nodded gratefully and mopped his brow with a handkerchief. ‘I am not, to be truthful, so used to the Daniel, sir,’ he said in an accent that was distinctly London. ‘Just Danny Morton, that is how I am known. But that, what you saw, is what you were talking of, sir, I take it?’
‘It certainly was,’ said Bell ruefully. ‘Indeed, to be truthful with you, Mr Morton, I was not expecting quite as much.’
‘Oh, it was only an indication, sir.’ He looked pleased. ‘In the halls I used to do it as “The Human Wolf”, but I hadn’t done it for a while till the two gentlemen saw me in Westons in High Holborn. They knew our lot was coming down here to Lowestoft, which was when they asked me to participate in the wager.’
‘I am very grateful to you, Mr Morton,’ said Bell. ‘But my colleague has not heard your story. Perhaps you would like to explain it to him.’
‘Of course, sir.’ He turned to me in his likeable way. ‘It was confidential, but your friend here was on to it anyway so I see no harm. Like I say, I work in the halls and these two gentlemen see me at Holborn. I think they had heard something of what I do. So they came to me and later they bought me some refreshment and told me of this wager.’
‘What wager?’ I said.
‘Why, as I understand it, they had a friend who said he cared nothing for staying out in the wood and bet them fifty pounds he would stay there till midnight on a dark night and they wanted to give him a scare. So they asked me to do just that. I am known too for having some skills at ventriloquism, sir. I am able to make it seem as if a sound comes from far off. Evidently I did the trick the first time but this gentleman, they say, he never learns and he wants to try it again and I wasn’t so keen on that. But they were generous and so I went along with it, even though the weather was perishing. It was a very short time that last occasion. The only thing is, sir, I think I saw a woman and I may have scared her but I could not let my gentlemen down. They understood and said they would square it with her.’