That's every third word. Score every third word beginning with 'I'
immediately following the text, now, until you come to a quotation. Got
it? How many words in it?"

"'Lay up for yourselves treasures in Heaven, where neither moth nor rust
doth corrupt'," said Meekin, a little scandalized. "Fourteen words."

"Count fourteen words on, then, and score the fourteenth. I'm up to this
text-quoting business."

"The word 'L1000'," said Meekin. "Yes."

"Then there's another text. Thirty-eighth--isn't it?--Psalm and the
fourteenth verse. Do that the same way as the other--count fourteen
words, and then score eight in succession. Where does that bring you?"

"The fifth Psalm."

"Every fifth word then. Go on, my dear sir--go on. 'Method' of 'escape',
yes. The hundredth Psalm means a full stop. What verse? Seventy-four.
Count seventy-four words and score."

There was a pause for a few minutes while Mr. Meekin counted. The letter
had really turned out interesting.

"Read out your marked words now, Meekin. Let's see if I'm right." Mr.
Meekin read with gradually crimsoning face:--

"'I have hope even in this my desolate condition... in prison Van
Diemen's Land... the authorities are held in... hatred and contempt of
prisoners... read in any colonial newspaper... accounts of cruelty and
tyranny... inflicted by gaolers on convicts... severe flogging and
heavy chaining... for slight breaches of discipline...I... come... the
pious... it... pays...L1,000... in the old house in Blue Anchor
Yard... stolen goods and watches studs rings and
jewellery... are... now... placed... safely...I...
will... find... some... method of escape... then... for revenge.'"

"Well," said Maurice, looking round with a grin, "what do you think of
that?"

"Most remarkable!" said Mr. Pounce.

"How did you find it out, Frere?"

"Oh, it's nothing," says Frere; meaning that it was a great deal. "I've
studied a good many of these things, and this one is clumsy to some I've
seen. But it's pious, isn't it, Meekin?"

Mr. Meekin arose in wrath.

"It's very ungracious on your part, Captain Frere. A capital joke,
I have no doubt; but permit me to say I do not like jesting on such
matters. This poor fellow's letter to his aged father to be made the
subject of heartless merriment, I confess I do not understand. It was
confided to me in my sacred character as a Christian pastor."

"That's just it. The fellows play upon the parsons, don't you know, and
under