“How do you know they’re worth five thousand pounds?” he inquired.

“You dear old stupid!  Doesn’t Westerfield himself say so in his letter?”

“Read that bit again.”

She read it again:  “After the two calamities of the loss of the ship, and the disappearance of the diamonds—­these last being valued at five thousand pounds—­I returned to England.”

Satisfied so far, he wanted to look at the cipher next.  She handed it to him with a stipulation:  “Yours, Jemmy, on the day when you marry me.”

He put the slip of paper into his pocket.  “Now I’ve got it,” he said, “suppose I keep it?”

A woman who has been barmaid at a public-house is a woman not easily found at the end of her resources.

“In that case,” she curtly remarked, “I should first call in the police, and then telegraph to my husband’s employers in Liverpool.”

He handed the cipher back.  “I was joking,” he said.

“So was I,” she answered.

They looked at each other.  They were made for each other—­and they both felt it.  At the same time, James kept his own interests steadily in view.  He stated the obvious objection to the cipher.  Experts had already tried to interpret the signs, and had failed.

“Quite true,” she added, “but other people may succeed.”

“How are you to find them?”

“Leave me to try.  Will you give me a fortnight from to-day?”

“All right.  Anything else?”

“One thing more.  Get the marriage license at once.”

“Why?”

“To show that you are in earnest.”

He burst out laughing.  “It mightn’t be much amiss,” he said, “if I took you back with me to America; you’re the sort of woman we want in our new saloon.  I’ll get the license.  Good-night.”

As he rose to go, there was a soft knock at the door.  A little girl, in a shabby frock, ventured to show herself in the room.

“What do you want here?” her mother asked sharply.

Syd held out a small thin hand, with a letter in it, which represented her only excuse.  Mrs. Westerfield read the letter, and crumpled it up in her pocket.  “One of your secrets?” James asked.  “Anything about the diamonds, for instance?”

“Wait till you are my husband,” she said, “and then you may be as inquisitive as you please.”  Her amiable sweetheart’s guess had actually hit the mark.  During the year that had passed, she too had tried her luck among the Experts, and had failed.  Having recently heard of a foreign interpreter of ciphers, she had written to ask his terms.  The reply (just received) not only estimated his services at an extravagantly high rate, but asked cautious questions which it was not convenient to answer.  Another attempt had been made to discover the mystery of the cipher, and made in vain.