Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 February 1911 — The Miser's Parrot [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Miser's Parrot

. flhdpa from the Archives of Bullivants, Limited, the greatest inquiry and detective agency . o! modem times .V l j : .

By FREDERICK REDDALE

(Copyright, 1910, by W. Q. Chapman)

PHIinHC regular course of busi- \ nesa one day brought the following peculiar letter to the London office of Bullivants Limited. It shall serve to introduce one of the queerest cases which the great inquiry agency ever undertook to elucidate: Tint&gel Priory Near Penzance. June 29, 19Gentlemen: I have been advised to address you by the curate o t this parish, the Rev. Mr. Penmar, in the hope that you can help me unravel a very puzzling mystery. .My name is Muriel Pendragon, and I am the granddaughter of the late Mr. John Pendragon, who died six months ago. My grandfather was very eccentric, and although he was always kind to me I cannot but admit that he was queer at \ times. By our few immediate neighbors he was accounted a miser—Just why I have never been able to learn. We always had enough to live on, and he sent me to good schools for some years after my parents died. Since then I have kept house for him. One of grandfather’s peculiarities consisted in an aversion to making a will, although Mr. Penmar always told him he should do so. But he—my grandfather—would laugh and say there was plenty of time for that. Well, somehow I gained the idea that he was quite rich—not that I ever saw much money, but because whenever gold or silver was needed it was sure to be forthcoming. Then, I knew that h p inherited several thousand* of pounds from his father—which would have come to my father had he lived. Well, last Christmas eve grandfather died ln-his sleep, and since then, ’ although the house has been searched from attic to cellar, we can find neither papers nor any secret source of wealth. Mr. Penmar has Inquired of the banks in Penzance, St. Ives and Falmouth, if grandfather had any moneys deposited, but the answer is no in every case. But still I. am sure—and the popular belief bears me out In this—that poor grandfather was really a wealthy man. As I am his sole heir, and all alone in the world, you will see how deeply I am interested.

Except for a few sovereigns—less than £60 —there was nothing in sight after the funeral, and I have menaced to live on that these last six months. I am sure there is a dreadful mystery somewhere, and this is my reason for writlnc you, being informed that 'you undertake to unravel family troubles like this. Perhaps I ought to add that grandfather left in my care a very old parrot, who talks In a wonderfully clever way. He (grandfather), always bade me to be careful of **Capt. Bob" (that’s the parrot’s name), and "always mind what the bird said." I know this must sound very silly to busy gentlemen In the city—but I can’t help thinking that Capt. Bob knows a great deal. He certainly does talk very strangely, but I can’t make head or tall of what he Bays. Please pardon this long and rambling letter. I have told you but little after all. I And; but if what I have said prompts you to help me in any way, I shall forever be, Gratefully yours, MURIEL PENDRAQON. The then resident manager of Bulll▼ants, in King Wlllilm street, London, hagded me the foregoing epistle with the qulsxical words: "What do yon think of that, Keppel?” I was about the youngest member of the staff, and so perhaps the natural recipient of hopeless assignments. I read and re-read Miss Pendragon’s artless letter under the guns of the manager's eyes, then made answer: "I’m not saying much at this distance, but it strikes me there must have been something queer about old John Pendragon." "Queer!” exclaimed Calllster, "I fancy you’ll discover something more than queer.” , "Then —” I was beginning, when he finished the sentence for me: *T mean you to undertake the case.

Keppel. You’re young and enthusiastic—l won’t say romantic —but this is one of those matters where a man of some imagination is needed. j But don’t let Miss—er—Miss Pendragon—fine old name that—twirl you round her finger. From what she says there will be little In the shape of fees for Bullivants unless you locate the old miser’s hoard —in which case we shall "expect the usual percentage. Take youT time, spare no expense, and report when you’re ready. Nil desperandum, remember.” These concluding clauses embodied f at once the usual instructions to Bullivants* men, and my own particular vade mecum. I bade Callister good morning, and went out to loolt up a convenient train via the London and Southwestern for Penzance, the nearest station to Tlntagel Priory. I arrived in England’s most westerly town the next evening greatly exhilarated by the long ride which took me through the picturesque “West Countree,” —the land of Loma Doone. My inquiries at the inn elicited the fact that Tlntagel Priory was midway between Penzance and Marazion, on the shores of Mount’s bay. Next morning I set out on foot, the distance being some ten or twelve miles at moßt. As a lad I had devoured the pages of Kingsley’s “Westward Ho,” yet had never dared hope that I’d be fortunate enough to visit the scenes amid which its stirring adventures are laid. Conjequently I fairly reveled ip the glorious scenery of that shore road —winding over moor and glen and chine, always Within sight and sound of the Western ocean of Drake and Raleigh, and replete with legends of King Ar-

thur and his'knights, of Tristan and Isolde, to* say nothing of more modern freebooters and smugglers. For there is scarcely a headland or a cove between Penzance and Falmouth, but has its weird tale of these gentry and their fights with the revenue men, while the cliffs are honeycombed with caves wherein the smugglers and the wreckers_Used.to secrete their booty. However, by the time I reached Tlntagel Priory I was all alert for the business which brought die thither. The “priory” proved a hideous disappointment, for it was nothing more than a large, rambling old thatched cottage standing in p riot of roses and old-fashioned flowers. Whatever its ancient use, there was now no sign of church or abbey. In short, the name was a purely fanciful one. As 1 clicked the garden gate behind me a vision of girlish loveliness appeared at the single door of the house, framed in a border of pink blossoms! Passing up the pebbled path, hat In hAnd, I quickly made her out to be a girl of about 19, rather tall, with cheeks like the palest of roses, a wealth of red-gold hair, and a pair of honest, earnest gray eyes. I,presented my card, saying with my best bow: “Mr. Mason Keppel—from Bullivants. This, I presume, is Miss Pendragon?” “Oh, then they received my letter! I was afraid they wouldn’t bother!” “On the contrary. Miss Pendragon. 1 am sent to be of the utmost service to you. Pray command me in any and every way.”

Although she blushed very prettily there was nothing of rustic shyness in her manner. y “Won’t you come inf she suggested. “Or would you rather alt out here among the roses f I voted for the roses, and soon we were chatting like old friends. I gathered by dint of courteous questionings that her grandfather was nearly 90 When he died; that he had followed an adventurous career In his youth; that he had undoubtedly “made money” Ip those early days, and that his wealth had been augmented in various ways'; also that the countryside called him a miser—perhaps because he held on to his money. An ancient crone whom Miss Pendragon called “Margery," set before us, on a rustic table, some luscious strawberries, c/eam and cakes —the like of which I pever tasted before, though, thank goodness, I get them for seven months of the year Nowadays. I was just about to attack these delicacies when a most infernal uproar ar<Jse from within the cottage—a loud, raucous voice proclaiming something that sounded like: , “Dee-Ess! Dee-Ess! Dee-Ess? Now listen!” followed by a torrent of incoherent, yet evidently what was meant for coherent speech,' hut of which I could make nothing, winding up with a shrieked “three cheers for the devil.” The last at least, was distinct enough. Miss Pendragon fairly giggled—there is no other name for the snicker of bubbling laughter that came from her lips, as she gasped: “That’s Capt. Bob —the parrot, you know—of whom I wrote, That’s the way he goes on all the time. He was grandfather’s pet, and they were almost cronies. Nobody knows how old he is—but grandfather, with almost his dying breath, charged me to be very careful of Capt. Bob, and always mind what he paid. It sounds too. stupid for anything—don’t you think so, Mr. Keppel?” The girl’s fresh loveliness and altogether pftless manner had so bewitched me—l was rather young and impressionable in those days—that for the moment I lost my tongue. Then I remembered in time that I was at Tlntagel Priory on business, and pulled myself together, answering with due gravity: “In my profession, Miss Pendragon, we learn never to scoff at trifles. Perhaps that queer old bird may help us to solve the mystery es your grandfather’s property. May I have a look at him?”

“Certainly,” she replied. “Come this way,” leading me into a wide, low ceilinged and diataond latticed chamber, which was at' once* dining room,' living room, and the girl’s sewing room. On a tall perch by the window 1 strutted Capt. Bob—the most disreputable and battered gray parrot I ever saw. “Don’t be surprised if he should swear,” continued Miss Pendragon. “Sometimes, particularly at the sight of strangers, he goes on dreadfully.” Scarcely were the words out of her pretty mouth than Capt. Bob did swear—a perfect tprrent of “language” gathered from sailors’ fo’c’s’les, most of which was luckily beyond her comprehension. Then, without a break, he chanted the refrain I had already overheard: “Dee-Ess! Dee-Ess!^Dee-Ess! Now listen!" and then a string of gibberish, too rapid for analysis, growing faster and faster toward the end, and rising into a shriek. “Does the gentleman never vary his tune?" .< Inquired. “Never,” was the answer. grandfather taught him every word — oh, I don’t mean the bad words,” she hastened to put in with a becoming blush —“but all that sing-song patter; for hours at a time grandfather used to keep Capt. Bob in his room, going over and over that rigmarole until the bird got it by heart.” While she was speaking I had been doing some thinking, and as a result said aloud:/ “That rigmarole, as you call it. Miss Pendragon, probably contains the clew* to your grandfather’s sefcret.” She looked at me with wide-open eyes, answering under her breath f

“Do you really think so? Why?” “Because from what was outlined in your letter and from all that you have told me yourself, I infer that your respected relative had a secret which he was—pardon me—too timorous, or too cunning to put to paper, and so he confided it to that clever bird. Of course, the bird might have died and carried the secret with him. That was a risk, certainly. Equally, of course, as it sounds it’s all gibberish —not even an expert stenographer could take it down. But I know a way to get around that If you’ll excuse me I'll get back to Penzance and do a bit of telegraphing. But on your life, be very good to Capt. Bob, for I’m convinced he holds a valuable secret in that frazzled little head of his.” “When shall I see you again?” she Inquired artlessly. "Oh, I’ll run over to-morrow —to inquire after Capt. Bob,”I laughed as we shook hands. I’m not vain, but I verily believe Miss Pendragon was loath to see me go—and who'll blame her, living in that desolate corner of the realm? My errand to Penzance consisted in telegraphing to London for a firstclass phonograph —rush. As a result the apparatus came down by the night train, and was in my hands soon after breakfast next morning. Hiring a fly, I made all haste to reach Tlntagel Priory, arriving there in time for another luncheon of strawberries and cream, and cakes. But, I lost no time in setting up the phonograph, to be in readiness for taking a record of Capt Bob’s lucubrations. And, barring a

stream of profanity, which the hoary old bird let loose on seeing the strange Instrument with its great horn, he very soo* treated us to his “little piece,” so that before sunset I had no less than three records. Then war set to work to transcribe them. By revolving the wax records at a very much slower speed we were able to get a coherent transcription of what the parrot actually said, and here it is, written down phonetically, of course: Die and Ess—Dee and Ess— Dee and Ess—Now listen: Red two black two red four black one black kay red six red .seven red one black eight yed six bl&ck seven black cue black kay red eight black Jay black seven black Jay black que black five red four red cde black one black kay red three double black Jay red six black ten black eight red four red cue black Jay red six black four black kay red six black three black five red Jay black cue red six black five black nine red four black nine red one black five red Jay black two red four red cue black seven black three black Jay double red five black seven—three cheers for the devil! Sad gibberish, 1b it not? That’s how it struck me when I pored over it half the night at the Penzance Arms. But suddenly it flashed into my mind that the whole thing was nothing more than a bit of cipher writing which needed only to he unlocked to be read the hidden meaning or message! Now, fortunately, 1 had dabbled a bit in cryptograms of various kinds,, and knew what the most artful cipher can *be deciphered if one will be at sufficient pains. So I called for fresh candles and set to work anew. Perhaps it was the constant Iteration of ti»e words “red” and “black” which gave me the hint; however, I suddenly decided that a pack of common playing cards had been used in contriving the cipher. To this conclusion I was materially helped by the opening exclamations of the parrot’s speech: “Dee-Ess” thrice repeated. These, I guessed, stood for- "diamonds” and “spades.” s After that the process was easy. I had read of , "card ciphers”—where two suits of a pack of cards are taken, 26 in all, one card standing for each letter of the alphabet The reader will see that this allows of infinite variety; the trick consists In finding out the particular sequence which has been adopted in arranging the cipher. But already I had the two Bults, diamonds and spades to start on. So, to test the matter then and there, after one or two experiments, I made a tentative alphabet, as follows:

Now, if the reader has followed me thus far it will be seen that such words as "cue” and “jay” and "kay” being taken down phonetically, stood for Q equaling the queen; J equaling the jack; and K equaling the king, the color being given as a prefix—red or black for diamonds ot spades. Also I found that the cipher depended on an alternation of the two colors, and that the word “double” was used where two similar letters followed each other. J The early midsummer dawn was stealing through my open windows ere I had unlocked the cipher, working now backwards, now forwards, and with sundry checks. But finally I was able to interpret the parrot’s message as follows:

Diamonds and Spades! Diamonds and Spades! Diamonds and Spades! Now listen: King Arthur’s cave second gallery under Mark of Crown who finds keeps. But in order that thfi process may be clear to those who have read thus far I append the actual working out of the old miser’s cryptogram, which should be read in connection with the alphabet already given: Although Miss Pendragon had represented her grandfather as a very intelligent and well-read man, I doubted his ability to evolve so intricate js cipher unaided; he had probabQr picked it up la some book or newzpa-

per, and by one of those freakish mental pranks wUch the old sometimes Indulge in, haa worked out his message and entrusted It to the parrot rather make a will, fully believing that his granddaughter or some helper like myself would succeed in unraveling the secret It is further my private belief that the old rascal had come by much of his money in questionable wffys. and was secretly afraid to publish the amount of his wealth by means of a written will or testament However, my next step was manifestly to communicate my discovery to Muriel Pendragon—for although 1 had known her but- two short days, already I had come to think of her by her pretty Christian name. My first question after the usual polite greetings was: “Do you know of any locality near here called King Arthur’s cave?’’ “Why, surely,” she answered. “Every Cornlshman on Mount’s bay could direct you. It’s an old smugglers’ refuge. Why do you ask, Mr. Keppel?” 1 parried this question by another. ‘ls It far from here?” “Yes, and no,” was the answer. “Arthur’s caves—there are several of them, really—extend for miles under the cliffs. Some of them can only be entered at low tide, bnt it so happens that thqre is an entrance to one of them from under our own kitchen floor by means of a trap door. I’ve never been down, but I know it’s there, because grandfather often used; to take a lantern and disappear for hours at a time. But why—” Again I gave query for query.” ‘Would you trust me to go down—with a lantern, of course?” “Oh, you mustn’t think of that—going alone, I mean! People have been lost and starved to death down there In former days. There was a lovely concern in her voice which brought an altogether adorable color to the girl’s cheeks. Then suddenly she exclaimed: “You’re keeping something from me, Mr. Keppel! What is it? Have you discovered grandfather’s' secret?” Seeing no other way oat of it I told her the truth and read the parrot’s message as I had deciphered it. She listened with bated breath and palpitating bosom. “But we mustn’t be too sure,” I continued. The whole thing may be a hoax, you know.” “Ah, but you didn’t know poor old grandfather,” she commented. “It was his forethought for me which caused him to take this roundabout way of concealing and then revealing his secret wealth.”

"Well, somebody must go,” I insisted. "The directions are plain enough. Give me a lantern and a supply of candles. I’ll guarantee not to get lost” “No,” she decided with blushing insistence. "You are doing this for me, Mr. Keppel; I will not hear of your running into danger on my account We’ll go together!” That suited me, for I didn’t really take any stock in the perils of King Arthur’s cave. Where an old man of 80 could go, a youngster of six-and-twenty might surely venture. So we started by lifting a square of carpet in, the old kitchen beneath which were revealed the outlined cracks of a trap door aboqt three feet by two. This we pried up by means of a pickax from the garden, and saw at our feet a narrow stairway of rude slabs. Down we went, a rush ot cold, damp

air in oUr faces. The steps were 35 in number, with a half circular turn midway, finally landing us in a dry and airy arched chamber. I raised the lantern anil looked around, saying: ' “Is this it?” “This is King Arthur’s cave, certainly,” Miss Pendragon answered. "I should say it was the first gallery.” “Then we must' travel a bit farther,” I responded) “for the cipher distinctly calls for the ‘second gallery.’ Give me your hand. I don’t want to lose you.”

She placed her finger dps on ay PS** and In this way' we progressed, stooping as the arched roof lowered, until we were crouching low. But suddenly the ceiling rose again, after going perhaps a hundred feet, and we found ourselves in another, though hutch smaller cave. “If this is gallery No. 2, we'll soon know the best —or the worst,” I said with a chuckle. "Let’s light the other lantern and some candies.” This I did. sticking die tallow dips in the rocky crevices here and there, so that in five minutes we had a regular illumination. Then 1 consulted the cipher once more, although I really knew the thing by heart. “Look for the sign of a crown, Mis* Pendragon,” I called out. "You take that side; 11l take this.” So round we went, scrutinizing every foot of the smooth rock, raising and lowering the lanterns at will. Suddenly her slender girlish trebls rang out: “Here it is! I’ve found'it!” I hurried to her side, and there, sure enough, breast high, was a rude drawing of a five-pointed crown. “ ‘Under the mark,’ it said,” I quoted, getting down on my hands and knees, Miss Pendragon did likewise and there we were, our heads Pearly touching, looking for we knew not what. But even as we knelt there the floor gave way, or rather the slab on which we knelt, tilted, one-half going into a cavity in the floor, the other rising fully two feet In air. “I’ll hold it!” I exclaimed, "while you lower the lantern.” It took both my hands to balance the huge flag. “What do you see?” I inquired hoarsely. ~ “Why—it’s—Just—full—of— money!” was the awed answer as the girl raised her startled eyes to mine. 1 was afraid she might faint, though 1 have since been told that I was a goose to dream of such a thing, so 1 gave vfent to a cackle of laughter, and cried out: “Three cheers for the parrot!” * This made her laugh and broke the tension. I let the stone fall back on Its pivot, and after blowing out the candles we made hand In hand for the trap-door, and the kitchen of Tlntagel Priory. Well, my quest was ended—thanks to the baldheaded old gray parrot, you’ll say—but at any rate It was I who unraveled the cipher. That night, between dark and dawn, we removed all the treasure—it consisted entirely of gold guineas and sovereigns, and a great heap of silver coins, value about £20,000 —and next day I helped Miss Pendragon deposit hei- fortune la the Falmouth bank. Of course Bullivants was pfeased, and I received my meed of praise from headquarters, I trust, with becoming modesty. But the story does not end here. Remembering the closing words of pld John Pendragon’s queer cipher message: “Who finds keeps,” it cams about that I had found not only a very respectable monetary treasQre, but one unspeakably greater. For six months later Miss Muriel Pandragon, became Mrs. Mason Keppel.