"The thing is a fake," declared Bertram. He slumped heavily into a chair, and scowled at Average Jones' well-littered desk, whereon he had just tossed a sheet of paper. His usually impeccable hair was tousled. His trousers evinced a distinct tendency to bag at the knees, and his coat was undeniably wrinkled. That the elegant and flawless dilettante of the Cosmic Club should have come forth, at eleven o'clock of a morning, in such a state of comparative disreputability, argued an upheaval of mind little short of phenomenal.

"A fake," he reiterated. "I've spent a night of pseudo-intellectual riot and ruin over it. You've almost destroyed a young and innocent mind with your infernal palimpsest, Average."

"You would have it," returned Average Jones with a smile. "And I seem to recall a lofty intimation on your part that there never was a cipher so tough but what you could rope, throw, bind, and tie a pink ribbon on its tail in record time."

"Cipher, yes," returned the other bitterly. "That thing isn't a cipher. It's an alphabetical riot. Maybe," he added hopefully, "there was some mistake in my copy?"

"Look for yourself," said Average Jones, handing him the original.

It was a singular document, this problem in letters which had come to light up the gloom of a November day for Average Jones; a stiffish sheet of paper, ornamented on one side with color prints of alluring "spinners," and on the other inscribed with an appeal, in print. Its original vehicle was an envelope, bearing a one-cent stamp, and addressed in typewriting:

Mr. William H. Robinson, The Caronia, Broadway and Evenside Ave., New York City.

The advertisement on the reverse of the sheet ran as follows:

     ANGLERS--When you are looking for
     "Baits That Catch Fish," do you see
     these spinners in the store where you
     buy tackle?  You will find here twelve
     baits, every one of which has a record
     and has literally caught tons of fish.
     We call them "The 12 Surety Baits."
     We want you to try them for casting and
     trolling these next two months, because
     all varieties of bass are particularly
     savage in striking these baits late in
     the season.

     DEALERS--You want your customers to have
     these 12 Shoemaker "Surety Baits" that
     catch fish.  This case will sell itself
     empty over and over again, for every bait
     is a record-breaker and they catch fish.
     We want you to put in one of these cases so
     that the anglers will not be disappointed and
     have to wait for baits to be ordered.  It
     will be furnished FREE, charges prepaid, with
     your order for the dozen bait it contains.

The peculiar feature of the communication was that it was profusely be-pimpled with tiny projections, evidently made by thrusting a pin in from the side which bore the illustrations. The perforations were liberally scattered. Most, though not all of them, transfixed certain letters. Accepting this as indicative, Bertram had copied out all the letters thus distinguished, with the following cryptic result:

b-n-o-k-n-o-a-h-i (doubtful) i (doubtful) d-o-o-u-t-s-e-h-w h-e-w-a-l-e-w-f-i-h-i-e-l-y-a-n-u-t-t-m-a-m (doubtful) g-e-x-c-s (doubtful) s-e M-e-p-c (two punctures) t-y-w-u-s-o-m-e-r-s h-a-s 1 S-k-t-s-a-s-e-l-e-v-a-h (twice) W-y-o-u (doubtful) h-c-s-e-v-t-l-t-f-r (perforated twice) c-a-o-u-c-e-o-c (doubtful) m-t (perforated twice) n-o-h-a-e-f-o-u-w-o-r-i-t-h-i-r-e-d- w-l-l-b (Perforated three times) f-u-h-g-e-p-d-h-o-d- (doubtful) e-f-h-g-b-t-n-t.

"Yes, the copy's all right," growled Bertram. "Tell me again how you came by it."

"Robinson came here twice and missed me. Yesterday I got the note from him which you've seen, with the enclosure which has so threatened your reason. You know the rest. Perhaps you'd have done well to study the note for clues to the other document."

Something in his friend's tone made Bertram glance up suspiciously. "Let me see the note," he demanded.

Average Jones handed it to him. There was no stamp on it; it had been left by the writer. It was addressed, in rather scrawly chirography, to "A. Jones, Ad-Visor," and read:

> THE CARONIA, Nov. 18.