"F--e--d," that was.

"Dot-dot-dash-dot! Dot-dash! Dash-dot-dash-dot! Dot!"

"Q--a--j--e!" Mr. Grimm was puzzled a little now, but there was not a
wrinkle, nor the tiniest indication of perplexity in his face. Instead
he began talking of Raphael's cherubs, the remark being called into life
by the high complexion of a young man who was passing. Miss Thorne
glanced at him once keenly, her splendid eyes fairly aglow, and the fan
rattled on in the code.

"Dash-dot! Dot! Dot-dash! Dot-dash-dot!"

"N--e--a--f." Mr. Grimm was still spelling it out.

Then came a perfect jumble. Mr. Grimm followed it with difficulty, a
difficulty utterly belied by the quizzical lines about his mouth. As he
caught it, it was like this: "J--5--n--s--e--f--v--a--t--5--f,"
followed by an arbitrary signal which is not in the Morse code:
"Dash-dot-dash-dash!"

Mr. Grimm carefully stored that jumble away in some recess of his brain,
along with the unknown signal.

"D--5--5--f," he read, and then, on to the end: "B--f--i--n--g
5--v--e--f w--h--e--n g g--5--e--s."

That was all, apparently. The soft clatter of the fan against the arm of
the chair ran on meaninglessly after that.