"The language being English, nothing could be easier for a man of ordinary
intelligence. If I had expected that my manuscript would fall into the
hands of a cryptographist, I should have contrived something much more
complicated and written it in several languages; and you have the key
ready to your hand. Come, let us begin."

After half an hour's instruction I began to see daylight, and to feel that
with patience and practice I should be able to write out the story in
legible English. The little I had read with Mr. Fortescue made me keen to
know more; but as the cryptographic narrative did not begin at the
beginning, he proposed that I should write this, as also any other missing
parts, to his dictation.

"Who knows that you may not make a book of it?" he said.

"Do you think I am intelligent Enough?" I asked, resentfully; for his
uncomplimentary references to my mental capacity were still rankling in my
mind.

"I should hope so. Everybody writes in these days. Don't worry yourself on
that score, my dear Mr. Bacon. Even though you may write a book, nobody
will accuse you of being exceptionally intelligent."

"But I cannot make a book of your narrative without your leave," I
observed, with a painful sense of having gained nothing by my motion.

"And that leave may be sooner or later forthcoming, on conditions."

As the reader will find in the sequel, the leave has been given and the