It all depends on
the acid."
"What acid?"
"Ah," chuckled Jemmy, "you'd like to know, wouldn't you? You never
will. But it all depends on it. If I put the acid in before the salt,
the writin' disappears at the end of two hours; if I put the salt in
before the acid, the writin' don't appear for the same length of time.
It took me five years to work it out."
"But the writing didn't all appear at once," I objected.
"Of course not," said Jemmy impatiently. "It wasn't all wrote at once,
was it? It appeared just like it was wrote."
"How could you time it?"
"Why," answered Jemmy still more impatiently, "I began operations
at the same time every night, didn't I? I timed the writin' for
eight-forty-five."
"But the chair?" I persisted.
Jemmy shot a disgusted glance at Godfrey.
"Any faker on Sixth Avenue can do that," he said. "A hook on a thread.
Anything else?"
"Yes," I said, "one thing. What horror did you perpetrate last night?"
Jemmy grinned mechanically as he looked at me, and I even fancied he
reddened a little.
"Did she tell you about that?" he asked.
"She tried to, but couldn't. What was it?"
"Well, you know," said Jemmy apologetically, "I had to bring matters
to a head some way, for the old girl certainly did hate to shell out.
I was sorry to have to scare her, but I couldn't help it."
"But what did you do?"
Jemmy blew a ring, and watched it fade away in front of him.
"I don't think I'll tell," he said at last.
Godfrey had been listening with an amused smile.
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