One-Day Report · Biliteral Cipher · September 3, 2026

Today's claim

A measurement of the page reproduces Riverbank's 1916 marking of the italic w on all fifteen letters it could isolate — using a rule that is not the one the 1916 manual states.

findings may be superseded by later reports

The short version

In 1899 an American cryptanalyst named Elizabeth Wells Gallup said she had found a hidden message inside the First Folio of Shakespeare — not in the words, but in the shapes of the letters. Two slightly different italic typefaces, alternating, spelling out a binary code devised by Sir Francis Bacon.

Almost everyone has considered this as nonsense for a century. Almost nobody has measured it. That is the whole of what this project does.

Today's result in one sentence. Fifteen of the sixteen italic w in the Prologue could be measured, and all fifteen agree with how Riverbank marked them in 1916 — but the rule that produced that agreement is not the rule the 1916 manual states.

Questions

What is the biliteral cipher?

Sir Francis Bacon described it in 1623. Every letter of the alphabet becomes a group of five symbols, each symbol either an a or a b — binary code, three centuries before binary code. A is aaaaa, B is aaaab, and so on.

The trick is that the two symbols need not be letters at all. They can be two founts of type so similar that a reader notices nothing. Print an innocent passage in an alternating mixture of the two, and the shapes of the letters carry a second message underneath the first.

So what is actually being tested here?

Not whether Bacon wrote Shakespeare. Something much narrower and much more answerable: is the italic type on these pages one fount, or two?

That is a question about metal, ink and paper, settled in 1623. It has a definite answer, the photographs are free and public, and anybody with the same images can check the working or overturn it.

It is also the necessary condition. If there is only one fount, the whole claim dies where no amount of argument can reach it. If there are two, nothing about Bacon follows — but a fact about the book would be established that nobody currently knows.

What happened today?

A working pipeline turned up that had been written earlier and then lost on a disorganised drive. It measures every lowercase w in the Prologue and calls each one a or b without being told the answer.

There are sixteen such letters. The pipeline isolated fifteen of them and refused the sixteenth, saying it could not separate that letter from its neighbours on the page. Refusing is the right behaviour; a classifier that always produces an answer is not measuring anything.

Those fifteen calls were then compared with the marking Riverbank published in 1916. All fifteen match.

Fifteen out of fifteen — isn't that conclusive?

No, and for a reason that matters more than the number.

Riverbank's marking is the only record of which w is which. So the comparison shows that a measurement of the page reproduces Riverbank's own judgement. It does not show that either one is correct. If Gallup and her students consistently saw a difference that was not there, a machine agreeing with them would prove only that the illusion was consistent.

What would settle it is the opposite test: run the same measurement on ordinary text that nobody claims carries a cipher. If that also splits neatly in two, the split means nothing. That test has not been run yet. It is next.

Yesterday you said it was about a loop. Today you say height. Which is it?

This is the honest problem with today's result, and it is worth stating plainly rather than letting a sceptic find it.

The 1916 manual describes the difference as shape: the a-form w ends open, the b-form has its final stroke closed into a small loop. That is what was checked yesterday at the two places the manual points to, and it was visible at both.

The pipeline recovered today does not measure that at all. It measures height — whether the letter rises above the height of an ordinary lowercase letter. Those are two different questions that happen to have produced the same answer fifteen times.

They may well be the same thing seen twice: a stroke that curls up and closes is also a stroke that is taller. But that is a guess until it is demonstrated, and until then the project has been describing one criterion while quoting a result produced by another.

A second correction belongs here. Yesterday's account said the a-form has no enclosed hole. Measurement says otherwise — both forms enclose one. The a-form's is a small angular gap where the strokes cross; the b-form's is a large round bowl. So the distinction is the shape and relative size of the hole, not whether a hole exists. "Count the holes" was too simple.

Isn't this just checking Gallup's homework against Gallup's answers?

Partly, and that limit is stated above. But two things are not borrowed from her.

The photographs are the Bodleian Library's, made for entirely unrelated reasons. And the measurement is a number in pixels, which has no opinion about Bacon.

There is also something the measurement showed that no one told it. The two groups of letters do not merely fall on either side of a line — they fall in two separate clusters with an empty gap between them, and nothing sits near the boundary. That is a property of the page, not of the rule used to read it. Wherever the line had been drawn inside that gap, the answer would have been the same.

What would change your mind?

Written down in advance, and unchanged by today:

  • If ordinary text from elsewhere in the book — pages nobody claims carry a cipher — splits just as cleanly, the method is manufacturing structure and every result here is worthless. This is now the decisive test.
  • If the two clusters vanish once every w on the page is included rather than the sixteen that carry the message, the result was an artefact of which letters were chosen.
  • If the height rule and the loop rule turn out to disagree on the wider sample, at most one of them can be what the manual meant.

A negative gets published in the same terms as a positive. That was decided before any data was looked at, and it is the whole difference between an audit and an advocacy.

Who is doing this and why?

Walter Wilkinson, Worland, Wyoming. The overall project encompasses Orville Owen's Word Cipher; this is its sister strand.

The reason it has merit is that the question has stayed arguable for 127 years purely because nobody measured it — and until about six years ago, nobody easily could. The photographs went online free. The statistical machinery got built for another purpose entirely. Both halves now exist, and no one had put them together.

The wider project lives at New Gorhambury, which collects the sources, the experiments and the Word Cipher work. Experiment One is this report's direct ancestor — Friedman's 1916 decoding of this same Prologue, redone in Python on these same Bodleian scans. Worth knowing before you read it: that page argues a conclusion. These reports deliberately do not. The difference is the point of publishing them daily.