Kitabı oku: «The Great God Gold», sayfa 6
Chapter Twelve
Describes an Important Discovery
Professor Griffin, for a scholar was a man of unusually rapid action.
He was convinced that another person was following the same course of inquiry as himself. Therefore he determined to act quickly and decisively.
Next day he returned to the British Museum, and after three hours’ work completed the copy of the manuscript. Then he turned his attention to two fragments of the Hebrew manuscript of the Book of Ezekiel, one of the fourth century in the Oriental Room, and the other of the fifth century in the Harleian collection.
While studying these, he recollected that some fragment of early manuscript of Ezekiel had been recently found in the Genisa in Old Cairo by Mr Alder and his companions, and that several of them were in the Bodleian Library at Oxford. Therefore, he searched the catalogue, noted the numbers, and that evening took the train to the university centre, staying the night at the Randolph Hotel.
Next morning he was in consultation with his friend, Professor Cowley, and Number 2611 of the Hebrew manuscript was brought. It proved to be the text of Ezekiel from chapter xiv, 22 to chapter xlvii, 6.
“Ah!” exclaimed Griffin, the instant he glanced at it. “It is too modern, I fear, for it contains the vowel-points.”
“Yes,” answered his friend. “I fear it will be of no value to you, if you seek a very early manuscript.”
Griffin had made no explanation of the reason of his inquiry.
“The oldest manuscript of Ezekiel is, as you know, in the Imperial Library in St. Petersburg,” Professor Cowley remarked. “I have here some photographic reproductions,” and from a portfolio he produced some facsimiles which had been published by the Paleographical Society some years ago. They were splendid reproductions, and to Griffin of most intense interest.
He sat and for a long time examined them most carefully. He made no remark to his friend, but from the expression upon his face after making a pencilled calculation upon the blotting-pad before him, it was evident that his search had not been unrewarded.
The only other actual manuscript in the Bodleian proved to be a parchment fragment of chaps, x, 9 to xiv, 11. But this containing vowel-points and accents on both Mashrahs, was, at a glance, dismissed as comparatively modern, its age being about A.D. 220.
The facsimile of the St. Petersburg manuscript was to him most interesting and from it Griffin made copious notes. Then, that same afternoon, he left for Cambridge, where next day he inspected several early manuscripts in the University Library, and at evening was back again in Pembridge Gardens, where he dined alone with Gwen.
The girl was anxious to ascertain what her father had discovered, but he was most reticent, knowing well that all would be told to Frank Farquhar on the following day.
Suddenly she said:
“Frank has gone abroad, dad.”
“Abroad? Where to?”
“To Copenhagen. He left Victoria at eleven this morning and travels by Flushing, Kiel and Korsor. I saw him off.”
“Copenhagen!” repeated the Professor thoughtfully, and in an instant he recollected that the dead stranger was a Dane, from Copenhagen. What clue was young Farquhar following?
That night he sat alone in his study reading and re-reading the copy of the first manuscript he had consulted in the British Museum, and comparing it most carefully with the extracts he had made from the facsimile of the St. Petersburg codex.
Then he took from a shelf a copy of the Old Testament in Hebrew and English, and compared the Hebrew with the early texts.
“After all,” he remarked aloud to himself, “there is little or no difference in our modern Hebrew text, except that in the older manuscripts the name of the Deity is written larger, in order to render it prominent. Ah! if I could only reconstruct the context!”
From his table he took up a large envelope, and breaking it open, drew forth the whole-plate photographic reproductions of the precious fragments of the dead stranger’s manuscript. These he placed before him beneath his reading-lamp, and studied them long and carefully, especially the scrap of handwriting.
Turning again to the extract he had made from the codex in St. Petersburg he re-examined it. The portion was Ezekiel, ii, 9-10 in Hebrew, the English of which was as follows: “And when I looked, behold an hand was sent unto me; and, lo, a roll of a book was therein. And he spread it before me; and it was written within and without: and there was written therein lamentations, and mourning, and woe.”
These two verses had attracted him at Oxford, and they again riveted his attention. It almost seemed as though he read in them some riddle meaning something tangible, for he was making upon a slip of paper frequent and rapid arithmetical calculations.
At half-past ten Gwen came, and kissing him good-night, urged him to go to bed, but nevertheless he continued his work far into the night, until the fire had burned itself out and he rose cold and tired.
He sighed, for though he had alighted upon something mysterious and hitherto undiscerned in that early text, yet its meaning was altogether uncertain.
Its discovery only served to increase the mystery a hundredfold.
As he lay in bed, two facts caused him apprehension. The first was the existence of the mysterious foreigner who was following the same line of inquiry as himself, and the second was the true reason of Frank Farquhar’s visit to Copenhagen.
That the mysterious foreigner was making active investigations had again been proved by Professor Cowley at Oxford, for he had remarked that only on the previous day those selfsame fragments of Ezekiel had been carefully inspected by a white-bearded man whose description answered in every detail to the man who had searched in the Oriental Room of the British Museum.
“He seemed extremely interested in the text of Ezekiel,” professor Cowley had remarked. “He was a scholar, too, from the north of Europe I should say.”
The mysterious searcher seemed a kind of will-o’-the-wisp, who had taken exactly the same course as himself, only he had progressed a day or so ahead. Was it possible that he held the selfsame knowledge as that contained on the half-destroyed statement?
Next day Griffin again visited the British Museum, in order to make further researches, and on entering, his friend the assistant-keeper exclaimed:
“Oh! Professor! That foreign old gentleman, who is interested in Ezekiel, was here again yesterday afternoon.”
“Here again!” echoed Griffin. “Have you found out who he is?”
“No – except that he is evidently a scholar.”
“What manuscripts did he consult?”
“Only one – the early fragment of Deuteronomy,” was the assistant-keeper’s reply.
“May I see it?”
“Certainly,” and the official gave orders for the precious piece of faded parchment to be brought.
It proved to be a Hebrew manuscript of a portion of the fifth chapter of Deuteronomy beginning at the twenty-third verse, and ending at the thirty-first Griffin who read Hebrew as he did English, glanced through it, and saw that in English, the first verse could be translated as, “And it came to pass, when ye heard the voice out of the midst of the darkness, (for the mountain did burn with fire), that ye came near unto me, even all the heads of your tribes, and your elders; And ye said, ‘Behold the Lord our God hath shewed us His glory and His greatness, and we have heard His voice out of the midst of the fire: we have seen this day that God doth talk with man, and He liveth.’”
As he read rapidly the Hebrew words his face brightened. Something was revealed to him. The stranger was evidently following an exactly similar line to himself, and had, by copying that Biblical fragment, advanced a stage nearer the truth!
“This fragment is published in facsimile, if I remember aright?” he asked the assistant-keeper of manuscripts.
“Yes, by the Paleographical Society. I have a copy if you wish the loan of it.”
And the Professor gladly accepted the loan of the large thin volume of reproductions of the rarest treasures among the Biblical manuscripts.
The researches of the foreigner showed him to be in possession of some additional facts. What were they? Ah! if he could only meet the man whose footsteps he was following, if he could only watch unseen, and note what authorities he was consulting.
For a week he haunted the Museum at all hours, hoping to meet the old man who held possession of the dead man’s secret.
He wrote to Professor Cowley at Oxford, and received a reply stating that the foreigner had been again to the Bodleian on the previous day inspecting the two fragments of early texts of Deuteronomy preserved there.
Griffin lost no time in again going down to Oxford, and next morning early called at the library. He remained there all day, but to his disappointment the mysterious old man did not reappear. He had no doubt left Oxford before the Professor’s arrival.
From those two fragments of Deuteronomy which had so interested the stranger, Griffin could make out nothing. They did not contain anything bearing upon the theory that he had been following. Yet he was told that the stranger had spent five hours in studying them and making certain arithmetical calculations.
He was sitting in the same silent, restful, book-lined room in which the stranger had sat. He was in the same chair, indeed, and before him was the same writing-pad upon which he had written.
The precious fragment was lying upon the pad of red blotting-paper. At his side stood the official who had handed the stranger the piece of crinkled parchment which he had sought.
“Yes,” he was saying, “he made a number of calculations, covering many sheets of paper, and when he left, he said that his work was unfinished, and that he intended to return. But we have not seen him since.”
As Professor Griffin was gazing long and steadily upon that early fragment of Hebrew text, the official, who of course, knew the Professor well, added: “Curiously enough, after he had gone, I found lying on the table a piece of paper on which he had been making his calculations. Here it is,” and he placed before the Professor a piece of crumpled paper bearing upon it what appeared to be a sum of multiplication and addition.
Griffin examined it eagerly, and, used as he was to the arithmetical values of the letters of the Hebrew alphabet – for each letter was a numerical value – he saw instantly that the stranger’s secret had fallen into his hands! He held his breath as the assistant-librarian placed a second scrap of paper before him.
By those two discarded scraps astounding truths had been suddenly revealed to him!
Chapter Thirteen
Shows a Face in the Night
To the ordinary observer the sum upon the scrap of paper would have conveyed nothing.
Professor Griffin studied it carefully, however, and mentally submitted it to certain tests.
What was written upon the paper was as follows:
The Professor begged leave to take it with him to London, whereupon the assistant-librarian replied: “It seems very much as though our friend the stranger is applying some numerical cipher to that fragment of Deuteronomy, does it not? Of course, Professor, you may have it – and welcome. I confess I cannot make head or tail of it.”
“Nor I either,” laughed Griffin, blinking through his spectacles. “Yet it interests me, and I thank you very much for it. Apparently this foreigner believes that he has made some discovery. Ah!” he added, “how many cranks there are among Hebrew scholars – more especially the cabalists!”
And in pretence of ignorance of the true meaning of that curious arrangement of figures, the Professor placed the scrap of paper in his breast-pocket, and returned to the Randolph Hotel, where he had tea, afterwards sitting for a long time in the writing-room with the stranger’s discarded calculation spread before him.
In the left-hand corner of the piece of paper was something which puzzled him extremely. In a neat hand were written the figures, 255.19.7. And while awaiting his train, he lit his big briar pipe, and seating himself before the fire, tried to think out what they could mean.
But though he pondered for over an hour he failed to discern their object. They were evidently the stranger’s signature.
He applied the Hebrew equivalents to them, and they were as follows: “Bêth. He. He, A-leph-Teth. Za-yin.” But they conveyed to him absolutely nothing.
Seated alone in the corner of the first-class carriage, he again took out the scrap of paper, and held it before him. That there was a cipher deciphered into the words “of the Temple that,” was apparent.
He started with the ordinary numerical values of the Hebrew alphabet. They were 7.3.4.1.0.9. which meant: Za-yin, Gi-mel, Da-leth, A-leph, the zero, and Teth. These were multiplied by He, which meant 5. Then 719220, meaning certain other letters, were added and multiplied by yodh, or ten. From each number of the total 3, or Gi-mel, was subtracted, and the English translation of the figures that remained was: “of the Temple that – ”
To such a man, versed in all the cabalistic ciphers of the ancients, the truth was plain. Extremely involved and ingenious it was, without a doubt, but by careful study of this he would, he saw, be able to find the key being used by the aged man who had in such an uncanny way signed himself “255.19.7.”
He replaced it carefully in his pocket, and lighting his pipe, set back in the carriage to reflect.
Ah! if he could only come across that will-o’-the-wisp who was engaged in the search after the truth. Probably he possessed the context of the burnt document, and could supply the missing portion. But if so, how had it fallen into his hands?
The affair was a problem which daily became more interesting and more extraordinary.
At Westbourne Park Station, when the collector came for his ticket, he fumbled for it in his pocket, but was unable for some time to find it. Then at Paddington he took a taxi-cab home, arriving in time for a late dinner.
Gwen bright and cheerful, sat at the head of the table as was her habit, inquisitive as to her father’s movements and discoveries.
But to her carefully guarded inquiries he remained mute. He had been down to the Bodleian, he said, but that was all. The old man longed to get back to the restful silence of his own study to examine the scrap of paper left by the stranger, and from it to determine the exact key to that very ingenious numerical cipher.
The man who was in search of the same secret as himself was a weird person, to say the least. Both in London and in Oxford, he had come across the aged man’s trail. That he was unknown in England as a scholar was apparent, and that he was a deeply read man and student of Hebrew was equally plain.
He was not a Jew. Both the Library assistants at the British Museum and at the Bodleian had agreed upon that point.
They had declared that he was from the north of Europe. Was he a Dane from Copenhagen, like the dead man who had preferred to be known as Jules Blanc?
Arminger Griffin ate his dinner in impatience carefully avoiding the questions his pretty daughter put to him. Then he ascended to the study, having bidden her good-night. She had received no news of Frank, it seemed. For what reason had the young man so suddenly left for Copenhagen? The question caused him constant apprehension. Could he have discovered any clue to the existence of the context of the document?
More than once during the day he had been half tempted to go himself to Denmark, but the discovery of the aged stranger’s arithmetical calculations induced him to remain in London and watch.
Having switched on the light he crossed the room, and seating himself at the table felt in his pocket for the scribbled calculation. He failed to find it. He was horrified. It had gone!
He must have pulled it from his pocket at Westbourne Park while searching for his ticket. His loss was, indeed, a serious one. In frantic haste he searched all his other pockets, but in vain. The scraps of crumpled paper which contained the key to a portion of the cipher upon which the stranger was working was gone!
He sank into his armchair in despair.
Before his vision rose those mystical figures 255.19.7. written in fire. What was the hidden meaning therein contained?
One line of the sum he recollected: “7.3.4.1.0.9.” multiplied by 5. Mental calculation resulted in the answer of 3670646. There was a sum to add to it. But alas! he could not remember the figures of it.
Therefore the clue, so unexpectedly obtained, was lost.
So he sat alone, his head buried in his hands in deepest despair.
Gwen crept in in silence, but seeing her father’s attitude, crept out again without disturbing him, and read in the drawing-room alone, until it was time to return to her room.
“Shall I ever solve the mystery?” cried the Professor aloud to himself as he paced the room presently. “Misfortune has befallen me! With that fragment deciphered I could by careful study have learned the key and then read what that mysterious searcher has undoubtedly read. Ah! if I could only meet him. Then I would follow and watch his movements. But alas! I am always too late – too late!”
As he sank again into a chair, plunged in the wildest despair, the dark figure of a tall, thick-set, military-looking man of about forty, in a long dark overcoat, passed and repassed the house in the rainy night.
For some time, he had been waiting at Notting Hill Gate Station, almost opposite the end of Pembridge Gardens, glancing at the clock now and then, as though impatiently watching for someone. Then, at last, as if full of determination he had crossed the Bayswater Road, and strolled slowly past Professor Griffin’s house, eyeing its lighted windows with considerable curiosity as he went by.
He continued his walk as far as the end of the road which led into Pembridge Square, and there halted for shelter for a full five minutes beneath the portico of a house. Then he retraced his steps, re-passing the house which had aroused so much interest within him, until he came to the station where he again stood in patience.
The watcher was an active, rather good-looking man, though the reason of his presence there was not at all apparent. To pass the time he bought an evening paper, and stood in the corner reading it, yet in such a position that he could watch everybody who entered or left the Underground Railway Station. There was a slight foreign cast in his features. His keen dark eyes were searching everywhere, while the clothes he wore were the clothes of a man of refined taste.
From time to time there played about his dark face a sinister smile – a smile of triumph. He was evidently not a man to be trifled with, and it seemed very much as though he held the owner of that comfortable house in resentment.
The words he muttered as he stood there pretending to read were, in themselves, sufficient indication of this:
“They thought to trick him – to trick me – but by Jove, they’ll find themselves mistaken!” and his claw-like hand gripped the newspaper until it trembled in his grasp.
He lit a cigarette, and twice crossed the road. Standing at the corner of Pembridge Gardens, he again looked up the street, dark, misty, and deserted on that winter’s night.
“They laugh at us without a doubt,” he muttered to himself. “They laugh, because they think he’s fool enough to give away the secret. Yes, they take him for a blind idiot. Frank Farquhar has gone upon a fool’s errand to Denmark, intending to ‘freeze us out’ of what is justly ours. When he returns, he will find that I have checkmated both him and his friend Griffin, in a manner in which he little expects.”
His countenance was full of craft and cunning; his smile was sufficient index to his character.
Soon after ten o’clock, while standing at the corner of Pembridge Gardens, he suddenly drew back into the shadow, turned upon his heel and crossed the road to the station, in order to avoid notice.
Having gained the opposite pavement, he drew back again into the shadow, and saw a female figure in a short dark skirt, and wearing a handsome white fox boa, hurrying across the road in his direction.
She passed him, and he for the first time caught sight of her pretty face. It was Gwen Griffin.
Apparently she was in a frantic hurry, for she rushed into the booking-office and in her haste to get a ticket, dropped her purse. Then, when she had run down the stairs to the platform, the silent watcher followed leisurely, obtained a ticket for Earl’s Court, but was careful not to gain the platform until the girl had already left.
“I thought the story would alarm her,” he laughed to himself as he stood awaiting the next “Circle” train. “Ah, my fine young fellow, you’ve made a great and a most fatal error!” he added with a dry laugh, as he paced the platform.
