No. Thats quite true. I well Id like to keep these scraps for a day, or say a couple of days if I might, my dear Frank. Ill be most careful of them, I promise you, and they shall not leave my possession. As a matter of fact, he added, Ginsberg from Berlin happens to be in London, and Im extremely anxious to show them to him, and hear his views.
Frank Farquhar was a smart young man, and in a second realised danger in this.
I fear, Professor, that I cannot allow you to show them to Professor Ginsberg. I made a promise to Diamond that they should be shown only to yourself.
Very well, very well, laughed the Professor, if you care to trust them with me till the day after to-morrow I will promise to show them to nobody. I only wish to study the extraordinary statement myself, and consult certain original Hebrew texts.
At first Frank was reluctant, remembering his promise to Doctor Diamond. But at Gwens persuasion he was induced to leave them to be locked up in the old-fashioned oak bureau at the further end of the cosy room. The three then passed into the small drawing-room on the same floor, where Gwen, at her lovers request, sat at the piano and sang in her sweet contralto several pretty French chansonettes which she had learnt.
Chapter Eight
Presents another Curious Problem
In the solution of a problem such as that placed before Professor Griffin, knowledge meant power.
Though he had successfully concealed his excitement he had, truth to tell, learnt much from the perusal of those charred papers much that held him in utter amazement. A theory had presented itself of which no one had ever before dreamed.
He had derided the manuscript as a clumsy story by some half-educated person. But, within himself, he knew quite well that the problem had been propounded and the suggestion made by some person equally well-read as himself, some Hebrew scholar of highest attainment, if not of highest standing. Alas, in these days of impudent self-advertisement, it is not the cleverest man who is the most notable, or who looms largest in the public eye. The same rule applies to Professors of Hebrew, as to men in every other walk of life.
That night, after Frank had left and Gwen had kissed him good-night and gone to her room, he sat for over an hour, smoking his long pipe in silence at his study fireside. He had resolved that he would be the first to reveal the startling secret to the world. Yes. He would write an article in the Contemporary, and he knew full well that words, coming from such a high authority as himself, would be quoted by almost every newspaper in the whole civilised globe.
It was astounding never before in the whole history of the world had such a wonderful discovery been made. The Christian religion would be shaken to its very foundations not weakened, be it said, but actually strengthened a thousandfold.
He laughed aloud as he sat with his pipe in his hand, his eyes cast down upon the bright red hearthrug.
What would the Bishops of the Anglican Church, the Cardinals of the Romish Church, the Rabbis of the Jewish Synagogues and all the other heads of our religion give for possession of this secret which is mine mine only! he exclaimed, speaking to himself in a low whisper. What would men in the city, the financiers, speculators, and the thousand-and-one varieties of money sharks give me to reveal the truth to them. The truth? he repeated thoughtfully. The truth? No. I have not yet got at the actual truth. To discover it will be my work to-morrow. And I will not pause for a single instant until all is plain, and I have the secret open and revealed.
Again he hesitated, smoking on in silence, his brow heavy and thoughtful, for he had taken off his glasses and placed them in their big, bulky case.
Two men, this fellow Diamond, whoever he may be, and Frank Farquhar stand between myself and the secret! he muttered to himself with a grin. Then he rose impatiently and snapped his fingers. They shall not stand in my way for long, he laughed. The secret is mine it is in my possession!
The Professor rose early next day, as was his habit.
As he sat at the breakfast table, Gwen who looked bright and fresh in her neat white blouse and plain navy serge skirt, noticed that he was unusually silent and morose. They were devoted to each other, but at such times when her father, rendered irritable by his studies, betrayed impatience she always remained silent.
Ive asked Frank over to luncheon, dad, she ventured at last to remark.
Whereupon the old man replied in a snappy voice: I fear I shall not be bade. Im going along to the Museum, and may be there all day. I have a number of researches to make. Apologise for my absence.
Gwen promised to do this; but instead, an hour later, she sent her lover a wire, suggesting that, as the Professor would be absent, they should lunch together at Princes, which idea the young man gladly adopted.
At eleven Professor Griffin, descending from a cab, entered a small office in Oxford Street, the office of a firm of photographers whose specialty is the reproducing of ancient documents for the official publications of the British Museum, the Paleographical Society and similar institutions. To the manager, he produced the carefully preserved scraps of typewriting and manuscript, and ordered photographic reproductions to be made with as great a speed as possible.
The manager examined the charred folios closely, and declared that the work would be useless for reproduction in any journal or magazine.
I dont want them for that purpose, was Griffins reply.
Well do them as clearly as possible on whole plates, Professor, was the mans reply, but they will not come out very satisfactorily, I fear.
As long as I can decipher them easily is all I care, replied the older man. I shall call for the originals at four oclock.
We will have finished with them by that time, sir. I will send them down to the studio at Acton.
And take the utmost care of them please, urged the Professor.
We are used, as you know, sir, to handling the most valuable manuscripts in the world. The Museum give us all their work, and we often have, in our safes, manuscripts worth thousands of pounds each, replied the manager.
A sudden thought occurred to Griffin, and taking from the table the scrap of writing upon the ruled paper, he held it up to the light to examine its watermark. The design was at once apparent the head of a lady of the seventeenth century with hair dressed in the style of Charles the First, low-cut bodice, puffed sleeves, and a necklet of pearls, while above the words placed in a semi-circle was Sevigne Paper.
Hm, grunted the old man, evidently one of those imitation English papers, made in France. Well, Macdonald, get as good results as you can from the scraps, wont you?
The photographers manager, who knew Griffin well, and who had often photographed Hebrew and Greek manuscripts for him, assured him that the very greatest care should be taken in the work.
Thereupon, the Professor rose and left, urging that the originals should be returned from Acton well before four oclock.
In his thick and somewhat shabby overcoat and soft felt hat, he walked through the drizzling rain to the British Museum, where, as he entered, the attendants saluted him. In that national institution he was a well-known figure, for during the greater part of his lifetime he had studied there, especially in the Department of Manuscripts.