Professor Dawson Fairbairn, a.s.sistant keeper of the ma.n.u.scripts, had, in the days before my self-exile from London, been one of my personal friends. He was perhaps the first authority upon palaeography in Europe, one of the founders of the new Palaeographical Society, and an expert upon Latin and early English ma.n.u.scripts. A man of middle age, he was by no means the dry-as-dust professor one would readily a.s.sociate with such an unattractive study as the deciphering of mouldy vellum rolls. On the contrary, he was a short, stout, round-faced man, of merry demeanour, whose eyes blinked at one good-humouredly through his pair of circular gold-rimmed spectacles.

I found him in his room, busy deciphering a half-effaced page of an illuminated ma.n.u.script, but he placed aside his work to greet me. While in Italy I had had a good deal of correspondence with him regarding several rare doc.u.ments that I had succeeded in finding, and more than one of which I had sent for his inspection and opinion. Of these we commenced to chat.

I did not care to show him The Closed Book, for various reasons. The secret it contained was my own, and I wished to preserve it to myself, for I recollected that he was an expert himself and could read that difficult script at the end of the volume as easily as I could a printed page.

"I am just now taking an interest in the history of Crowland Abbey," I said presently. "Do you know of anything in the collections that would give me an adequate description of the monastery as it was in the early sixteenth century?"

"Crowland Abbey! How strange!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "This codex I have been examining evidently came from there. It was sent to me for my opinion, along with several others, by Lord Glenelg, only a couple of hours ago.

All the ma.n.u.scripts undoubtedly once belonged to that abbey."

"Lord Glenelg has been here?" I exclaimed.

"No--not personally. He sent them by a queer little old Italian with a humpback. I've met the old fellow before somewhere, only I can't think where. Abroad, most probably, when I've been buying for the Museum.

He's something of an expert."

"His name is Graniani," I said. "But did his face recall to you any particular incident?"

"No, only I felt that I disliked him."

"Lord Glenelg was, I thought, abroad."

"So did I," was the great expert's reply. "I was very surprised to receive these from him," and he pointed to a pile of heavily bound volumes on the table, those very ma.n.u.scripts that we had watched unearthed a few hours before. "They've evidently been kept in a very damp place, for they're half ruined and effaced."

"You received no explanation concerning them?"

"None. Only it seems such a curious coincidence that you should come and inquire for references to Crowland just at a moment when we have this important discovery of the abbey's liturgical and other books."

"I found a reference to it by a monk named G.o.dfrey in a ma.n.u.script I purchased in Italy recently, and it has aroused my interest," I explained.

"A reference to it by G.o.dfrey?" he echoed, looking up at me quickly through his spectacles.

"Have you actually found the missing Arnoldus?"

"It is an Arnoldus," I responded; "but why do you ask? What do you know of it?"

"I know, my dear Mr Kennedy, that if you have really rediscovered the book I mean, you hold the secret of the hidden treasure at Crowland,"

was his reply.

"But what is known of the treasure?" I asked eagerly.

"All that is known is contained in an old pocket-book belonging to this monk G.o.dfrey now in the Harley Collection. I'll send for it," and, turning up one of the huge bound catalogues, he noted its number upon a slip of paper and sent one of his a.s.sistants for it.

The young man returned with a small squat volume, much worn, bound in a cutting from an ancient antiphonarium, and secured by a small bronze clasp.

"You will see that the book is full of useful recipes, domestic accounts, a calendar of saints' days, and memoranda of all kinds. Among the latter is the entry to which I refer." And he opened it at a page wherein a slip of paper had been inserted.

There, sure enough, was an entry in Latin, in the same well-known hand as that upon the envenomed pages of The Closed Book. Freely translated, the memorandum was as follows:

"I, G.o.dfrey Lovel, now monk of the Certosa of Florence, and once a brother of the Order of St Benedict, at Crowland, in England, am about to die, and have therefore written a full account of my life and adventures, and have also given full directions for the recovery of the abbey treasures, so that the secret shall not be altogether lost. I have plainly told also where the emeralds of my lady Lucrezia are concealed. All this will be found clearly written in my Arnoldus, which I have now concealed in a place of safety. Let him who seeks to know the secrets beware! He will grasp the hand of Death midway."

There was nothing else, so the professor informed me: only that single entry--a few rough, ill-written lines which told that the treasures of the abbey were actually concealed, and that the secret of their whereabouts was contained in the Arnoldus that had so curiously fallen into my hands.

Was it any wonder that his curiosity was at once aroused, or that he sought to know what I really had discovered?

"It is true that I am in possession of the missing ma.n.u.script," I said; "but, unfortunately, one folio of it is missing--the very folio which gives definite instructions for the recovery of the hidden treasure. At present I am unable to make investigations because I cannot find any plan of the abbey, the cloister court, and adjacent buildings. It is to ask your a.s.sistance in this matter that I've come to you today, although I would also ask you, as a favour, to regard the matter at present as entirely confidential, for I do not wish anyone to know that I'm engaged upon a treasure hunt."

"I shall, of course, respect your confidence entirely, Mr Kennedy," the professor said; "and if I can be of any a.s.sistance in the matter I shall be delighted. It would be a grand thing to recover the treasures of Crowland. There must be a good many valuable things among them, for the place was one of the wealthiest of the Benedictine houses."

"Well," I said, "do you happen to know of any existing plan or any written description of the monastic buildings?"

He reflected deeply, taking off his gla.s.ses and carefully wiping them.

"At the moment I really cannot think of anything," was his quiet rejoinder, "at least of nothing more than what has already been published in the various histories. You have, of course, seen them?"

I responded in the affirmative, whereupon he promised to make investigations and look through various catalogues, a work which I knew would mean considerable study and research.

I learned further from Professor Fairbairn that he knew nothing of the man Selby, although he was, of course, on friendly terms with Lord Glenelg, who, as a bibliophile, was frequently at the Museum when in London.

"It is evident from these ma.n.u.scripts," I said, indicating them, "that his lordship is making some careful investigations; therefore I wish that my inquiries should be absolutely secret from him--you understand?"

"Perfectly," was his reply. "I am quite as much interested in the Crowland treasure as you must be, therefore I will commence tomorrow to search for the particulars you desire, and will write you. Are you only in London temporarily, or have you returned permanently?"

"I'm staying with my friend Captain Wyman the traveller, at 14A Dover Street. A letter directed there will find me."

"Has not the other portion of the entry here struck you as curious?" he said, pointing again to the open page of the old monk's note book.

"This reference to `my lady Lucrezia's emeralds.' Can `Lucrezia'

actually be Lucrezia Borgia, and the emeralds those historic ones which we know were in his possession about 1506?"

I affected ignorance. What could I do in the circ.u.mstance? I had asked the professor's a.s.sistance regarding the Crowland ruins, but the other matter I intended to keep entirely secret. In a few days I would go north to visit Fred Fenwicke, in Galloway, and make investigations for myself. Therefore I replied:

"I know nothing of the jewels. Yet it really seems probable that G.o.dfrey, if he had lived in Florence, might have known the notorious Lucrezia Borgia of poison fame."

"And that warning about meeting death hand to hand--what can that mean?"

"Oh! the old fellow's way of trying to frighten the inquisitive, I suppose," was my response. Then, when I had thanked him for his promise, we took a turn down the long gallery where the English ma.n.u.script charters are exhibited in gla.s.s cases to the public, and at the door he bade me farewell, repeating his intention to a.s.sist me in every way possible, and expressing a hope that, as reward, he might have sight of the long-lost Arnoldus.

Until Professor Fairbairn could complete his search we could only wait, the good rector taking care that no further theft was committed.

To search at Crowland before being in possession of a plan of the fabric as it was originally, and the buildings surrounding it, appeared to be a useless proceeding. Though Wyman and myself were both convinced of the existence of the treasure there, we were not at all certain of our measurements from the grand altar, nor of the exact position of the filled-up fish ponds. Therefore, if we could obtain any plan showing the position and extent of the cloister court, the monk's parlour, the refectory, and the chapter house, all of which must have once existed, the position of the fish ponds would certainly also be shown, and thus a.s.sist us very materially.

Again, suppose that on the day and hour appointed for taking measurements at the castle of Threave the sun was hidden by the clouds?

Should we be compelled to wait another year before our measurements could be taken with sufficient accuracy?

This fear haunted me as I wandered through Bloomsbury towards Harpur Street, a sudden desire having seized me to examine again the exterior of that mysterious house. It struck me that a watch should be kept upon that smooth-faced fellow Selby, by which means we might be enabled to foil any attempt to filch the treasure from us.

As I halted at last at the corner of Theobald's Road and looked down the short, sad street, I saw it was deserted; therefore I strolled along it on the opposite side to the house in question, just as I had done on that well-remembered night after my long chase across Europe.

As I lounged past, pretending to be utterly disinterested, I glanced up at those two dingy first-floor windows. What met my gaze there held me bewildered and speechless.