The words, badly faded by the action of the water which had apparently
got into the casket during its years of submersion, we made out as
follows:
"Ye who hast dared to learn this secret may ye benefit greatly by it.
Know ye now also that ye may discover the treasure of our good abbot
John of Croylande by means only of this plan I have hereunto drawn.
"Godfrey Lovel, sometime monk at Croylande."
Below was a rough plan similar to those in The Closed Book, but which
needed no second glance to show the exact spot where the abbey treasure
lay hidden.
"See?" I cried excitedly. "The secret is at last revealed to us! What
is written in The Closed Book was only in order to mislead any curious
person who attempted to search. The truth was deposited in this casket
by Godfrey before he left Scotland."
And my three companions bent eagerly, and for themselves slowly
deciphered the words after I had repeated them aloud to make certain of
no misreading.
"Well, our next step is undoubtedly to go down to Crowland," Fred
remarked. "Let's get the treasure first, and clear up the mystery
afterwards."
"Certainly," we agreed in chorus, and then, after placing the Borgia
jewels in Fred's iron safe, we all smoked and discussed our future
plans, finally deciding to go up to London again in the morning, as
Crowland could be more easily reached from King's Cross than from
Scotland.
Next night, therefore, we arrived in town, Fred and Sammy putting up at
the Euston Hotel, and I going home with Walter as his guest. On the
morning after our arrival I deemed it wise to pack up the Borgia
treasures, all save the poison ring, the tiny crystal bottle, and the
antidote, and deposit them with my banker's manager, just as I had
already placed The Closed Book in safe keeping.
The historic ring that had dealt death so frequently and had enabled the
House of Borgia to become the most powerful in Europe, I put with the
little bottle in the old velvet-lined jewel-case and placed them aside
in a drawer in Walter's writing-table, intending later to take them down
to Professor Fairbairn at the British Museum.
Fred Fenwicke had some pressing affairs to attend to in London,
therefore it had been arranged not to go to Crowland till the following
day.
We were much puzzled regarding the whereabouts of Glenelg and the
hunchback, and also wondered whether Selby still remained a prisoner at
Threave. The loaded weapon upon him proved that he intended mischief,
therefore neither of us expressed much regret at leaving him in such
evil case. The silence of his companions was, however, ominous.
While I had been down at the bank Walter had strolled round to Harpur
Street, only to find the house still closed. Of Judith's whereabouts I
knew nothing. She had disappeared. Through those weeks I had been
living in alarm and dread. Scarcely a day passed without some puzzling
incident, and I longed to see my love again and hear a full and frank
explanation from her.
I recollected how, when we had parted outside the town of
Castle-Douglas, I lingered there speaking gently, making a thousand
promises at which she smiled. At last it became imprudent for us to
tarry there longer, and as we stood to bid each other farewell, face to
face, I saw her eyelids quiver. And then I did not dare to seek her
lips.
Yet it was all so strange, so mysterious, such an utter enigma, that I
had become overwhelmed by fear and suspicion, bewildered, staggered, and
aghast.
I idled away the morning, and about noon I received a note from the
woman Bardi, in response to the letter I had sent her, making an
appointment to meet me under the clock at Charing Cross Station at three
o'clock. I was there to time, and found the dark, neatly dressed figure
awaiting me, just as strange, just as mysterious as before.
We walked together down Whitehall and across St James's Park, chatting
affably in Italian. I put to her a number of questions, but gathered
little in response. Her motive puzzled me, for she neither assisted me
nor repeated her words of warning.
"I am returning to Italy soon," she told me. "I suppose you have made
up your mind to live here in England in future?"
I responded in the affirmative; and then, halting in the quiet path
beside the lake, I tried to obtain from her the identity of the person
who induced her to steal my Arnoldus, but she steadily refused to tell
me anything.
Just before five o'clock, after giving her tea at Blanchard's, I took my
leave of her, more than ever puzzled. She had fenced with every
question, and with the exception of giving me to understand that Judith
Gordon was not my friend, she had really told me nothing. Therefore, I
resolved to trouble myself no further about her in future. The woman
had been proved to be a thief, and therefore unreliable. Yet my sole
aim now was to get at the meaning of the bear cub in the window, and the
actual motive of the remarkable conspiracy.
On entering the hall in Dover Street I ascended the stairs to the second
floor and rang at the door of Walter's cozy flat. There was no
response, and at first it struck me that the faithful Thompson had gone
out upon some errand in the immediate neighbourhood. I pressed the
electric bell again and again, but there was no sign of life within. Of
a sudden, however, I recollected that Walter had that morning given me a
latchkey, and taking it from my pocket I let myself in; but judge my
dismay when in the small hall quite close to the door I found the
white-haired old valet lying half doubled on the carpet, motionless as
one dead.
My first idea was that he might be intoxicated; but on bending over him,
and drawing his face into the light, I saw that its pallor was
deathlike. He seemed to be in a sound sleep.
Then glancing into the sitting-room at the farther end of the passage, I
noticed that the drawers of Walter's writing-table had been broken open
and turned hurriedly out on to the floor. The truth next instant was
apparent. The old valet had been rendered insensible by callers during
our absence, and the place had been ransacked.
I dashed on into the room, and went to the drawer wherein I had placed
the ancient jewel case with its strange contents, but found it empty.
The ring and the poison had been taken; but what was infinitely worse
was that I had left in the cover of the case, where it had been
concealed all these years, the plan of the hiding place of the treasure
at Crowland!
I was beside myself with anger and chagrin. Our enemies had ingeniously
outwitted us, after all, for that female accomplice had held me in
conversation purposely while the search was made, thus showing that they
were well acquainted with our success at Threave.
Yet when Walter had locked the box safely in his drawer with the key
upon his chain. I had never dreamed that a bold attempt would thus be
made to obtain it. Ingenious it was, for, as was afterwards proved,
Wyman himself had been called by an urgent telegram to Richmond, which
turned out to be fictitious.
At first I was so aghast that I knew not how to act; but, obtaining the
assistance of the young valet in service in the flat below, I succeeded
at last in getting Thompson round and hearing his story, which was to
the effect that about half-past three o'clock two men called, one of
them short and the other clean shaven, tall, and powerful. They
inquired for Captain Wyman, and entered the hall on pretext of writing a
message on a card. The instant, however, that old Thompson turned his
back a handkerchief was clapped over his face and held there tightly
until in a few moments he lapsed into unconsciousness.
The description of one man tallied with that of Selby; but the other,
who had thin, sandy whiskers, was unknown to me.
As soon, however, as Thompson felt a trifle better, and began to inspect
the disorder caused by the intruders, I ran downstairs and telephoned to
Fred at the Euston Hotel. The Major was not in; but Bailey, the hall
porter, who answered me, promised to give my message to Major Fenwicke
or to Captain Waldron, whichever of the two should be first to return.
Therefore I could do nothing but wait. Walter arrived in about half an
hour, and was followed five minutes later by Fred and Sammy, all three
standing dumbfounded when I explained what had occurred.
The secret venom of the Borgias and the ring were now in the possession
of our enemies, and neither of us knew in what way it might be used
against us. They had also secured the secret of the Crowland treasure,
for they would undoubtedly find the piece of parchment behind the loose
top of the case. It had fallen out in my hand, and would do so in
theirs.
Selby's action was certainly a bold bid for fortune, and showed
conclusively that he was aware of our success in Scotland, the theft
being committed no doubt in the belief that the jewels discovered were
in my friend's rooms. My intuition to place them in the bank only a few
hours before was certainly a fortunate one.
The woman Bardi was still acting in concert with the conspirators, and
the fact that Walter had been called to an appointment at Richmond by a
telegram signed by a friend showed how ingeniously and swiftly it had
all been worked.
"Well," exclaimed Fred, gazing around the disordered sitting-room, "our
policy seems quite clear. First, we should go down to Crowland and
prevent any investigations being made there; secondly, we will arrest
Selby for assault and theft the next time we meet him; and, thirdly, we
must at all hazards regain possession of the ring and poison, for we
can't tell what atrocious assassinations these people will not commit
now they have a poison so subtle, so deadly, and so impossible of
detection."
"Yes," I cried. "Think of what possession of such a secret compound
means! They might contrive to use it upon us at any moment by sending
us an envenomed letter, by placing it on the knob of an umbrella or
walking stick, by impregnating our gloves, our hats, or any object left
about, just as the Borgias used it in the old days."
"It certainly isn't a very bright prospect," remarked Waldron. "I'd
rather face a revolver than a secret poison. I've seen too much of
poisoning in India. We in the police know something about it."
Old Thompson was thoroughly unnerved by the drug; therefore, it being
decided that we should all four go down to Crowland by the last train,
Walter gave him leave to shut up the flat and go over to see his married
daughter at Hackney Wick.
A telegram to Frank, the ostler at "The Angel," at Peterborough, brought
the carriage to meet us at the station by the ten-thirty train from
London, and by midnight we were comfortably installed at "The George,"
at Crowland, the inn which to Walter and myself was already full of
memories.
We had telegraphed to the rector, and he called upon us, notwithstanding
the lateness of the hour. Sitting together in the private room, I
briefly related to him our success in Scotland, and how we had
discovered the actual plan of the spot where the treasure lay concealed.
My words at once filled Mr Mason with eager interest; but when I told
him of our irreparable loss his spirits fell and he shook his head and
sighed. I explained the dastardly manner in which the thieves had
drugged my friend's valet, and our determination to give Selby into
custody.
Then, while we were discussing the possibility of using the ground plan
of the abbey given me by Professor Fairbairn, Fred suddenly interrupted
us as he took something from his pocketbook, saying:
"It's true we've lost the plan we discovered at Threave; but on the
night of our return to Crailloch I thought it would be advisable to take
a copy of it, so I made a rough tracing. Here it is." And he opened a
small piece of foreign notepaper to our view, disclosing an accurate
copy of the stolen plan.
He received a chorus of praises for his foresight, and Mr Mason
expressed his eagerness to commence excavations at once, in order to
forestall the others. He had not yet demanded back the books found by
Lord Glenelg, having waited to confer with us as to the present
advisability.
Upon the table we compared the tracing given us by Fairbairn with the
copy of old Godfrey's plan made by Fred, and Mr Mason recognising the
points where we were of course in ignorance, we came, after a long and
careful examination and comparison, to the conclusion that the wealth of
the abbey as enumerated in The Closed Book was concealed at a spot
nearly a mile from the abbey, in the centre or the Great Postland Fen,
in a field which was on his own property--for he was squire of the
place, as well as rector--about midway between Thornbury Hall and the
Decoy Farm. The position of St James' Bridge and the ancient stone
cross at Brotherhouse were both shown, as well as the old Asen Dike and
the Wash-bank at Cloot. The plan showed that the old abbot was crafty
enough to carry the treasure sufficiently far into what must at the time
have been a dangerous quagmire, wherein none dare venture who knew not
the way, but which has of course since been drained and reclaimed by the
building of banks and cutting of dikes in all directions. Mr Mason
told us that the whole of the district shown on the plan was until the
end of the sixteenth century a dismal, unhealthy swamp, the sparse
inhabitants of which were fever-stricken, and the spot where the
treasure was apparently concealed was in the deepest part of the basin,
and in all probability a treacherous bog purposely chosen in order to
defeat any efforts of Southwell's soldiers.
The allegation in The Closed Book that gold and silver objects had been
sunk in the fish pond was no doubt in order to mislead, for, after all,
it was not likely that the abbot should make so little attempt to
effectively conceal what he wished to rescue from sacriligious hands.
"Depend upon it, gentlemen, we're on the right track at last," declared
the rector decisively. He was an archaeologist himself, and was eager
to see our splendid find of gems, just as he was eager to recover the
long-lost treasure of the Abbot John.
The measurements on the plan which had so cunningly been concealed were
given in paces from St James' Bridge, about a mile to the south-east of
the abbey, and Mr Mason suggested that having regard to the fact that
Selby and his companions had the original plan in their possession, we
should lose no time in going to the spot.
I glanced at my watch, and found it to be a quarter-past one in the
morning.
Fred drew the blind aside and discovered that it was not a particularly
dark night, although heavy rain-clouds had drifted across the moon. The
suggestion to fix the spot was a good one, although it was arranged that
as the land was Church property, and there was no reason for secret
search, the excavations should be carried out on the morrow.
Together, the five of us, having borrowed two lanterns from the hotel
keeper, left the house, and under the guidance of Mr Mason passed down
the road beside the rectory, skirted the north wall of the abbey, and
then out upon the broad, flat highroad, past the dilapidated windmill,
and on to St James' Bridge, where we took another road eastward, flat,
hedgeless, uninteresting like the first, and running straight as an
arrow towards our destination.
Presently the rector halted and pointed out a distant clump of trees
looming in the darkness as Thornbury Hall, while to our left lay the
Decoy Farm. Beneath the uncertain rays of the lamp he carefully
examined the plan again, and then led us through a gate into a large
field sown with fen-potatoes, which we crossed carefully in the darkness
for fear of falling into the dikes which in that country separate one
field from another. At last we found the boundary, and discovered a
single plank which gave access to the next field, with a crop of
potatoes like the first. Then, having counted his paces carefully from
the roadway, his face always turned to Thornbury Hall, he suddenly
halted, saying:
"The actual spot is here, or within a few feet. According to the plan,
it is one hundred and eighty-six paces due south towards Thornbury from
the road anciently known as Guthlac's Drove--the road we have just
left."
We lowered the lanterns, and groping about, examined the ground. The
crop had certainly not been disturbed. We stamped just as we had done
at Threave, but there was no hollow sound in the heavy fen clay.
"My suggestion is that we should send Barrett, the town policeman, to
keep guard upon the place till morning, and then commence operations,"
said Mr Mason at last. "We shall recognise the spot by yonder old
willow tree."
This suggestion we acted upon, and when we turned in an hour later the
constable, Barrett, was keeping vigil in that lonely field, wondering no
doubt the reason why the rector had found him on his beat on the Eye
Road and posted him away in that unfrequented spot.