AT THE "GOLDEN GRIFFIN."
No groan or cry emanated from that portion of the broken carriage out
of which Captain Ducie had just crept. Could it be possible that
Platzoff was killed? With considerable difficulty Ducie managed to
wrench open the smashed door. Then he called the Russian by name; but
there was no answer. He could discern nothing inside save a confused
heap of rugs and minor articles of luggage. Under these, enough in
themselves to smother him, Platzoff must be lying. One by one these
articles were fished out of the carriage, and thrown aside by Ducie.
Last of all he came to Platzoff, lying in a heap, white and
insensible, like one already dead. Putting forth all his great
strength, Ducie lifted the senseless body out of the carriage as
carefully and tenderly as though it were that of a new-born child. He
then saw that the Russian was bleeding from an ugly jagged wound at
the back of his head. There was no trace of any other outward hurt. A
faint pulsation of the heart told that he was still alive. On looking
round, Ducie saw that there was a large country tavern only a few
hundred yards from the scene of the accident. Towards this house,
which announced itself to the world under the title of "The Golden
Griffin," he now hastened with long measured strides, carrying the
still insensible Russian in his arms. In all, some half-dozen
carriages had come over the embankment. The shrieks and cries of the
wounded passengers were something appalling. Already the passengers in
the fore part of the train, who had escaped unhurt, together with the
officials and a few villagers who happened to be on the spot, were
doing their best to rescue these unfortunates from the terrible
wreckage in which they were entangled.
Captain Ducie was the first man from the accident to cross the
threshold of the "Golden Griffin." He demanded to be shown the best
spare room in the house. On the bed in this room he laid the body of
the still insensible Platzoff. His next act was to despatch a mounted
messenger for the nearest doctor. Then, having secured the services of
a brisk steady-nerved chambermaid, he proceeded to dress the wound as
well as the means at his command would allow of--washing it, and
cutting away the hair, and, by means of some ice, which he was
fortunate enough to procure, succeeding in all but stopping the
bleeding, which, to a man so frail of body, so reduced in strength as
Platzoff, would soon have been fatal. A teaspoonful of brandy
administered at brief intervals did its part as a restorative, and
some minutes before the doctor's arrival Ducie had the satisfaction of
seeing his patient's eyes open, and of hearing him murmur faintly a
few soft guttural words in some language which the captain judged to
be his native Russ.
Platzoff had quite recovered his senses by the time the doctor
arrived, but was still too feeble to do more than whisper a few
unconnected words. There were many claimants this forenoon on the
doctor's attention, and the services required by Platzoff at his hands
had to be performed as expeditiously as possible.
"You must make up your mind to be a guest of the 'Golden Griffin' for
at least a week to come," he said as he took up his hat preparatory to
going. "With quiet, and care, and a strict adherence to my
instructions, I daresay that by the end of that time you will be
sufficiently recovered to leave here for your own home. Humanly
speaking, sir, you owe your life to this gentleman," indicating Ducie.
"But for his skill and promptitude, you would have been a dead man
before I reached you."
Platzoff's thin white hand was extended feebly. Ducie took it in his
sinewy palms and pressed it gently. "You have this day done for me
what I can never forget," whispered the Russian, brokenly. Then he
closed his eyes, and seemed to sink off into a sleep of exhaustion.
Leaving strict injunctions with the chambermaid not to quit the room
till he should come back, Captain Ducie went downstairs with the
intention of revisiting the scene of the disaster. He called in at the
bar to obtain his favourite "thimbleful" of cognac, and there he found
a very agreeable landlady with whom he got into conversation
respecting the accident. Some five minutes had passed thus when he was
touched on the shoulder by the chambermaid. "If you please, sir, the
foreign gentleman has woke up, and is anxiously asking to see you."
With a shrug of the shoulders, and a slight lowering of his black
eyebrows, Captain Ducie went back upstairs. Platzoff's eager eyes
fixed him as he entered the room. Ducie sat down close by the bed, and
said in a kindly tone: "What is it? What can I do for you? Command me
in any way."
"My servant--where is he? And--and my despatch box. Valuable papers.
Try to find it."
Ducie nodded and left the room. The inquiries he made soon elicited
the fact that Platzoff's servant had been even more severely injured
than his master, and was at that moment lying, more dead than alive,
in a little room upstairs. Slowly and musingly, with hands in pocket,
Captain Ducie then took his way towards the scene of the accident. "It
may suit my book very well to make friends with this Russian," he
thought as he went along. "He is no doubt very rich, and I am very
poor. In us the two extremes meet, and form the perfect whole. He
might serve my purposes in more ways than one, and it is just as
likely that his purposes might be served by me: for a man like that
must have purposes that want serving. Nous verrons. Meanwhile, I am
his obedient servant to command."
Captain Ducie, hunting about among the débris of the train, was not
long in finding the fragments of M. Platzoff's despatch box. Its
contents were scattered about. Ducie spent ten minutes in gathering
together the various letters and documents which it had contained.
Then, with the broken box under his arm, and the papers in his hands,
he went back to the Russian.
He showed the papers one by one to Platzoff, who was strangely eager
in the matter. When Ducie held, up the last of them, Platzoff groaned
and shut his eyes. "They are all there as far as I can judge," he
murmured, "except the most important one of all--a paper covered with
figures, of no use to any one but myself. Oh, dear Captain Ducie! do
please go once more and try to find the one that is still missing. If
I only knew that it was burnt, or torn into fragments, I should not
mind so much. But if it were to fall into the hands of a scoundrel
skilful enough to master the secret which it contains, then I----." He
stopped with a scared look on his face, as though he had unwittingly
said more than he had intended.
"Pray don't trouble yourself with any explanations just now," said
Ducie. "You want the paper: that is enough. I will go and have a
thorough hunt for it."
Back went Ducie to the broken carriages, and began to search more
carefully than before. "What can be the nature of the great secret, I
wonder, that is hidden between the Sibylline leaves I am in search of?
If what Platzoff's words implied be true, he who learns it is master
of the situation. Would that it were known to me!"
Slowly and carefully, inside and out of the carriage in which he and
Platzoff had travelled, Captain Ducie conducted his search. One by one
he again turned over the wraps and different articles of personal
luggage belonging to both of them, which had not yet been removed. The
first object that rewarded his search was a splendid diamond pin which
he remembered having seen in Platzoff's scarf. Ducie picked it up and
looked cautiously around. No one was regarding him. "Of the first
water, and worth a hundred guineas at the very least," he muttered.
Then he put it in his waistcoat pocket, and went on with his search.
A minute or two later, hidden away under one of the cushions of the
carriage, he found what he was looking for: a folded sheet of thick
blue paper covered with a complicated array of figures--that and
nothing more.
Captain Ducie regarded the recovered treasure with a strange mixture
of feelings. His hands trembled slightly; his heart was beating more
quickly than usual; his eyes seemed to see and yet not to see the
paper in his hands. Like one mazed and in deep doubt he stood.
His reverie was broken by the approach of some of the railway
officials. The cloud vanished from before his eyes, and he was his
cool imperturbable self in a moment. Heading the long array of figures
on the parchment were a few lines of ordinary writing, written,
however, not in English, but Italian. These few lines Ducie now
proceeded to read over more attentively than he had done at the first
glance. He was sufficiently master of Italian to be able to translate
them without much difficulty. Translated they ran as under:--
"Bon Repos,
"Windermere."
"Carlo Mio,--In the Amsterdam edition of 1698 of _The Confessions of
Parthenio the Mystic_ occur the passages given below. To your serious
consideration, O! friend of my heart, I recommend these words. To read
them, much patience is required. But they are freighted with wisdom,
as you will discover long before you reach the end of them, and have a
deep significance for that Great Cause to which the souls of both of
us are knit by bonds which in this life can never be severed. When you
read these lines, the hand that writes them will be cold in the grave.
But Nature allows nothing to be lost, and somewhere in the wide
universe the better part of me (the mystic Ego) will still exist;
and if there be any truth in the doctrine of the Affinity of Souls,
then shall you and I meet again elsewhere. Till that time shall
come--Adieu!
"Thine,
"Paul Platzoff."
Having carefully read these lines twice over, Captain Ducie refolded
the paper, put it away in an inner pocket, and buttoned his coat over
it. Then he took his way, deep in thought, back to the "Golden
Griffin."
The Russian's eager eyes asked him "What success?" before he could say
a word.
"I am sorry to say that I have not been able to find the paper," said
Captain Ducie in slow deliberate tones. "I have found something
else--your diamond pin, which you appear to have lost out of your
scarf."
Platzoff gazed at him with a sort of blank despair on his saffron
face, but a low moan was his only reply. Then he turned his face to
the wall and shut his eyes.
Captain Ducie was a patient man, and he waited without speaking for a
full hour. At the end of that time Platzoff turned, and held out a
feeble hand. "Forgive me, my friend, if you will allow me to call you
so," he said. "I must seem horribly ungrateful after all the trouble I
have put you to, but I do not feel so. The loss of my MS. affected me
so deeply for a little while that I could think of nothing else. I
shall get over it by degrees."
"If I remember rightly," remarked Ducie, "you said that the lost MS.
was merely a complicated array of figures. Of what possible value can
it be to any one who may chance to find it?"
"Of no value whatever," answered Platzoff, "unless they who find it
should also be skilful enough to discover the key by which alone it
can be read; for, as I may now tell you, there is a hidden meaning in
the figures. The finders I may or may not make that discovery, but how
am I to ascertain what is the fact either one way or the other? For
want of such knowledge my sense of security will be gone. I would
almost prefer to know for certain that the MS. had been read than be
left in utter doubt on the point. In the one case I should know what I
had to contend against, and could take proper precautionary measures;
in the other, I am left to do battle with a shadow that may or may not
be able to work me harm."
"Would possession of the information that is contained in the MS.
enable any one to work you harm?"
"It would to this extent, that it would put them in possession of a
cherished secret, which . . . . but why talk of these things? What is
done cannot be undone. I can only prepare myself for the worst."
"One moment," said Ducie. "I think that after the thorough search made
by me the chances are twenty to one against the MS. ever being found.
But granting that it does turn up, the finder of it will probably be
some ignorant navvie or incurious official, without either inclination
or ability to master the secret of the cipher."
Ten days later M. Platzoff was sufficiently recovered to set out for
Bon Repos. At his earnest request Ducie had put off his own journey to
stay with him. At another time the ex-captain might not have cared to
spend ten days at a forlorn country tavern, even with a rich Russian;
but, as he often told himself, he had "his book to make," and he
probably looked upon this as a necessary part of the process. Before
they parted it was arranged that as soon as Ducie should return from
Scotland he should go and spend a month at Bon Repos. Then the two
shook hands, and each went his own way. As one day passed after
another without bringing any tidings of the lost MS., Platzoff's
anxiety respecting it seemed to lessen, and by the time he left the
"Golden Griffin" he had apparently ceased to trouble his mind any
further in the matter.