"You are disappointed at discovering nothing else--eh?"
"We expected to reveal the secret of the Cardinal Sannini," was my frank
response, well knowing that he was in possession of the truth, and
suspecting that, with the one-eyed Englishman, he had been partner with
Blair.
The monk's strongly-marked, sunburnt features assumed a puzzled
expression, for he saw that we had gained some knowledge, yet he
hesitated to make inquiry lest he should betray himself. Capuchins,
like Jesuits, are wonderful diplomatists. Doubtless, the monk's
personal fascination was somewhat due to his splendid presence. A man
of fine physique, he had a handsome, open face, with clean-cut, powerful
features, softened by eyes in which seemed the light of perpetual youth,
with a candid, unassuming expression, brightened by a twinkling humour
about the lips.
"You have recovered the record, then," he remarked at last, looking
straight into my face.
"Yes, and having read it," I answered, "I am here to investigate and
claim the secret bequeathed to me."
He drew a long breath, glanced for an instant at both of us, and his
shaggy black brows contracted. It was hot where we sat, for the
brilliant Italian sun beat straight down upon us, therefore, without
replying to me, he rose and invited us into his cool little cell, a
square bare room with boarded floor, the furniture consisting of a low,
old-fashioned wooden bedstead, with a piece of old brown blanket for
coverlet, a Renaissance _prie-dieu_ in old carved oak, black with age, a
chair, a hanging lamp, and upon the wall a great crucifix.
"Well, and the Signor Dawson?" he asked at last, when Reggie had seated
himself on the edge of the bed, and I had taken the chair. "What does
he say?"
"I have no necessity to ask his opinion," I responded quickly. "By law
the Cardinal's secret is mine, and no one can dispute it."
"Except its present holder," was his quiet remark.
"Its present holder has no right to it. Burton Blair has made gift of
it to me, and it is therefore mine," I declared.
"I do not dispute that," answered the dark-faced monk. "But as guardian
of the Cardinal's secret, I have a right to know the manner in which the
record upon the cards came into your hands, and how you gained the key
to the cipher."
I related to him exactly what he wished to ascertain, whereupon he
answered--
"You have certainly succeeded where I anticipated that you would fail,
and your presence here to-day surprises me. Apparently you have
overcome every obstacle, and are now here to claim from me what is
undoubtedly yours by right." He seemed fair-minded, yet I confess I was
loth to trust men of his stamp very far, and was therefore still
suspicious.
"Before we go further, however," he said, standing with his hands in the
wide sleeves of his habit, "I would ask whether it is your intention to
continue the methods of the Signor Blair, who allotted one-eighth part
of the money derived from the secret to our Order of Capuchins?"
"Certainly," I answered, rather surprised. "My desire is to regard in
every particular my dead friend's obligations."
"Then that is a promise," he said with some eagerness. "You make that
solemnly--you take an oath? Raise your hand!" And he pointed to the
great crucifix upon the white-washed wall.