"I swear to act as Burton Blair has acted."
"Very well," answered the monk, apparently satisfied that I was a man of
honour. "Then I suppose the secret, strange as it will strike you, must
now be revealed to you. Think, Signore, at this moment you are a
comparatively poor man, yet in half an hour you will be rich beyond your
wildest dreams--worth millions, just as Burton Blair became."
I listened to him, scarcely believing my ears. Yet what was the
possession of riches to me, now that I had lost my love?
From a little cupboard he took a small, rusty old hurricane lamp, and
carefully lit it, while we both watched with breathless interest. Then
he closed the door and securely locked and barred it, afterwards placing
the shutters to the iron-barred window, so that we were quickly in
darkness. Was some supernatural illusion about to be shown us? We
stood open-mouthed in expectation.
A moment later he dragged his low ponderous bedstead away from the
corner, where we saw that in the floor was a cunningly-concealed
trap-door, which, on being lifted, disclosed a deep, dark, well-like
hole beneath.
"Be careful," he cautioned us, "the steps are rather difficult in
places," and holding the lantern he soon disappeared, leaving us to
follow him down a roughly-hewn spiral flight of foot-holes in the stone,
deeper and deeper into the solid rock, damp and slimy in places where
the water percolated through and fell in loudly-sounding drops.
"Bend low!" ordered our guide, and we saw the faint glimmer of this lamp
lighting our path along a narrow, tortuous burrow which ran away at
right angles and sloped down still further into the heart of the cliff.
In places we went through a veritable quagmire of mud and slime, while
the close atmosphere smelt foul and earthy.
Suddenly we emerged into a great opening, the dimensions of which we
could not ascertain with that one single glimmering light.
"These caverns run for miles," explained the monk. "The galleries run
in all directions right under the city of Lucca and over towards the
Arno. They have never been explored. Listen!"
In the weird darkness we heard the distant roaring of tumbling waters
far away.
"That is the subterranean river, the stream that divides the secret from
all men save yourself," he said. Then he went forward again, keeping
along one side of the gigantic cavern through which we were passing, and
we followed, approaching nearer those thundering waters, until at last
he told us to halt, and appeared to be examining the rough walls upon
which shone great glittering stalactites.
Presently he found a large white mark similar to the letter E on the
rock upon the cliff-side, and placed his lantern on the floor.
"Don't move another step forward," he said. Then he produced from a
hole, where it appeared to be well hidden, a long, roughly-made
footbridge, consisting of a single plank, with a light handrail on each
side. This he pushed before him while I held the lantern, until he came
to the edge of a deep chasm and then bridged it across so that we could
pass over.
When in the centre, he held aloft the lantern, and as we peered down a
hundred feet we shuddered to see, deep down in the chasm, the rushing
flood of black water roaring away into the bowels of the earth, a
terrible trap to those who ventured to explore that weird, dank place.
Having passed safely over we again skirted a wall of rock to the right,
traversed a long, narrow tunnel and at last emerged into another open
space, of the dimensions of which we could gather no idea.
Here the monk set down his lantern in a niche wherein stood several
candles stuck upon rude boards and secured between three nails. When
they were lit and our eyes grew accustomed to the light, we saw that the
chamber was not a large one, but that it was long, narrow and somewhat
drier than the rest.
"See!" exclaimed the Capuchin, with a wave of his hand. "It is all
there, Signor Greenwood, and all yours."
Then I realised to my utter amazement that around the walls of the
place, piled high, one on the other, were sacks of untanned hide filled
to bursting. One pile close to my hand I touched, and found that what
was within them was hard, angular and unyielding. There were many
small, old-fashioned chests which, from their strong appearance, banded
with rusted iron and studded with nails, must, I knew, contain the
mysterious riches that raised Burton Blair from homeless wayfarer to
millionaire.
"Why, surely this is an actual hoard of treasure!" I cried.
"Yes," answered Fra Antonio in his deep, bass voice. "The hidden
treasure of the Vatican. See," he added, "it is all here except that
portion taken out by the Signor Blair," and opening one of the massive
chests, he held his lantern above and displayed such a miscellaneous
collection of golden chalices, monstrances, patens, jewel-embroidered
vestments and magnificent gems, such as had never before dazzled my
eyes.
Both Reggie and I stood utterly dumbfounded. At first I seemed to be
living in some fairy world of legend and romance, but when a moment
later the rugged, bearded face of the Capuchin recalled to me all the
past, I stood open-mouthed in wonder.
The secret of Burton Blair was disclosed--and the secret was now mine!
"Ah!" exclaimed the monk, laughing, "no doubt this revelation is, to
you, an amazing one. Did I not, however, promise you that in half an
hour you would become many times over a millionaire?"
"Yes; but tell me the history of all this great wealth," I urged, for he
had cut open one or two of the leathern bags, and I saw that each of
them was filled with gold and gems mostly set in crucifixes and
ornaments of an ecclesiastical character.