In the solution of a problem such as that placed before Professor
Griffin, knowledge meant power.
Though he had successfully concealed his excitement he had, truth to
tell, learnt much from the perusal of those charred papers--much that
held him in utter amazement. A theory had presented itself of which no
one had ever before dreamed.
He had derided the manuscript as a clumsy story by some half-educated
person. But, within himself, he knew quite well that the problem had
been propounded and the suggestion made by some person equally well-read
as himself, some Hebrew scholar of highest attainment, if not of highest
standing. Alas, in these days of impudent self-advertisement, it is not
the cleverest man who is the most notable, or who looms largest in the
public eye. The same rule applies to Professors of Hebrew, as to men in
every other walk of life.
That night, after Frank had left and Gwen had kissed him good-night and
gone to her room, he sat for over an hour, smoking his long pipe in
silence at his study fireside. He had resolved that he would be the
first to reveal the startling secret to the world. Yes. He would write
an article in the _Contemporary_, and he knew full well that words,
coming from such a high authority as himself, would be quoted by almost
every newspaper in the whole civilised globe.
It was astounding--never before in the whole history of the world had
such a wonderful discovery been made. The Christian religion would be
shaken to its very foundations--not weakened, be it said, but actually
strengthened a thousandfold.
He laughed aloud as he sat with his pipe in his hand, his eyes cast down
upon the bright red hearthrug.
“What would the Bishops of the Anglican Church, the Cardinals of the
Romish Church, the Rabbis of the Jewish Synagogues and all the other
heads of our religion give for possession of this secret which is mine--
mine only!” he exclaimed, speaking to himself in a low whisper. “What
would men in the city, the financiers, speculators, and the
thousand-and-one varieties of money ‘sharks’ give me to reveal the truth
to them. The truth?” he repeated thoughtfully. “The truth? No. I
have not yet got at the actual truth. To discover it will be my work
to-morrow. And I will not pause for a single instant until all is
plain, and I have the secret open and revealed.”
Again he hesitated, smoking on in silence, his brow heavy and
thoughtful, for he had taken off his glasses and placed them in their
big, bulky case.
“Two men, this fellow Diamond, whoever he may be, and Frank Farquhar
stand between myself and the secret!” he muttered to himself with a
grin. Then he rose impatiently and snapped his fingers. “They shall
not stand in my way for long,” he laughed. “The secret is mine--it is
in _my_ possession!”
The Professor rose early next day, as was his habit.
As he sat at the breakfast table, Gwen who looked bright and fresh in
her neat white blouse and plain navy serge skirt, noticed that he was
unusually silent and morose. They were devoted to each other, but at
such times when her father, rendered irritable by his studies, betrayed
impatience she always remained silent.
“I’ve asked Frank over to luncheon, dad,” she ventured at last to
remark.
Whereupon the old man replied in a snappy voice: “I fear I shall not be
bade. I’m going along to the Museum, and may be there all day. I have
a number of researches to make. Apologise for my absence.”
Gwen promised to do this; but instead, an hour later, she sent her lover
a wire, suggesting that, as the Professor would be absent, they should
lunch together at Princes’, which idea the young man gladly adopted.
At eleven Professor Griffin, descending from a cab, entered a small
office in Oxford Street, the office of a firm of photographers whose
specialty is the reproducing of ancient documents for the official
publications of the British Museum, the Paleographical Society and
similar institutions. To the manager, he produced the carefully
preserved scraps of typewriting and manuscript, and ordered photographic
reproductions to be made with as great a speed as possible.
The manager examined the charred folios closely, and declared that the
work would be useless for reproduction in any journal or magazine.
“I don’t want them for that purpose,” was Griffin’s reply.
“We’ll do them as clearly as possible on whole plates, Professor,” was
the man’s reply, “but they will not come out very satisfactorily, I
fear.”
“As long as I can decipher them easily is all I care,” replied the older
man. “I shall call for the originals at four o’clock.”
“We will have finished with them by that time, sir. I will send them
down to the studio at Acton.”
“And take the utmost care of them please,” urged the Professor.
“We are used, as you know, sir, to handling the most valuable
manuscripts in the world. The Museum give us all their work, and we
often have, in our safes, manuscripts worth thousands of pounds each,”
replied the manager.
A sudden thought occurred to Griffin, and taking from the table the
scrap of writing upon the ruled paper, he held it up to the light to
examine its watermark. The design was at once apparent--the head of a
lady of the seventeenth century with hair dressed in the style of
Charles the First, low-cut bodice, puffed sleeves, and a necklet of
pearls, while above the words placed in a semi-circle was “Sevigne
Paper.”
“H’m,” grunted the old man, “evidently one of those imitation English
papers, made in France. Well, Macdonald, get as good results as you can
from the scraps, won’t you?”
The photographer’s manager, who knew Griffin well, and who had often
photographed Hebrew and Greek manuscripts for him, assured him that the
very greatest care should be taken in the work.
Thereupon, the Professor rose and left, urging that the originals should
be returned from Acton well before four o’clock.
In his thick and somewhat shabby overcoat and soft felt hat, he walked
through the drizzling rain to the British Museum, where, as he entered,
the attendants saluted him. In that national institution he was a
well-known figure, for during the greater part of his lifetime he had
studied there, especially in the Department of Manuscripts.
It was to that he at once made his way. The Keeper of the Department
was absent, but a man of Professor Griffin’s reputation has the “run of
the place;” therefore after wishing good-day to one of the
assistant-keepers he began searching the catalogue of manuscripts for
the Hebrew ones which he wished to consult, writing their numbers upon a
slip. This he handed to the assistant-keeper who, having glanced at the
numbers and recognised to which they referred, regarded him with a
glance of quick curiosity.
“One of the earliest originals of the Book of Ezekiel--eh, Professor?”
remarked the man. “And the other is the Muratori Manuscript.”
“Exactly,” was Griffin’s reply, and when the man had left the little
room in which he was standing, he drew from his pocket a small book in
which overnight he had made pencilled memoranda from the half-confused
fragments which Frank had placed before him. Then he waited in
undisguised anxiety.
Presently the assistant-keeper returned with two of the most important
Biblical manuscripts the Museum possessed, and placed them before the
man whose opinion upon Hebrew originals of Holy Writ was always
decisive.
The first manuscript, one of the earliest originals of the Book of
Ezekiel and one used by the revisers of the Bible a few years ago, was
upon yellow and discoloured parchment of great age, bound in old calf of
the early sixteenth century. The binding had practically perished, but
the writing within was still plain and quite decipherable to an expert.
Originally written upon a long roll, it had in later times been cut into
folios and bound, as being readier of access, and easier to consult. Of
its early history from the time of being written until A.D. 1421,
practically nothing was known. In the year in question it was brought
to Constantinople from Palestine, and in 1627 was given by the Patriarch
to Charles the First.
The Professor removed his hat and overcoat seated himself, and with
reverent fingers turned the time-dimmed pages from which a portion of
our Holy Bible had been translated.
To the person unacquainted with early Hebrew script the pages were
covered by meaningless hieroglyphics; but to him they were as clear as
any printed column in the _Times_ newspaper.
He searched through until he discovered a certain passage. Then,
eagerly consulting his notebook, he began translating it, word for word,
writing down the English equivalent upon the paper that had been placed
before him.
He did not hurry, but alone in the little room, he worked on, slowly and
deliberately. For fully two hours he continued but the result was,
judging from the expression upon his face, by no means gratifying.
The assistant-keeper came and went, for the Professor, being such a
great authority, was always allowed to work in the keeper’s private
room. Indeed only a man of Griffin’s rare attainments and knowledge
would have been able to translate from the original Hebrew of that
ancient character, so often indistinct and involved in meaning and in
sense.
At times, with a rapid hand, he made an exact reproduction of the
original, especially that of chapter xli, verse 23 to the end which, as
will be recollected, was given in the dead man’s manuscript as an
illustration.
Heedless of the fact that he had had no luncheon, he continued copying
the original very carefully and with a sure and expert touch until he
had made a complete copy of the original of chapters xl, xli, xlii,
xliv, and xlvii, a work which occupied him till nearly four o’clock.
He took no count of time, so wholly engrossed was he in his work. The
assistant-keeper entered prior to his departure at four o’clock when the
department closed, and began bustling about, hoping that the
“dry-as-dust” old fellow, being disturbed, might abandon his work for
that day.
But nothing interrupted him in making his rapid copying of those Hebrew
characters that had been written before the birth of Christ.
Presently, in sheer despair, the assistant-keeper remarked:
“That’s rather heavy work for you, Professor, isn’t it?”
“No. Not exactly,” was the old man’s quick reply without looking up, “I
am about to make a most interesting investigation; therefore, I dare not
employ any copyist. He might so easily make mistakes.”
“An investigation!” echoed the younger man. “Why, curiously enough for
the past three days we’ve had a man here copying that same book for some
mysterious purpose. He finished only yesterday afternoon. But he
refused to tell me the reason he was making the copy other than that he,
like yourself, was making some investigations. He used the same
expression as yourself, curiously enough.”
“Another searcher!” gasped the Professor, laying down his pen, and
staring at the speaker. “Another investigator of the original of the
Book of Ezekiel! Who was he? What was he like?” demanded the old man
quickly, his face blanched in an instant.
“I don’t know who he was, for we’ve never seen him here before. He was
an old gentleman, a foreigner evidently--and a scholar, for he wrote the
Hebrew characters almost as quickly and accurately as you yourself.”
Professor Arminger Griffin sat back in his chair, his mouth open,
staring into space.
Was it possible that some one else besides himself had obtained
knowledge of the great secret, and was actively engaged upon
investigations!
And the stranger who had copied that very manuscript which he was
copying, was an unknown foreigner and a scholar into the bargain!
Was it possible that the secret was already out?