That day had been an eventful one at Pembridge Gardens. Indeed, the
event of the great scholar, Arminger Griffin’s life had occurred.
It happened in this way. The January morning had been so dark that he
had been compelled to use the electric light upon his study table, and
during the whole morning he had been engaged upon that same futile
task--the problem of the cipher.
With the Hebrew text of Ezekiel open before him, and sheets of
manuscript paper upon the blotting-pad, he had been absorbed for hours
in his cabalistic calculations which, to the uninitiated, would convey
nothing. They appeared to be elementary sums of addition and
subtraction--sums consisting of ordinary numericals combined with
letters of the Hebrew alphabet.
And curiously enough, in a back bedroom in the Waldorf Hotel, in
Aldwych, the white-bearded old German, Erich Haupt, who only the
previous night had returned from the Continent, sat making almost
similar calculations. Before him also he had a copy of the Hebrew
Bible, and was taking sentences haphazard from Ezekiel xix, the
lamentation for the Princes of Israel under the parable of the lion’s
whelps taken in a pit.
Early in the morning he had rung up Sir Felix on the telephone beside
the bed, announcing his arrival, and obtaining an appointment for later
in the day.
Both scholars, unknown to each other, were busy upon the same problem,
each hoping for success and triumph over the other.
Through weeks and weeks Griffin, seated in his big, silent, rather
gloomy study, had tried and tried again, yet always in vain. He was a
calm, patient man, knowing well that in cryptography the first element
towards success is utmost patience.
It was noon. The fog had not lifted, and Bayswater was plunged in the
semi-darkness of the London “pea-souper.”
Gwen was out. She was trying on a new evening frock at Whitley’s--a
dainty creation in pale blue chiffon ordered specially for a dance which
Lady Duddington was giving in Grosvenor Street in a few days’ time.
Alone, his grey head bent on the zone of shaded light upon the big
writing-table, the Professor had ever since breakfast time been putting
a new cipher theory to the test.
All the thirty odd numerical ciphers known to the ancients he had
applied to certain chapters of the Book of Ezekiel, but each one in
vain. The result was mere chaos. The ancients employed numerous
methods of cryptography besides the numerical cipher, among them being
the use of superfluous words where the correspondents agreed that only
some of the words, at equal distances apart, was necessary to form the
message; by misplaced words; by vertical and diagonal reading; by
artificial word grouping; by transposing the letters; by substitution of
letters; or by counterpart tabulations with changes at every letter in
the message, according to a pre-arranged plan.
All these, however, he had, in face of the reading of the scrap of the
manuscript of the dead discover of the secret, long ago dismissed.
He held the firm opinion--perhaps formed on account of that crumpled
paper found at the Bodleian--that the cipher was a numerical one, and
based upon some variation of the numerical value of the “wāw” sign, or
the number six.
He now fully recognised how very cleverly old Erich Haupt had
endeavoured to put him off the scent. The German was a very crafty old
fellow, whose several discoveries, though not altogether new, had evoked
considerable interest in academic circles in Europe. He was author of
several learned studies in the Hebrew text, as well as the renowned work
upon the Messianic Prophecies, and without a doubt now that he had
possessed himself of the dead professor’s discovery he intended to take
all the credit to himself. Indeed it was his intention to pose as the
actual discoverer.
Continuing his work in silence and without interruption Griffin had been
making a long and elaborate calculation when, very soon after the little
Sheraton clock upon the mantelshelf had chimed noon, he started up with
a cry of surprise and stared across at the long old-fashioned bookcase
opposite.
Next moment his head was bent to the paper before him, as he rapidly
traced numerals and Hebrew characters, for he wrote the ancient language
as swiftly as he wrote English.
“Yes!” he whispered, as though in fear of his own voice. “It actually
bears the test--the only one that has borne it through a whole sentence!
Can it be possible that I have here the actual key?” For another
half-hour he remained busy with his calculations, gradually evolving a
Hebrew character after each calculation until he had written a line.
Then aloud he read the Hebrew to himself, afterwards translating it into
English thus:
“...the house of Togarmah, of the north quarters...”
The old man rose from his chair, pale and rigid, staring straight
through the window at the yellow sky.
“At last!” he gasped to himself. “Success at last! Holmboe’s secret is
mine--_mine_!”
He was naturally a quiet man whom nothing could disturb, but now so
excited had he become that his hand shook and trembled and he was unable
to trace the Hebrew characters with any degree of accuracy.
He walked to the window, and looked out into the foggy road below.
He, Arminger Griffin, though Regius Professor, had, in the course of
that brief hour, become the greatest Hebrew scholar in Europe, the man
who would announce to the world the most interesting discovery of the
age!
He gazed around that silent restful room, like a man in a dream. His
success hardly seemed true. Where was Haupt, he wondered? Would his
ingenuity and patience lead him to that same goal whereby he could read
the hidden record?
Pausing at his table he recalculated the sum upon the sheet of paper.
No. He had made no mistake. There was the decipher in black and white,
quite clear and quite intelligible!
He stretched his arms above his head, and standing upon the hearthrug
before the blaring fire, reflected deeply.
The declaration of the dead professor was true, after all. The cipher
did exist in Ezekiel, therefore there was little doubt that the treasure
of Israel would be discovered through his instrumentality.
Haupt fortunately did not possess any of that manuscript which was
evidently a written explanation of the mode of deciphering the message.
Hence he would not be aware that the “wāw” sign formed the basis of
calculation necessary. But he, Arminger Griffin, had elucidated a
problem of which bygone generations of scholars had never dreamed, and
Israel would, if the secret were duly kept, recover the sacred relics of
her wonderful temple.
His face was blanched with suppressed excitement. How should he act?
After some pondering he resolved to make no announcement to Diamond or
to Farquhar, both of whom he knew were away in the country, until he had
made a complete decipher of the whole of the secret record.
He intended to launch the good news upon them as a thunderclap.
“They both regard me as a ‘dry-as-dust’ old fossil,” he laughed to
himself. “But they will soon realise that Arminger Griffin has patience
and ability to solve one of the most intricate problems ever presented
to any scholar. We can now openly defy our enemies--whoever they are.
Before midnight I shall be in possession of the whole of the secret
record contained in the book of the Prophet, and if I do not turn it to
advantage it will not be my fault. That man Mullet evidently fears to
call upon me. Ah! his friends little dream that I have solved the
problem--that success now lies in my hands alone.”
Crossing again to the table he slowly turned over the folios of the text
of Ezekiel which he had been using, glancing at it here and there.
Then he touched the electric bell, and Laura, the tall, dark-haired
parlour-maid, answered.
“Is Miss Gwen in?” he inquired.
“No, sir. She’s not yet returned.”
“When she comes, please say I wish to see her at once.”
“Very well, sir,” was the quiet response of the well-trained maid who,
by the expression upon her master’s face, instantly recognised that
something unusual had occurred.
She glanced at him with a quick interest, and then retired, closing the
door softly after her.
The Professor, reseating himself at his table, pushed his scanty grey
hair off his brow, and again readjusting his big round spectacles
settled down to continue his intensely interesting work of discovery.
“Holmboe says that the cipher exists in nine chapters,” he remarked
aloud to himself. “I wonder which of the forty-eight chapters he
alludes to! Now let’s see,” he went on, slowly turning over the leaves
of the Hebrew text, “the book of Ezekiel’s prophecy is divided into
several parts. The first contains chapters i-xxiv, which are prophecies
relating to Israel and Judah, in which he foretells and justifies the
fall of Jerusalem. The second is chapters xxv-xxxii, containing
denunciations of the neighbouring nations; the third is chapters
xxxiii-xxxix, which gives predictions of the restitution and union of
Judah and Israel, and the last, chapter xl-xlviii, visions of the ideal
theocracy and its institutions. Now the question is in which of those
parts is hidden the record?”
The few words of the cipher which he had been able to read were
continued in chapter xxiv, beginning at verse 6; “Wherefore thus saith
the Lord God; Woe to the bloody city, to the pot whose scum is therein,
and whose scum not gone out of it! bring it out piece by piece; let no
lot fall upon it. For her blood is in the midst of her; she set it upon
the top of a rock; she poured it not upon the ground, to cover it with
dust,” etc, down to the end of verse 27. If those twenty-two verses
only contained eight words of the hidden record, then it was apparent
that the Professor had a greater task before him than he imagined.
Gwen, in emerging from Whiteley’s into Westbourne Grove, had met a young
naval officer she knew. He was home on leave, therefore she had
strolled leisurely with him down Queen’s Road and along Bayswater Road,
in preference to taking a cab. A couple of years before, when she was
still a mere girl and he only an acting sub-lieutenant, they had been
rather attached to each other. He was, of course, unaware of her
engagement to Frank Farquhar, and she did not enlighten him, but allowed
him to chatter to her as they walked westward. His people lived in
Porchester Terrace, and he had lately been at sea for a year with the
Mediterranean Fleet, he told her.
The yellow obscurity was now rapidly clearing as, at the corner of
Pembridge Gardens, he raised his hat and with some reluctance left her.
Then she hurried in, just as the luncheon gong was sounding, and had
only time to take off her hat and coat to be in her place at table. Her
father was most punctual at his meals. He believed in method at all
times, and carried method and the utmost punctuality into all his daily
habits.
When he entered the dining-room the girl saw, from his preoccupied
expression, that something had occurred.
She, however, made no inquiry before the servant, while he on his part,
though bursting with the good news, resolved to keep his information
until they had had their meal and retired into the study together.
Then he would explain to her, and show her the amazing result.
Therefore she chatted merrily, telling him how sweet her new gown
looked, and gossiping in her own sweet engaging way--with that girlish
laughter and merriment which was the sunshine of the old scholar’s
otherwise dull and colourless existence.
Little did she dream, he thought, as he sat at table, of the staggering
announcement which he was about to make to her.
He had solved the problem!