Laura, the parlour-maid, had been let in at the area-door by the cook,
to whom she had made her excuses for the lateness of the hour, and had
crept up to her room, fully satisfied at having assisted her
good-looking lover. She was, of course, in utter ignorance that “Mr
Miller” was the person to whom Miss Gwen’s mysterious absence from home
had been due. Otherwise she certainly would not have fallen into the
trap.
Meanwhile, in the study, with the typed folios of the cipher before him,
the old Professor sat making certain explanations to his daughter and
answering her eager questions.
“We ought to telegraph to Frank the first thing in the morning, dad!”
she cried, when she had recovered from her excitement at learning the
secret.
“I have not yet decided upon my course of action, dear,” was his slow,
deliberate answer. “To-night we are dealing with this astounding record
of the authenticity of which there seems not the slightest doubt. I
have been using the exact copy of the St. Petersburg text of Ezekiel--
the oldest known manuscript. It is evident from the word of Michaiah
the scribe, that, having invented the cipher, he altered certain words
of the original text of Ezekiel with Ezekiel’s knowledge and consent, in
order to include in the book this secret record.”
“It agrees entirely with Biblical history, does it not?” asked the girl.
“Yes. Several hitherto uncertain facts are here explained. For
instance, it is now made quite clear that Shishak, King of Egypt,
restored to the Temple certain of the basins of gold made by Solomon.
Again, Michaiah shows that none of the sacred vessels secreted were
afterwards used in the Temple. Those used in the second temple were
certainly those carried away by Nebuchadnezzar and restored by Cyrus.”
Then rising he took from a cupboard a large roll-map of the environs of
Jerusalem issued by the Palestine Exploration Fund, and both studied it
very closely.
“What is meant by the mount of Solomon’s idolatry?” asked Gwen.
“It is now known as the Mount of the Offence,” he answered. “Here it
is--about half a mile almost due south of the temple mount. Sometimes
it is called the Mount of Scandal, for upon it Solomon and some of his
successors built high places, altars to Moloch, to Ashtoreth, and to
other strange gods. [1 Kings xi, 5-7.] I recollect the hill quite
well. On the summit is now a Benedictine Monastery, while the slopes
are occupied by a Jewish cemetery. The Turks call it Baten el Hawa
(Bottle of the Winds). The measurements given seem to be most explicit,
the entrance to the chamber being on the west side of the extreme south
of the mount, facing the sudden bend in the Valley of Hinnom. See,
here,” and he pointed to the spot upon the map. “And at the east side,
at some spot to be determined by measurements, are the secret
flood-gates by which the waters can be released. The ‘dry-room’ is
evidently situated above the water-tunnels, at such a height that the
waters never rise there.”
“And can those ancient measures be worked out to modern measures?”
“Yes. We practically know almost exactly what was the reed, and what
was the legal cubit of the days of Jehoiakim as compared with the
ordinary cubit. Surveyors will have no difficulty in finding the exact
spot indicated.”
“You do not think, dad, that after the restoration and rebuilding of the
Temple that the treasures were recovered?”
“Certainly not. If so, we should certainly have had some record in Holy
Writ of the Ark of the Covenant and the tablets. But there is none.
Since a few days before Nebuchadnezzar’s hosts entered Jerusalem, the
Ark has never been seen. My firm belief is that it is still in its
place of concealment as stated by Michaiah the scribe.”
“And what shall you do now, dad?” inquired the girl, her elbows upon the
table, as she looked up into his face. “You have solved a problem that
will startle the whole world!”
“Yes, dear,” he sighed, passing his hand across his brow. “It is so
remarkable that I hardly know how to act. I must, of course, see
Diamond and Farquhar, and consult with them. One thing is quite
certain; for the present we must keep this matter a most profound
secret. If our enemies were to gain wind of it, they would send out at
once and purchase the land for themselves.”
“But they can’t know, dad.”
“Ah, dear! I’m--I’m suspicious. With such enormous possibilities
before us, who knows that our secret enemies may not have bribed our
servants,” he said. “For that reason, Gwen dear--and please forgive
me--fearing that there might be eaves-droppers, I purposely, when
explaining to you the cipher this afternoon, rearranged and omitted some
of the second portion of it, so that our secret could not possibly leak
out.”
“But surely, dad!” cried the girl. “You don’t suspect Laura or
Mullingar, or Kate, being in the employ of our enemies, do you?”
“My child, it is best to be always wary in a matter such as this. As
your friend Mr Mullet has already told you, they appear to be most
unscrupulous.”
“I wonder where Mr Mullet is--why he doesn’t write or telephone to me,
as he promised.”
“Don’t distress yourself about him,” urged the old Professor. “We hold
the secret, and for to-night at least that is sufficient.”
And then, after gathering the typed sheets together he put a fastener
through them and locked the precious decipher carefully in one of the
drawers of his writing-table. Then a few moments later, it already
being two o’clock in the morning, they both ascended to their rooms.
When upon the landing, the old man kissed his daughter tenderly on the
brow as was his habit, saying:
“Good-night, my child. I fear you must be very tired. But think!--we
have completed our task. We alone know the great secret which will
convulse the whole civilised world!”
In her own pretty room Gwen threw herself into the cosy chintz-covered
armchair before the fire, and pondered deeply.
She was thinking of Frank--ever of him. Though she had been fond of
flirtation, and though perhaps she had committed grave breaches of the
_convenances_ before she had known young Farquhar, yet all had now
changed. She would give her very life for him--for was she not his, and
his alone?
Over her spread the thought of the man who had posed as Frank’s friend--
that man who had laughed defiance in her face, the man who was in league
with her father’s enemies. Who was he? What was he? she wondered.
Then there rose before her the recollection of the man Mullet, the man
with the ugly past, as he himself had admitted, yet nevertheless devoted
to his little daughter, and a gentleman. She longed to see him again--
to introduce him to her lover, and to tell the latter the whole strange
truth.
To her, it seemed as though Mullet feared the man who had so cleverly
entrapped her, just as he was the “cat’s-paw” of the bloated red-faced
man who had raised his hand to strike her.
Who were these people? she wondered. Why did Mullet fear them?
Having exchanged her dress for an easy _robe-de-chambre_, she sat before
the fire plaiting her long dark tresses, her eyes fixed upon the fire,
now fast dying away.
She had knowledge of that marvellous secret--the whereabouts of the
bewildering treasure of Israel. Yet how would it all end? Why had her
father suspicion of spies in their own home? What could he suspect?
She wondered, as she had often wondered, what conclusion her father had
formed regarding her mysterious absence from home, and often, in her
moments of reflection, she found herself puzzled and pondering regarding
her unconsciousness on that never-to-be-forgotten night when she had
found herself alone and helpless in the hands of the man who had laughed
at her innocence and dismay.
She dare not tell Frank. It was her secret--a dark secret which she had
resolved to keep at all hazards--one that he should never know.
“But he is mine again!” she murmured to herself, a sweet smile of
contentment playing about her lips. “I have been a fickle girl, I know,
but, after all, every girl is entitled to have one good time in her
life. I’ve had mine, and I have found Frank. I love him, and he loves
me. I know he does. And to-morrow dad will ‘wire’ him, and I shall see
him again. Ah! what will he say, I wonder--now that dad has discovered
the secret. Dear old dad! He deserves all the _kudos_ he’ll get from
the great discovery, for he’s worked hard--worked night and day almost.
And the ugly little Doctor? I wonder how he’ll take it? One thing is
plain, that we have outwitted that red-faced scoundrel and his friends.
We know the truth, while they are still in ignorance.”
For a long time she sat, her pretty head, with its two long plaits
secured by blue ribbons, pillowed upon the muslin-covered cushion in the
low comfortable armchair, her bare feet thrust into slippers, and upon
her sweet countenance an expression of calm content.
The little clock upon her mantelshelf, chiming the half-hour--half-past
three--aroused her from her reverie, and she shivered, for the fire had
died away and the room had now become chilly. So preoccupied had she
been that she had not noticed that the fire was already out.
As she stirred herself, she suddenly recollected that, downstairs in the
study, she had left her book in which she was greatly interested, and
which she wanted to continue when she awoke in the morning. It was a
heavy work of one of the German philosophers which she was studying, for
since leaving school she had done a vast amount of reading, especially
French and German literature. She was highly educated and cultured,
and, unlike the average young girl of our twentieth century, she had not
put aside her books with her ankle-skirts.
In her long trailing robe of pale _eau-de-nil_ she crossed the room, and
seating herself at her writing-table scribbled a note to her dressmaker,
which she had forgotten. Then having put a stamp upon it, she quickly
opened her door, crept softly past her father’s room, fearing to wake
him, and down the thickly carpeted stairs where her slippered feet fell
noiselessly.
She had no candle, but she knew her way about the house quite well in
the dark, and also knew where to put her hand upon most of the electric
switches.
Creeping softly down, afraid every moment that the stairs would creak--
for stairs always have a horrid habit of creaking in the silence of the
night--she carried the letter in her hand for the purpose of placing it
in the rack in the study which Laura always cleared when she went to the
room in the morning, and Kate took the letters to the post-office down
at the corner.
Reaching the landing she crossed it to the study-door, but as she did so
she saw, to her surprise, a light issuing from the crack beneath.
Her father had evidently returned there to continue his work, as he
sometimes did when unable to sleep.
For a second she hesitated whether she should enter, but making up her
mind suddenly, she placed her fingers upon the handle and opened the
door.
Next instant, however, uttering a low cry, she stood upon the threshold,
rigid as one petrified.