fallen between us; we were bothgrief-stricken and heart-broken. The hopeful past had ended, the futurewas one of dull and dark despair.
On arrival in London she expressed a desire to see Mrs. Percival, and asshe declined to return beneath the same roof as Dawson, I took her tothe _York Hotel_ in Albemarle Street, then, re-entering the cab, I droveto Grosvenor Square, where I informed the chaperon of my lost love'swhereabouts.
Not an instant did Mrs. Percival delay in seeking her, and at midnight,accompanied by Reggie, I called again at the hotel, giving her certaininjunctions to refuse to see her husband, even if he discovered her, andtaking a lingering farewell of her, as we had arranged to leave CharingCross for Italy by the mail at nine o'clock on the following morning.
Both Reggie and I had arrived at the conclusion that, now I wassufficiently recovered to travel, we should not lose an instant in goingout to Tuscany, and investigating the truth regarding that cipherrecord.
So she bade us both farewell, and urging us not to worry further uponher account, although we did not fail to detect her wild anxiety as tothe result of my defiance of her ruffianly husband, she wished us allgood fortune and Godspeed in the exciting venture we were about toundertake, with success and a safe return.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
THE DIRECTIONS OF HIS EMINENCE.
The green, winding valley of the Serchio looks its brightest and best inthe month of May the time of flowers in old-world Italy. Far removedfrom the great routes over which the English, Americans and Germansswarm in winter, unvisited, unknown and unexplored by any save thesimple _contadini_ of the hills, the rippling river winds with tortuousbends around sharp angles and beneath overhanging trees, great cliffsand huge grey boulders worn smooth by the action of the water of ages.In those lonely reaches of the river as it dashes on with many cascadesfrom the giant Apennines to the sea, the brilliant kingfisher and thestately heron are in possession, and live their lives undisturbed byhuman intrusion. As we walked on, having left the carriage that hadbrought us up from Lucca at the quaint mediaeval bridge called the Pontedel Diavolo, the rural, quiet and picturesque beauty of the scene becameimpressed upon us. The silence was unbroken, save for the hum of themyriad insects in the sun, and the low music of the water which at thatpoint is shallow, running over its rocky bed.
On arrival at the _Universo_ in Lucca, my first impulse was to go up tothe monastery and see Fra Antonio. Yet so intimate did he appear to bewith Blair's partner, the ex-boatswain Dawson, that we resolved to firstexplore the spot and take some observations. Therefore at eight thatmorning we had entered one of those dusty old travelling Tuscancarriages, the horses of which bore many jingling bells, and now, asnoon was approaching, we found ourselves on the left bank of the river,counting the four hundred and fifty-six foot-paces as directed by thesecret record upon the cards.
To avoid being watched by our driver, to whom we had given instructionsto go back to a little wayside trattoria, or eating-house, which we hadpassed, but who we knew would endeavour to secretly watch our movements,we were at first compelled, on account of the absence of a path, to makea detour through a small wood, rejoining the river bank at some distancefurther up.
Therefore, as we reached the water, standing amid the high undergrowththat grew upon the banks, we could only look back at the bridge andguess that we were about one hundred foot-paces from it.
Then, tramping steadily forward in single file we pushed our way withdifficulty through the tall grass, briars, giant ferns and tangledcreepers, slowly onward towards the spot indicated. In places the treesmet overhead, and the sun shining through the foliage struck therippling water with pretty effect.
According to the record the spot must be in the open, for the sun shoneupon it for one hour at noon on the fifth of April and for two hours onthe fifth of May. It was now the nineteenth of May, therefore theduration of the sunshine would, we roughly calculated, be about aquarter of an hour longer.
In some places the river was open to the sun, while in others, so highwere the banks on either side, the light could never penetrate there.From the crevices of the overhanging rocks, mountain pines and othertrees had taken root and grown to huge size, bending over until theirbranches almost swept the stream, while our progress was made slower andmore difficult by the unevenness of the bank and the wild tangle of theundergrowth.
One fact was proved--no one had approached the spot for a considerabletime, for we found not a twig severed or a leaf disturbed by previousintruders.
At last, after we had climbed high along a rocky cliff that descendedsheer into the water, and had calculated four hundred and twenty stepsfrom the old pointed bridge, we suddenly rounded a bend in the river andcame upon a space where the stream, still a hundred feet or so below,broadened out, so that it lay open to the sky for forty yards or so.
"It must be here!" I cried in eager anticipation, halting and quicklysurveying the spot. "The directions are to descend twenty-fourfoot-holes. I suppose that means steps cut in the rock. We must findthem." And both of us began to search eagerly, but in that tangledgrowth we could discover no trace of them.
"The record says that we go down behind where a man can hold himselfagainst four hundred," exclaimed Reggie, reading from a copy of thetranscript which he took from his pocket. "That appears as if the entryis in some narrow crevice between two rocks. Do you see any such likelyspot?"
I looked eagerly around but was compelled to admit that I discernednothing that coincided with the description.
So sheer was the grey limestone cliff, going down to the water, that Iapproached its edge with caution and then, throwing myself upon mystomach, I crept forward and peered over its insecure edge. In doing soa huge piece of rock became loosened and fell with a roar and splashinto the stream.
I took careful observations, but could distinguish absolutely nothing tocorrespond with what the old outlaw, Poldo Pensi, had recorded.
For a full half-hour we searched in vain, until it became plain that, aswe had not measured accurately the foot-paces from the Devil's Bridge,we were not at the exact spot. We therefore retraced our steps slowlyand laboriously through the tangled briars and undergrowth, our clothessuffering considerably, and then restarted from the actual base of thebridge. So completely had we been out of reckoning that at the threehundred and eighty-seventh pace we passed the spot where we had madesuch minute search, and continuing our way forward we halted at the fourhundred and fifty-sixth foot-pace in the top of a high encampment verysimilar to the other, only wilder and even more inaccessible.
"There seems nothing here," remarked Reggie, whose face was torn bybrambles and was bleeding.
I gazed around and was reluctantly compelled to endorse his statement.The trees were large and shady where we stood, some of them overhangingthe deep chasm through which the river wound. Cautiously, we both creptforward, flat upon our stomachs, to the edge of the cliff, taking thatprecaution as we knew not whether the edge might be rotten, andpresently we peered over.
"Why, look!" cried my friend, pointing to a spot about half-way down thedeep swirling stream as it came round the sudden bend, "there's stepsand a path leading down just a little higher up. And see! what's that?"
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
DESCRIBES A STARTLING DISCOVERY.
I looked and saw that upon a kind of natural platform on the rock wasbuilt a small stone hut, upon the grey-tiled roof of which we weregazing down.
"Yes, there are the `twenty-four foot-holes' mentioned in the record, nodoubt," I said. "I wonder if anybody lives down there."
"Well, let's descend and investigate," suggested Reggie anxiously, and afew moments later we had struck a narrow track leading from the chestnutwood direct to the roughly-cut steps that went down to a narrow openingbetween two rocks. Upon the right hand one we found deeply graven anold-fashioned capital E, about a foot long, and passing by it we sawthat a rough and perilous track led zigzag down to the small hut, theclosed door and small barred window of whic
h caused us the wildestcuriosity as to what was within.
Next moment, however, the truth was plain. The front of the littleplace was pointed, and upon the apex was a small stone cross.
It was a hermit's cell, like so many similar ancient places of retreatand contemplation in old-world Italy, and an instant later, as we passedthe rocks and came cautiously down the path, the door opened, and thereissued forth the hermit himself, who, to my surprise, I recognised as noother person than the burly, dark-bearded monk, Antonio!
"Gentlemen," he exclaimed, speaking in Italian, as he greeted us, "thisis certainly an unexpected meeting," and he indicated the stone benchthat ran along the outside of the low little hut, which I saw was socunningly concealed by the overhanging trees as to be invisible eitherfrom the river or from the opposite bank. As we seated ourselves at hisdirection, he hitched up his faded brown habit beneath his waist-cordand himself sat down