he was toldthat the stranger had spent five hours in studying them and makingcertain arithmetical calculations.
He was sitting in the same silent, restful, book-lined room in which thestranger had sat. He was in the same chair, indeed, and before him wasthe same writing-pad upon which he had written.
The precious fragment was lying upon the pad of red blotting-paper. Athis side stood the official who had handed the stranger the piece ofcrinkled parchment which he had sought.
"Yes," he was saying, "he made a number of calculations, covering manysheets of paper, and when he left, he said that his work was unfinished,and that he intended to return. But we have not seen him since."
As Professor Griffin was gazing long and steadily upon that earlyfragment of Hebrew text, the official, who of course, knew the Professorwell, added: "Curiously enough, after he had gone, I found lying on thetable a piece of paper on which he had been making his calculations.Here it is," and he placed before the Professor a piece of crumpledpaper bearing upon it what appeared to be a sum of multiplication andaddition.
Griffin examined it eagerly, and, used as he was to the arithmeticalvalues of the letters of the Hebrew alphabet--for each letter was anumerical value--he saw instantly that the stranger's secret had falleninto his hands! He held his breath as the assistant-librarian placed asecond scrap of paper before him.
By those two discarded scraps astounding truths had been suddenlyrevealed to him!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
SHOWS A FACE IN THE NIGHT.
To the ordinary observer the sum upon the scrap of paper would haveconveyed nothing.
Professor Griffin studied it carefully, however, and mentally submittedit to certain tests.
What was written upon the paper was as follows:
The Professor begged leave to take it with him to London, whereupon theassistant-librarian replied: "It seems very much as though our friendthe stranger is applying some numerical cipher to that fragment ofDeuteronomy, does it not? Of course, Professor, you may have it--andwelcome. I confess I cannot make head or tail of it."
"Nor I either," laughed Griffin, blinking through his spectacles. "Yetit interests me, and I thank you very much for it. Apparently thisforeigner believes that he has made some discovery. Ah!" he added, "howmany cranks there are among Hebrew scholars--more especially thecabalists!"
And in pretence of ignorance of the true meaning of that curiousarrangement of figures, the Professor placed the scrap of paper in hisbreast-pocket, and returned to the Randolph Hotel, where he had tea,afterwards sitting for a long time in the writing-room with thestranger's discarded calculation spread before him.
In the left-hand corner of the piece of paper was something whichpuzzled him extremely. In a neat hand were written the figures,255.19.7. And while awaiting his train, he lit his big briar pipe, andseating himself before the fire, tried to think out what they couldmean.
But though he pondered for over an hour he failed to discern theirobject. They were evidently the stranger's signature.
He applied the Hebrew equivalents to them, and they were as follows:"Beth. He. He, A-leph-Teth. Za-yin." But they conveyed to himabsolutely nothing.
Seated alone in the corner of the first-class carriage, he again tookout the scrap of paper, and held it before him. That there was a cipherdeciphered into the words "of the Temple that," was apparent.
He started with the ordinary numerical values of the Hebrew alphabet.They were 7.3.4.1.0.9. which meant: Za-yin, Gi-mel, Da-leth, A-leph, thezero, and Teth. These were multiplied by He, which meant 5. Then719220, meaning certain other letters, were added and multiplied byyodh, or ten. From each number of the total 3, or Gi-mel, wassubtracted, and the English translation of the figures that remainedwas: "of the Temple that--"
To such a man, versed in all the cabalistic ciphers of the ancients, thetruth was plain. Extremely involved and ingenious it was, without adoubt, but by careful study of this he would, he saw, be able to findthe key being used by the aged man who had in such an uncanny way signedhimself "255.19.7."
He replaced it carefully in his pocket, and lighting his pipe, set backin the carriage to reflect.
Ah! if he could only come across that will-o'-the-wisp who was engagedin the search after the truth. Probably he possessed the context of theburnt document, and could supply the missing portion. But if so, howhad it fallen into his hands?
The affair was a problem which daily became more interesting and moreextraordinary.
At Westbourne Park Station, when the collector came for his ticket, hefumbled for it in his pocket, but was unable for some time to find it.Then at Paddington he took a taxi-cab home, arriving in time for a latedinner.
Gwen bright and cheerful, sat at the head of the table as was her habit,inquisitive as to her father's movements and discoveries.
But to her carefully guarded inquiries he remained mute. He had beendown to the Bodleian, he said, but that was all. The old man longed toget back to the restful silence of his own study to examine the scrap ofpaper left by the stranger, and from it to determine the exact key tothat very ingenious numerical cipher.
The man who was in search of the same secret as himself was a weirdperson, to say the least. Both in London and in Oxford, he had comeacross the aged man's trail. That he was unknown in England as ascholar was apparent, and that he was a deeply read man and student ofHebrew was equally plain.
He was not a Jew. Both the Library assistants at the British Museum andat the Bodleian had agreed upon that point.
They had declared that he was from the north of Europe. Was he a Danefrom Copenhagen, like the dead man who had preferred to be known asJules Blanc?
Arminger Griffin ate his dinner in impatience carefully avoiding thequestions his pretty daughter put to him. Then he ascended to thestudy, having bidden her good-night. She had received no news of Frank,it seemed. For what reason had the young man so suddenly left forCopenhagen? The question caused him constant apprehension. Could hehave discovered any clue to the existence of the context of thedocument?
More than once during the day he had been half tempted to go himself toDenmark, but the discovery of the aged stranger's arithmeticalcalculations induced him to remain in London and watch.
Having switched on the light he crossed the room, and seating himself atthe table felt in his pocket for the scribbled calculation. He failedto find it. He was horrified. It had gone!
He must have pulled it from his pocket at Westbourne Park whilesearching for his ticket. His loss was, indeed, a serious one. Infrantic haste he searched all his other pockets, but in vain. Thescraps of crumpled paper which contained the key to a portion of thecipher upon which the stranger was working was gone!
He sank into his armchair in despair.
Before his vision rose those mystical figures 255.19.7. written in fire.What was the hidden meaning therein contained?
One line of the sum he recollected: "7.3.4.1.0.9." multiplied by 5.Mental calculation resulted in the answer of 3670646. There was a sumto add to it. But alas! he could not remember the figures of it.
Therefore the clue, so unexpectedly obtained, was lost.
So he sat alone, his head buried in his hands in deepest despair.
Gwen crept in in silence, but seeing her father's attitude, crept outagain without disturbing him, and read in the drawing-room alone, untilit was time to return to her room.
"Shall I ever solve the mystery?" cried the Professor aloud to himselfas he paced the room presently. "Misfortune has befallen me! With thatfragment deciphered I could by careful study have learned the key andthen read what that mysterious searcher has undoubtedly read. Ah! if Icould only meet him. Then I would follow and watch his movements. Butalas! I am always too late--too late!"
As he sank again into a chair, plunged in the wildest despair, the darkfigure of a tall, thick-set, military-looking man of about forty, in along dark overcoat, passed and repassed the house in the rainy night.
/> For some time, he had been waiting at Notting Hill Gate Station, almostopposite the end of Pembridge Gardens, glancing at the clock now andthen, as though impatiently watching for someone. Then, at last, as iffull of determination he had crossed the Bayswater Road, and strolledslowly past Professor Griffin's house, eyeing its lighted windows withconsiderable curiosity as he went by.
He continued his walk as far as the end of the road which led intoPembridge Square, and there halted for shelter for a full five minutesbeneath the portico of a house. Then he retraced his steps, re-passingthe house which had aroused so much interest within him, until he cameto the station where he again stood in patience.
The watcher was an active, rather good-looking man, though the reason ofhis presence there was not at all apparent. To pass the time he boughtan evening paper, and stood in the corner reading it, yet in such aposition that he could watch everybody who entered or left theUnderground Railway Station. There was a