at once, and went out."
The Professor rose from the table without eating, and went to the studyto think.
Upon the blotting-pad lay a sheet of ruled manuscript paper. He staredat it in horror as though he saw an apparition, for there upon thepaper, scrawled boldly in blue chalk, were the mystic figures:
255.19.7
They danced before his eyes, as he stood staring at them. How came theythere, in his own study? What could they mean?
He looked around bewildered. Nothing was out of place--nothingdisturbed. Those puzzling figures had been written there by some unseenhand.
During his wakeful hours that long night he had applied Hebrew lettersof those numerical values to the array of figures. But the result waschaotic. It was some mystic sign. But what, he could not determine.
He had found them on that scrap of paper cast aside at the BodleianLibrary, and now again they appeared in the privacy of his own study, topuzzle and confound him.
Through the next hour he waited, from moment to moment, in theexpectation of a telegram from Gwen explaining her absence and assuringhim of her safety. But, alas! none came. Therefore, he put on hisboots and overcoat and went round to the police-station, where theinspector on duty received him most courteously, and took a minutedescription of the missing young lady, a statement which, half an hourlater, had been received over the telegraph at every police-stationthroughout the Metropolitan area.
He had taken the precaution to place one of Gwen's photographs in hispocket, and this he handed to the inspector.
"Well do our very best, Professor, of course," the officer assured him."But young ladies are often very erratic, you know. We have hundreds ofgirls reported missing, but they usually turn up again the next day, ora couple of days later. Their absence is nearly always voluntary, andusually attributable to the one cause, love!"
"But my daughter's lover is in Denmark," the Professor protested.
"That is what you have been led to believe," remarked the inspector withan incredulous smile. "Girls are very cunning, I have two myself, sir."
"But you will help me, will you not?" urged the old gentleman earnestly.
"No effort shall be spared to discover your daughter, sir," answered therosy, clean-shaven man seated at his desk. "I'll report the matter toour superintendent at once. Do you," he added, "happen to know whatdress she was wearing? I will want a close description of it, also thelaundry mark on her underlinen. Your servants will, no doubt, be ableto supply the latter. Perhaps I'd better step round with you and seethem."
So the inspector at once accompanied the Professor back to PembridgeGardens, and there was shown some of the girl's clothes with the laundrymark upon them. Afterwards he left, leaving the old man in the higheststate of apprehension.
He put aside all thought of the inquiry upon which he had been engaged.His sole thought was for the safety of his child.
Meanwhile Jim Jannaway and Sir Felix Challas were still in deepconsultation in the privacy of that quiet, sombre study in BerkeleySquare.
"Erich left for Paris by the nine o'clock service this morning," Jim wassaying. "He wants to consult some early manuscript in the NationalLibrary, he says."
"He's a decidedly clever old fossil," declared the Baronet, knocking theash off his cigar, "and I'm convinced he's on the right track. If wecan only keep these other people off, mislead them, or put them on afalse scent, we shall win."
"Erich has done that already," laughed the other. "He's been down toOxford and pretended to study certain manuscripts, knowing well thatGriffin's researches must lead him there. By putting Griffin on a falsescent he's simply tangling him up. Oh! yes, I agree, Erich Haupt is awary old bird."
"Then he is now making investigations in various quarters with the soleobject of misleading Griffin, eh?" laughed Sir Felix. "Really, it'squite comical."
"Yes, and he lets drop just sufficient information to excite thecuriosity of the officiate of the various libraries and place them onthe _qui vive_. He does that, so that they shall inform Griffin."
"Excellent!" declared the Baronet. "As soon as he returns from Paris Imust see him. I wonder if the secret record really does exist? If itdoes, then, by Jove! I'll hold the key to the whole Jewish religion.But one thing is quite evident, my dear Jim, we must crush out all thisopposition with a firm, relentless hand. You understand?"
"I quite follow," remarked the great financier's unscrupulous"cat's-paw."
And they continued the discussion of the present rather insecuresituation.
Sir Felix Challas wore his mask with marvellous cleverness. The world--the people who read of him in the newspapers--never suspected that theman whose name so often headed subscription lists for charitableobjects, and whose handsome donation was the signal for a hundredothers, was an unscrupulous schemer. His had been the hand that, byclever financial juggling in which some other person was always theprincipal, had brought ruin to thousands of happy homes. He had,indeed, if the truth were told, climbed to the pedestal of notoriety andesteem, over the bodies of the men, both capitalists and workmen, hehad, with such innate cunning, contrived to ruin.
The strange story told by that shabby Dane as he sat in the gorgeousroom of the Grand Hotel in Paris, had attracted him from the very first.Here was a chance of getting the better of his natural enemies, theJews. Ah! how he hated them! Yes. He would search, and if he foundany of those sacred relics, his intention was to laugh in the face ofthe whole Hebrew community and hold the discovery up to the derision ofthe Christians.
What mattered it to him that the Dane had died in penury in that obscurehotel near the Gare du Nord? His secret agent, who had watched the poorfellow from the moment he left the Grand Hotel, had informed Sir Felixof the man's tragic end, but he had only smiled with evidentsatisfaction. The agent had ascertained that the present document hadnot been found among the dead man's possessions, hence the Baronetbelieved that the man, before his death, had destroyed it. It was ablow to him when he discovered that certain fragments of it had beencarefully preserved by Doctor Diamond. It meant that opposition hadarisen--a very serious opposition which he must forcibly crush down.
"Charlie returns from Brussels to-day, doesn't he?" the Baronet wasasking.
"Yes. He ought to be back in his rooms by now. And he'll find the girlthere. I've left him definite instructions how to act."
"The girl must be sworn to silence," Sir Felix said with heavy brow."She must assist us. We must compel her."
Jim Jannaway nodded. From instructions given by the man before him hiseyes had already been opened, and ten minutes later he left the house,the Baronet's last words being:
"Remember, Jim, there's millions in this business. We mustn't lose itfor the sake of that chit of a girl, however innocent and pretty she maybe. Understand that!"
An hour previously Gwen Griffin, struggling slowly back toconsciousness, found that, straight before her, was a square window overwhich was drawn a smoke-blackened, brown holland blind. The gas wasstill burning, although the grey wintry day had dawned some hours ago.
She was lying upon the bed in a fairly big room, still dressed, but withher clothes torn, as they had been in the desperate struggle of theprevious night. Slowly and painfully she rose, and as she slipped offthe bed she felt her limbs so weak and trembling that she could scarcelystand.
She caught sight of her dishevelled self in the long mirror of thewardrobe, and her own reflection startled her. All the horrors of thatstruggle crowded upon her. She put up her hands and pushed her thickdark hair from her white fevered brow.
"Where am I?" she cried aloud. "What will dad think?"
She staggered to the door, but found it locked and bolted from theoutside. Then she went to the window and pulling aside the blind judgedby the light that it must be about eleven o'clock in the morning. Shetried to open the window but the sashes had been screwed together. Theoutlook was upon a blank wall.
Before the glass she rearrang
ed her disordered dress, and sinking uponthe side of the bed tried to recollect all that had occurred. But herhead throbbed, her throat burned, and all the past seemed uncertain andindistinct.
The only fact which stood out clear in her mind as she sat there, inertand helpless, was the bitter truth which the man had spoken. Thescoundrel who had represented himself to be "Captain Wetherton," thefriend of her lover, had showed himself in his true colours. He hadbrought her there for one dastardly purpose alone--to ruin her inFrank's esteem.
She wondered what had really occurred--and while wondering, anddreading, she burst into a flood of bitter tears.
At one moment she made up her mind to batter down the door, or smash thewindow. But if she did