keeping with the place.
The doctor possessed artistic tastes, and was also a connoisseur to nosmall degree. In the days when he had possessed means, he had been fondof hunting for curios or making purchases of old furniture and china,but, alas! in these latter days of his adversity he had experienced evena difficulty in making both ends meet.
"I received your telegram, Raymond dear," exclaimed Mrs Diamond. "I'mso glad you were successful in finding Aggie's father. It's taken agreat weight from my mind."
"And from mine also," he said with a sigh seated before the fire withhis hands outstretched to the flames. "Mullet wants me to take thechild over to Paris to see him in a week or so."
"Why does he not come over here?"
The Doctor pulled a wry face, and shrugged his shoulders ominously.
His wife, by her speech, showed herself to be a woman of refinement.She had been the widow of a medical man in Manchester before Diamond hadmarried her. Though it was much against her grain to submit toregistration as a foster-mother of children, yet it had been their onlycourse. Raymond Diamond was too ugly to succeed in his profession. Thepublic dislike a deformed doctor.
He told his wife how he had been at the end of his resources in Paris,and how, just at the moment when things had looked blackest, "RedMullet" had returned. But he made no mention of meeting the stranger,or of the record of the curious secret which, between two pieces ofcardboard, now reposed carefully in his breast-pocket.
Its possession held him in a kind of stupor. From what he had been ableto gather--or rather from what he imagined the truth to be--he alreadyfelt himself an immensely wealthy man. He was, in fact, alreadyplanning out his own future.
The dead stranger had said he intended to remove to the Grand Hotel.Diamond's intention was to go further--to purchase a fine estatesomewhere in the grass-country, and in future live the life of agentleman.
Mrs Diamond noticed her husband's preoccupied manner, and naturallyattributed it to financial embarrassment.
A few moments later the door opened, and a pretty, fair-haired girl,about thirteen, entered, and finding the doctor had returned, rushedtowards him and, throwing her arms about his neck, kissed him, saying:
"I had no idea you were back again, dad. I went down the station-pathhalf-way, expecting to meet you."
"I came by the road, my child," was the Doctor's reply as he stroked herlong fair hair. "I've been to Paris--to see your dad, Aggie," he added.
"My other dad," repeated the child reflectively. "I--I hardly rememberhim. You are my own dear old dad!" And she stroked his cheek with hersoft hand.
Aggie was the doctor's favourite. He was devoted to the daughter ofthat tall, thin man who was such a cosmopolitan adventurer, the childwho was now the eldest of his family, and who had, ever since she hadarrived, a wee weakly little thing, always charmed him by her brightintelligence and merry chatter.
She was a distinctly pretty child, neat in her dark-blue frock and whitepinafore. In the village school she was head of her class, and MrHolmes, the popular, good-humoured schoolmaster, had already suggestedto the Doctor, and also to Lady Gavin at the Manor, that she should besent to the Secondary School at Peterborough now that he could teach herno more.
The Doctor drew Aggie upon his knee, and told her of her father'sinquiries and of his suggestion that she should go to Paris to see him.
Paris seemed to the child such a long way off. She had seen it markedupon the wall-maps in school, but to her youthful mind it was only alegendary city.
"I don't want to leave Horsford, dad," replied the girl with a slightpout. "I want to remain with you."
"Not in order to see and know your father?"
"You are my dad--my only dad," she declared quickly. "I don't want tosee my other dad at all," she added decisively. "If he wants to see me,why doesn't he come here?"
"He can't my dear," replied the doctor. "But tell me. Have you seenLady Gavin since I've been away?"
"No, dad. Mr Farquhar and his sister have come to stay at the Manor,so she's always engaged."
"Frank Farquhar is down here again, eh?" asked Diamond quickly. Then hereflected deeply for a few moments.
He was wondering if Farquhar could help him--if he dare take the youngman into his confidence.
Nowadays he was "out of it." He knew nobody, buried there as he was inthat rural solitude.
"Is Sir George at home?" he asked the child, who, like all otherchildren, knew the whole gossip of the village.
"No, dad. He started for Egypt yesterday. Will Chapman told me so."
The Doctor ate his tea, with his wife and five "daughters" of varyingages, all bright, bonnie children, who looked the picture of goodhealth.
Then, after a wash and putting on another suit, he went out, strollingdown the village to where the big old Manor House, with its quaintgables and wide porch, stood far back behind its sloping lawn.
Generations of squires of Horsford had lived and died there, as theirtombs in the splendid Norman church almost adjoining testified. It wasa house where many of the rooms were panelled, where the entrance-hallwas of stone, with a well staircase and a real "priests' hole" on thefirst floor.
He ascended the steps, and his ring was answered by a smart Italianman-servant. Yes. Mr Farquhar was at home. Would the doctor kindlystep into the library?
Diamond entered that well-known room on the right of the hall--a roomlined from floor to ceiling with books in real Chippendale bookcases,and in the centre a big old-fashioned writing-table. Over the fireplacewere several ancient manuscripts in neat frames, while beside theblazing fire stood a couple of big saddle-bag chairs.
Sir George Gavin, Baronet, posed to the world as a literary man, thoughhe had risen from the humble trade of a compositor to become owner of anumber of popular newspapers. He knew nothing about literature andcared less. He left all such matters to the editors and writers whom hepaid--clever men who earned for him the magnificent income which he nowenjoyed. Upon the cover of one of his periodicals it was stated that hewas editor. But as a matter of fact he hardly ever saw the magazine inquestion, except perhaps upon the railway bookstalls. His sole thoughtwas the handsome return its publication produced. And, like so manyother men in our England to-day, he had simply "paid up" and receivedhis baronetcy among the Birthday honours, just as he had received hismembership of the Carlton.
Diamond had not long to wait, for in a few moments the door opened, andthere entered a smart-looking, dark-haired young man in a blue sergesuit.
"Hulloa, Doc! How are you?" he exclaimed. "I'm back again, you see--just down for a day or two to see my sister. And how has Horsford beenprogressing during my absence--eh?" he laughed.
Frank Farquhar, Lady Gavin's younger brother, occupied an importantposition in the journalistic concern of which Sir George was the head.He was recognised by journalistic London as one of its smartest youngmen. His career at Oxford had been exceptionally brilliant, and he hadalready distinguished himself as special correspondent in the Boer andRusso-Japanese campaigns before Sir George Gavin had invited him to joinhis staff.
Tall, lithe, well set-up, with a dark, rather acquiline face, a smalldark moustache, and a pair of sharp, intelligent eyes, he was alert,quick of movement, and altogether a "live" journalist.
The two men seated themselves on either side of the fireplace, andFarquhar, having offered his visitor a cigar, settled himself to listento Diamond's story.
"I've come to you," the Doctor explained, "because I believe that you,and perhaps Sir George also, can help me. Don't think that I want anyfinancial assistance," he laughed. "Not at all. I want to put beforeyou a matter which is unheard of, and which I am certain will astoundeven you--a journalist."
"Well, Doc," remarked the young man with a smile, "it takes a lot tosurprise us in Fleet Street, you know."
"This will. Listen." And then, having extracted a promise of silence,Diamond related to the young man the whole story of the dead stranger,a
nd the curious document that had been only half-consumed.
When the Doctor explained that the papers had not been wholly burned,Frank Farquhar rose quickly in pretence of obtaining an ash-tray, but inreality in order to conceal the strange expression which at that, momentoverspread his countenance.
Then, a few seconds later, he returned to his chair apparently quiteunmoved and unconcerned. Truth to tell, however, the statement made bythe dwarfed and deformed man before him had caused him to tighten hislips and hold his breath.
Was it possible that he held certain secret knowledge of which theDoctor was ignorant, and which he could turn to advantage?
He remained silent, with a smile of incredulity playing about his mouth.
The truth was this. Within his heart he had already formed a fixedintention that the dead man's secret--the most remarkable secret of theage--should be his, and his alone!
CHAPTER FIVE.
SPREADS THE NET.
The deformed man existed in a whirl of excitement. He already felthimself rich beyond his wildest dreams. He built castles in the airlike a child, and smiled contentedly when rich people--some of thehunting crowd--passed him by unrecognised.
During the three days that followed, Frank Farquhar held severalconsultations with him--long earnest talks sometimes at the Manor orelse while walking across that heath-land around the district known tothe followers to hounds as the Horsford Hanglands.
The villagers who saw them together made no comment. As was well known,the little Doctor and Lady Gavin's clever young brother were friends.
Diamond had enjoined the strictest secrecy, but Farquhar, as a keen manof business and determined to put his knowledge to the best advantage,had already exchanged several telegrams with some person in London, andwas now delaying matters with Diamond until he obtained a decided reply.
On the fourth day, just after breakfast, Burton, the grave old butler,handed the young man a telegram which caused him to smile withsatisfaction. He crushed it into his pocket and, seizing his hat,walked along to the Doctor's cottage. Then the pair took a slow strollup the short, steep hill on to the Peterborough road, through the dampmists of the winter's morning. Away across the meadows on the left,hounds were in full cry, a pretty sight, but neither noticed theincident.
"Do you know, Doctor," exclaimed the young man as soon as they gotbeyond the village, "I've been thinking very seriously over the affair,and I've come to the conclusion that unless we put it before some greatHebrew scholar we shall never get down to the truth. The whole basis ofthe secret is the Hebrew language, without a doubt. What can we doalone--you and I?"
The little Doctor shook his head dubiously.
"I admit that neither of us is sufficiently well versed in Jewishhistory properly to understand the references which are given in thefragments which remain to us," he said. "Yet if we go to a scholar,explain our views, and show him the documents, should we not be givingaway what is evidently a most valuable secret?"
"No. I hardly think that," answered the shrewd young man. "Beforeputting it to any scholar we should first make terms with him, so thathe may not go behind our backs and profit upon the information."
"You can't do that!" declared Diamond.
"Among scholars there are a good many honourable men," replied FrankFarquhar, with a glance of cunning. "If we proposed to deal with Citysharks, it would be quite a different matter."
"Then to whom do you propose we should submit the documents for expertopinion?" inquired the deformed man, as he trudged along at his side.
"I know a man up in London whom I implicitly trust, and who will treatthe whole matter in strictest confidence," was the other's reply. "Wecan do nothing further down here. I'm going up to town this afternoon,and if you like I'll call and see him."
The Doctor hesitated. He recognised in the young man's suggestion adesire to obtain his precious fragments and submit them to an expert.Most deformed men are gifted with unusually shrewd intelligence, andRaymond Diamond was certainly no exception. He smiled within himself atFrank Farquhar's artless proposal.
"Who is the man?" he asked, as though half-inclined to adopt thesuggestion.
"I know two men. One is named Segal--a professor who writes for ourpapers; an exceedingly clever chap, who'd be certain to make outsomething more from the puzzle than we ever can hope to do. I also knowProfessor Griffin."
"I shall not allow the papers out of my possession."
"Or all that remains of them, you mean," laughed the young man uneasily."Why, of course not. That would be foolish."
"Foolish in our mutual interests," Diamond went on. "You are interestedwith myself, Mr Farquhar, in whatever profits may accrue from theaffair."
"Then if our interests are to be mutual, Doctor, why not entrust thefurther investigation to me?" suggested the wily young man. "I hope youknow me sufficiently well to have confidence in my honesty."
The Doctor cast a sharp look at the little young fellow at his side.
"Why, of course, Mr Farquhar," he laughed. "As I've already said, youpossess facilities for investigating the affair which I do not. If whatI suspect be true, we have, in our hands, the solution of a problemwhich will startle the world. I have sought your assistance, and I'mprepared to give you--well, shall we say fifteen per cent, interest onwhatever the secret may realise?"
"It may, after all, be only historical knowledge," laughed youngFarquhar. "How can you reduce that into `the best and brightest?'Still, I accept. Fifteen per cent is to be my share of whatever profitmay accrue. Good! I only wish Sir George were home from Egypt. Hewould, no doubt, give us assistance."
The Doctor purposely disregarded this last remark. He held more than asuspicion that young Farquhar intended to "freeze him out."
"When are you going up to town?" he asked.
"This afternoon. I shall see my man in the morning, and I feel surethat if I put the problem before him he'll be able, before long, to giveus some tangible solution," was Frank's reply. "When I act, I actpromptly, you know."
The Doctor was undecided. He knew quite well that young Farquhar wasacquainted with all sorts of writers and scholars, and that possiblyamong them were men who were experts in Hebrew, and in the history ofthe House of Israel.
He reflected. If the young man were content with fifteen per cent, whathad he further to fear?
Therefore, after some further persuasion on Frank's part, he promised towrite out an agreement upon a fifteen per cent, basis, and submit thefragments to the young man's friend.
They returned to the village, and the Doctor promised to call upon himat noon with an agreement written out.
This he did, and in the library at the Manor Frank appended hissignature, receiving in return the precious fragments carefullypreserved between the two pieces of cardboard.
When the deformed man had left, Frank Farquhar lit a cigarette, andstretching his legs as he sat in the armchair, laughed aloud in triumph.
"Now if I tie down old Griffin the secret will be mine," he remarkedaloud. "I've already `wired' to Gwen, so she'll expect me at eight, andno doubt tell her father."
At five o'clock Sir George's red "Mercedes" came round to the front ofthe house to take Frank into Peterborough, and half an hour later he wasin the "up-Scotsman" speeding towards King's Cross, bearing with him thesecret which he felt confident was to set the whole world by the ears.
He dropped his bag at his rooms in Half Moon Street, had a wash and asnack to eat at his club, the New Universities, round in St James'sStreet, and then drove in a taxi-cab to a large, rather comfortablehouse in Pembridge Gardens, that turning exactly opposite Notting HillGate Station.
Standing behind the neat maid-servant who opened the door was a tall,dark-haired, handsome girl not yet twenty, slim, narrow-waisted, andessentially dainty and refined.
"Why, Frank!" she cried, rushing towards him. "What's all thisexcitement. I'm so interested. Dad has been most impatient to see you.After your letter the d
ay before yesterday, he's been expecting youalmost every hour."
"Well, the fact is, Gwen, I couldn't get the business through," he saidwith a laugh. "We had terms to arrange--and all that."
"Terms of what?" asked the girl, as he linked his arm in hers and theywalked together into the long, well-furnished dining-room.
"I'll tell you all about it presently, dear," he replied.
"About the secret?" she asked anxiously. "Dad showed me your letter.It is really intensely interesting--if what you suspect be actually thetruth."
"Interesting!" he echoed. "I should rather think it is. It's a thingthat will startle the whole civilised world in a few days. And thecurious and most romantic point is that we can't find out who was theoriginal holder of the information. He died in Paris, refusing to givehis real name, or any account of himself. But there," he added, "I'lltell you all about it later on. How is my darling?"
And he bent until their lips met in a long, fervent caress.
Her arms were entwined about his neck, for she loved him with the wholestrength of her being, and her choice was looked upon with entire favourby her father. Frank Farquhar was a rising man, the adopted candidatefor a Yorkshire borough, while from his interest in Sir George Gavin'ssuccessful publications he derived a very handsome income for a man