ofhis years.
"I've been longing for your return, dearest," she murmured in his ear ashe kissed her. "It seems ages ago since you left town."
"Only a month. I went first to Perthshire, where I had to speak at somePrimrose League meetings. Then I had business in both Newcastle andManchester, and afterwards I went to Horsford to see my sister. I wasdue to stay there another fortnight, but this strange discovery bringsme up to consult your father."
"He's upstairs in the study. We'd better go up at once. He's dying tosee you," declared the bright-eyed girl, who wore a big black silk bowin her hair. She possessed a sweet innocent face, a pale softcountenance indicative of purity of soul. The pair were, indeed, wellmatched, each devoted to the other; he full of admiration of her beautyand her talents, and she proud of his brilliant success in journalismand literature.
At the throat of her white silk blouse she wore a curious antiquebrooch, an old engraved sapphire which Sir Charles Gaylor, a friend ofDr Griffin, had some years ago brought from the excavation he had madein the mound of Nebi-Yunus, near Layard's researches in the vicinity ofNineveh. The rich blue gleamed in the gaslight, catching Frank's eye ashe ascended the stair, and he remarked that she was wearing what shetermed her "lucky brooch," a gem which had no doubt adorned somemaiden's breast in the days of Sennacherib or Esarhaddon.
The first-floor front room, which in all other houses in PembridgeGardens was the drawing-room, had in the house of Professor Griffin beenconverted into the study--a big apartment lined with books which, forthe most part, were of "a dry-as-dust" character.
As they entered, the Professor, a short, stout, grey-haired man in roundsteel-framed spectacles, raised himself from his armchair, where he hadbeen engrossed in an article in a German review.
"Ah! my dear Farquhar!" he cried excitedly. "Gwen told me that you wereon your way--but there, you are such a very erratic fellow that I neverknow when to expect you."
"I generally turn up when least expected," laughed the young man, with aside-glance at the girl.
"Well, well," exclaimed the man in spectacles; "now what is all thisyou've written to me about? What `cock-and-bull' story have you gothold of now--eh?"
"I briefly explained in my letter," he answered. "Isn't it veryremarkable? What's your opinion?"
"Ah! you journalists!" exclaimed the old professor reprovingly. "You'vea lot to answer for to the unsuspecting public."
"I admit that," laughed Frank. "But do you really dismiss the matter asa `cock-and-bull' story?"
"That is how I regard it at the moment--without having been shownanything."
"Then I can show you everything," was Farquhar's prompt reply. "I haveit all with me--at least all that remains of it."
The old man smiled satirically. As Regius Professor of Hebrew atCambridge, Dr Arminger Griffin was not a man to accept lightly anytheory placed before him by an irresponsible writer such as he knewFrank Farquhar to be.
He suspected a journalistic "boom" to be at the bottom of the affair,and of all things he hated most in the world was the halfpenny press.
Frank had first met Gwen while he had been at college, and had oftenbeen a visitor at the professor's house out on Grange Road, prior to hisretirement and return to London. He knew well in what contempt the oldman held the popular portion of the daily press, and especially theLondon evening journals. Therefore he never sought to obtrude hisprofession when in his presence.
"Well?" said the old gentleman at last, peering above his glasses. "Icertainly am interested in the story, and I would like to examine whatyou've brought. Burnt papers--aren't they?"
"Yes."
"H'm. Savours of romance," sniffed the professor. "That's why I don'tlike it. The alleged secret itself is attractive enough, without anadditional and probably wholly fictitious interest."
Frank explained how the fragments had fallen into his hands, and thesuggestion which Doctor Diamond had made as to the possibility of afinancial value of the secret.
"My dear Frank," replied the professor, "if it were a secret invention,a new pill, or some scented soap attractive to women, it might be worthsomething in the City. But a secret such as you allege,"--and heshrugged his shoulders ominously without concluding his sentence.
"Ah!" laughed the young man. "I see you're sceptical. Well, I don'twonder at that. Some men of undoubted ability and great knowledgedeclare that the Bible was not inspired."
"I am not one of those," the professor hastened to declare.
"No, Frank," exclaimed the girl. "Dad is not an agnostic. He onlydoubts the genuineness of this secret of yours."
"He condemns the whole thing as a `cock-and-bull' story, without firstinvestigating it!" said Farquhar with a grin. "Good! I wonder whetheryour father will be of the same opinion after he has examined thefragments of the dead man's manuscript which remain to us?"
"Don't talk of the dead man's manuscript!" exclaimed the old professorimpatiently, "even though the man is dead, it's in typewriting, yousay--therefore there must exist somebody who typed it. He, or she, muststill be alive!"
"By Jove!" gasped the young man quickly, "I never thought of that! Thetyping is probably only a copy of a written manuscript. The originalmay still exist. And in any case the typist would be able to supply toa great degree the missing portions of the document."
"Yes," said the other. "It would be far more advantageous to you tofind the typist than to consult me. I fear I can only give you anegative opinion."
CHAPTER SIX.
GIVES EXPERT OPINION.
Frank Farquhar was cleverly working his own game. The Professor hadscoffed at the theory put forward by Diamond, therefore he was easilyinduced to give a written undertaking to regard the knowledge derivedfrom the half-burnt manuscript as strictly confidential, and to make nouse of it to his own personal advantage.
"I have to obtain this," the young man explained, "in the interests ofDiamond, who, after all, is possessor of the papers. He allowed me tohave them only on that understanding."
"My dear Frank," laughed the great Hebrew scholar, "really all this isvery absurd. But of course I'll sign any document you wish."
So amid some laughter a brief undertaking was signed, "in order that Imay show to Diamond," as Frank put it.
"It's really a most businesslike affair," declared Gwen, who witnessedher father's signature. "The secret must be a most wonderful one."
"It is, dear," declared her lover. "Wait and hear your father'sopinion. He is one of the very few men in the whole kingdom competentto judge whether the declaration is one worthy of investigation."
The Professor was seated at his writing-table placed near the left-handwindow, and had just signed the document airily, with a feeling that thewhole matter was a myth. Upon the table was his green-shaded electricreading-lamp, and with his head within the zone of its mellow light hesat, his bearded chin resting upon his palm, looking at the man to whomhe had promised his daughter's hand.
A scholar of his stamp is always very slow to commit himself to anyopinion. The Hebrew professor, whoever he may be, follows recognisedlines, and has neither desire nor inclination to depart from them. Itwas so with Griffin. Truth to tell, he was much interested in theproblem which young Farquhar had placed before him, but at the same timethe suggestion made by Doctor Diamond was so startling and unheard ofthat, within himself, he laughed at the idea, regarding it as a merenewspaper sensation, invented in the brain of some clever Continentalswindler.
From his pocket the young man drew forth the precious envelope, and outof it took the cards between which reposed three pieces of crinkled andsmoke-blackened typewriting, the edges of which had all been badlyburned.
The first which he placed with infinite care, touching it as lightly aspossible, upon the Professor's blotting-pad was the page alreadyreproduced--the folio which referred to the studying of the "Mishna" andthe cabalistic signs which the writer had apparently discovered therein.
The old man, blinki
ng through his heavy round glasses, examined thedisjointed words and unfinished lines, grunted once or twice inundisguised dissatisfaction, and placed the fragment aside.
"Well?" inquired Farquhar, eagerly, "does that convey anything to you?"
The Professor pursed his lips in quiet disbelief.
"The prologue of a very elegant piece of fiction," he sneered. "The manwho makes this statement ought certainly to have been a novelist."
"Why?"
"Because of the