HPSEWXOQHWHPBARLHEOWC MRS OWCWPASROOBK LPC AXHAHBXHO BOW RSO BOWUAC SOP KSRSEBBNK PUA CJOOALAJOFCZXHO OKYSOP PORCJU O LP BRRIPCPCO BALCJO OLPROLLPO SB OO WRCRR XHA CFA XH BSJSQOM ECLSXISPBNCXCMOHOLEWXIO EHOBI OB LBS
HPSEWXOQHWHPBARLHEOWC MRS OWCWPASROOBK LPC AXHAHBXHO BOW RSO BOWUAC SOP KSRSEBBNK PUA CJOOALAJOFCZXHO OKYSOP PORCJU O LP BRRIPCPCO BALCJO OLPROLLPO SB OO WRCRR XHA CFA XH BSJSQOM ECLSXISPBNCXCMOHOLEWXIO EHOBI OB LBS
There were some forty lines, all as utterly unintelligible as the extract given above. The parchment was yellow, and here and there were damp stains where the ink had faded until the deciphering of the capitals was a matter of some difficulty. But, with the practised eye of an expert, old Mr. Staffurth read off the rather difficult Italian hand just as easily as a newspaper.
He showed me the great difference in the English hand in Elizabeth’s day to the Italian, and we concluded that it was in the autography of Bartholomew da Schorno himself. But, possessing no key to the cipher, neither of us was hopeful of reading the statement contained therein. I could not help thinking that the key in the vellum book would be of some use to us, but my friend was quite positive that it had nothing whatever to do with the present cryptic writing.
The crisp parchment was folded at the bottom, and through this fold three slits were cut, upon which pieces of parchment like broad tapes were threaded. Upon each was a seal, one of them that of Bartholomew, bearing the leopard rampant.
The curious device near the end of the document I copied as exactly as I could, and when, after Staffurth had puzzled over the yellow screed for an hour, we were about to hand it back to the attendant, the assistant-keeper approached my friend and, greeting him, asked —
“What do you find of interest in that roll, Mr. Staffurth? It has been in request by several people during the past day or two.”
“Has any one else copied it?” I demanded breathlessly.
“Yes. There were two men looking at it three days ago, and they took a copy.”
“Can you describe them?” asked Staffurth, dumfounded, for, like me, he feared that we had been again forestalled.
“They were fair, both of them. One was evidently well-versed in palæography. He was a thin, tall man, with a slight impediment in his speech.”
Harding had been there, without a doubt!
“How did they discover it?” inquired Staffurth.
“By the unusual name—Italian, isn’t it? The roll is catalogued under that. You found it in the same manner, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” the old expert responded. “But I suppose no one has ever discovered the key to the cipher?”
“No. Lost centuries ago, I expect.”
“Unless that document of Knutton’s contains it,” I remarked to my friend.
“Ah!” he gasped. “I never thought of that! This may be the absolute record with the plan, and the Knutton parchment the key to the cipher.”
“If so, then we’ve lost it! We are too late,” I remarked, my heart sinking.
“Professor Campbell, of Edinburgh, was much interested in it, and tried to make it out two years ago, but utterly failed,” was the assistant-keeper’s remark, and a few moments later, after we had handed the roll back to the attendant, he left us, and I returned with Staffurth to his house in Clapham.
Well versed as Staffurth was in the art of cryptic writing as practised during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, he utterly failed to decipher what I had copied. The signatures alone were in plain script—all the rest in cipher.
I took a copy of the document for myself, and through nearly a fortnight spent my leisure in trying, with the aid of the key in the vellum book, to decipher the first line, all, however, in vain. The cryptogram was a complicated one in any case. Staffurth consulted two men he knew who were experts in such things, but both gave it up as a private cipher that could not be read without a key.
One night, however, while lying in bed reflecting, as all of us do when our minds are troubled, that oft-repeated numerical three suddenly occurred to me. Could it be possible that it was the key to the cipher? This idea became impressed upon me, so I rose and, going into my sitting-room, lit my lamp, and there and then commenced to work upon it.
After several trials in taking three as the key-number, I at last made the experiment of taking C for A, and so on, writing the third letter from the one required. The alphabet I wrote then read as follows —
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZCFILORUXADGJMPSVYBEHKNQTWZ
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZCFILORUXADGJMPSVYBEHKNQTWZ
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZCFILORUXADGJMPSVYBEHKNQTWZ
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZCFILORUXADGJMPSVYBEHKNQTWZ
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
CFILORUXADGJMPSVYBEHKNQTWZ
Then, with my heart beating wildly, I turned to decipher the document, but even then I found it useless. Indeed, I spent the remainder of that night in vainly trying to solve the puzzle.
That same afternoon I went to Staffurth’s, told him of my inspiration, and showed him my alphabet. Adjusting his big spectacles, he regarded it for a long time in silence, but I saw that, to him, mine was a new and rather striking idea. He took a sheet of paper and tried time after time to make sense of that first long line of bewildering capitals, acting upon the supposition that three was the number.
Suddenly the old man cried excitedly, turning to me —
“I’ve got it! At last! See! The golden number is three. Your alphabet is the correct one, only the letters are reversed three by three. Take these first six, and then reverse them. You have SP HXWE, which by aid of your alphabet reads: ‘On thys’——The Secret, whatever it is, is ours—ours!”
CHAPTER XXXIIIWE DECIPHER THE PARCHMENT
Ourexcitement over the discovery was unbounded. Old Mr. Staffurth’s announcement seemed hardly possible. His hand trembled as he held the paper whereon I had copied the precious document catalogued among the Oblata Rolls, while I, bending over him, stood eager but speechless.
“See!” he cried. “The cipher is cunningly reversed, in order to make it more complicated. The big threes written by the old Italian were drawn as a silent indication of the correct solution of this document. Besides, there is before and after the entry of the date of the document two threes, one at each end—meaning first the third letter, and secondly each three letters reversed.”
“Let’s decipher it at once—whatever it is!” I exclaimed, hastily pulling up a chair to the table beside him and taking a sheet of blank paper and pencil. Imagine for yourself the tension of my mind at that critical moment. What might not be concealed behind that bewildering array of letters? Was the secret of the whereabouts of the treasure written there, or was it, after all, only some unimportant record having no reference at all to the hidden loot?
The old man was staring at the document with a puzzled air, for it was apparently not so easy to decipher as he had believed.
“Dictate it to me, and I will write,” I urged quickly, holding up my pencil ready. The suspense was irritating. We both of us were impatient to get at the truth.
Slowly, and not without a good deal of difficulty, Staffurth reversed each three letters of the cipher, three by three, and then reading them by aid of the alphabet I had compiled, gave down the beginning of the document to me as follows —
SP HXWE HQOPHWRABEH LCWO SR MCWO AP WOOn thys twenty-first daye of Maye in yeRSKBO CPL HXABHAOHX WOBO SR WO BCAUPO SRfoure and thirtieth yere of ye raigne ofSKB ESKNBAUPO JCLAO OJAZCFOHX YKOPO SRour souvrigne Ladie Elizabeth Quene ofOPUJCPLO RRBCPIO CPL ABOJCPLO LOROPLOB SR WOEnglande Ffrance and Irelande Defender of yeRRCAHX A FCBHXSJSMOQ LC EIXSBPS XCNO MCLOFfaith I Bartholomew da Schorno have madeHXWE EOIBOH BOISBL.thys Secret Record.
SP HXWE HQOPHWRABEH LCWO SR MCWO AP WOOn thys twenty-first daye of Maye in yeRSKBO CPL HXABHAOHX WOBO SR WO BCAUPO SRfoure and thirtieth yere of ye raigne ofSKB ESKNBAUPO JCLAO OJAZCFOHX YKOPO SRour souvrigne Ladie Elizabeth Quene ofOPUJCPLO RRBCPIO CPL ABOJCPLO LOROPLOB SR WOEnglande Ffrance and Irelande Defender of yeRRCAHX A FCBHXSJSMOQ LC EIXSBPS XCNO MCLOFfaith I Bartholomew da Schorno have madeHXWE EOIBOH BOISBL.thys Secret Record.
SP HXWE HQOPHWRABEH LCWO SR MCWO AP WOOn thys twenty-first daye of Maye in yeRSKBO CPL HXABHAOHX WOBO SR WO BCAUPO SRfoure and thirtieth yere of ye raigne ofSKB ESKNBAUPO JCLAO OJAZCFOHX YKOPO SRour souvrigne Ladie Elizabeth Quene ofOPUJCPLO RRBCPIO CPL ABOJCPLO LOROPLOB SR WOEnglande Ffrance and Irelande Defender of yeRRCAHX A FCBHXSJSMOQ LC EIXSBPS XCNO MCLOFfaith I Bartholomew da Schorno have madeHXWE EOIBOH BOISBL.thys Secret Record.
SP HXWE HQOPHWRABEH LCWO SR MCWO AP WO
On thys twenty-first daye of Maye in ye
RSKBO CPL HXABHAOHX WOBO SR WO BCAUPO SR
foure and thirtieth yere of ye raigne of
SKB ESKNBAUPO JCLAO OJAZCFOHX YKOPO SR
our souvrigne Ladie Elizabeth Quene of
OPUJCPLO RRBCPIO CPL ABOJCPLO LOROPLOB SR WO
Englande Ffrance and Irelande Defender of ye
RRCAHX A FCBHXSJSMOQ LC EIXSBPS XCNO MCLO
Ffaith I Bartholomew da Schorno have made
HXWE EOIBOH BOISBL.
thys Secret Record.
Our excitement knew no bounds. It was, after all, a secret record, and without doubt it referred to the treasure! It is always interesting work to decipher an old document, but more especially so one that no man has been able to read for ages. Imagine yourself for a moment in my place, with a fortune attached to the revelation of that secret!
Old Mr. Staffurth’s voice trembled, as did his thin, white hands. As a palæographist he had at times made some remarkable discoveries while delving in the dusty parchment records of bygone ages, but surely none had ever affected him like this. We were learning the place where a fortune lay hidden.
For close on two hours we worked together incessantly, slowly obtaining the right equivalents of the cipher, but very often making errors in calculation with the puzzling threes. The writing was simple after all, but at the same time difficult to decipher, requiring great care and patience. At length, however, I sat with the whole of the secret revealed before me, written down in plain English, surely one of the most interesting documents among the thousands preserved in the national archives.
The record, which we read and re-read a dozen times with breathless interest, was as follows —
ON THYS TWENTY-FIRST DAYE OF MAYE IN YE FOURE and thirtieth yere of ye Raigne of our Souvrigne Ladie Elizabeth, Quene of Englande Ffrance and Irelande, Defender of ye Ffaith, I Bartholomew da Schorno have made thys secret Record.TO EIGHT of ye men who fought wyth me on ye Great Unicorne against ye Spanysh galleon and who made covenant was ye place of ye loote knowne. In all those men dyd I place my trust. One Robert Dafte hath broken hys oath and hath reveled ye secret, for he hath tolde before hys death unto hys wyfe ye place into which we walled ye golde. Therefore it hath become necessarie in tyme to remove ye treasure which we captured from ye Spanysh and from ye Barbarians of Algiers unto a place of safetie from thieves, from conspiratiors, and from ye enemies of oure Quene.THEREFORE be it known unto ye person who may rede thys my Record that on thys daye above written the whole of what I possess has been removed from ye priest’s hole in ye Manor of Caldecott and concealed in a place more fytting and secure. The knowledge of it now remains only wyth my trusted friends Clement Wollerton and John Ffreeman, the two signatories to ye present document. Be it knowne also therefore that ye secret covenant playced in ye hand of Richard Knutton is now made by me null and voide, although my testamentary disposition of ye golde jewels and all other articles whych I Bartholomew da Schorno, noble of Ferrara, Commendatore of the Order of San Stefano, have treasured shall remain as I have before written; that is to saye that should ye Knights of Saint Stephen not require funds ye golde is to become ye sole and absolute property of ye youngest childe of ye family of Clement Wollerton, of Stybbington, in ye Countie of Huntyngedon, but without any parte or portion to go to ye familie of Richard Knutton, ye last mentioned havyng wickedly and maliciously conspyred wyth ye wyfe of ye saide Robert Dafte to steale and take possession of ye treasure during our absence on ye seas.AND THEREFORE be it known unto ye person who gains ye secret of thys cipher that I wyth mine owne hand have written thys my record for two purposes. In ye firste playce to make it plaine unto all men that it is my ardent desire to assist ye worke of ye release of Christians in slavery in Barberie, and secondlie to reveale unto ye one who deciphers my record ye place where ye golde wyll be found. Let hym rede and marke well.FOURE MILES from Stamforde towne on ye great roade into Scotlande and to ye left hande, is Tyckencote Laund. Within thys woode have we buried ye treasure three arms-lengths deepe, and to recover it ye directions whych herewyth I give must be followed closely. Enter ye woode by ye path leading through ye fieldes at ye fourth mylestone from Stamford towne and passe ye lyne of six oakes always facing Empinghame church until ye Three Systers are found. Midway between ye three, at twenty-and-nyne foot-paces from ye south, have we planted an oak sapling and beneath it will be found hydden ye golde of ye Spanyards and ye jewels of ye Corsairs.
ON THYS TWENTY-FIRST DAYE OF MAYE IN YE FOURE and thirtieth yere of ye Raigne of our Souvrigne Ladie Elizabeth, Quene of Englande Ffrance and Irelande, Defender of ye Ffaith, I Bartholomew da Schorno have made thys secret Record.
TO EIGHT of ye men who fought wyth me on ye Great Unicorne against ye Spanysh galleon and who made covenant was ye place of ye loote knowne. In all those men dyd I place my trust. One Robert Dafte hath broken hys oath and hath reveled ye secret, for he hath tolde before hys death unto hys wyfe ye place into which we walled ye golde. Therefore it hath become necessarie in tyme to remove ye treasure which we captured from ye Spanysh and from ye Barbarians of Algiers unto a place of safetie from thieves, from conspiratiors, and from ye enemies of oure Quene.
THEREFORE be it known unto ye person who may rede thys my Record that on thys daye above written the whole of what I possess has been removed from ye priest’s hole in ye Manor of Caldecott and concealed in a place more fytting and secure. The knowledge of it now remains only wyth my trusted friends Clement Wollerton and John Ffreeman, the two signatories to ye present document. Be it knowne also therefore that ye secret covenant playced in ye hand of Richard Knutton is now made by me null and voide, although my testamentary disposition of ye golde jewels and all other articles whych I Bartholomew da Schorno, noble of Ferrara, Commendatore of the Order of San Stefano, have treasured shall remain as I have before written; that is to saye that should ye Knights of Saint Stephen not require funds ye golde is to become ye sole and absolute property of ye youngest childe of ye family of Clement Wollerton, of Stybbington, in ye Countie of Huntyngedon, but without any parte or portion to go to ye familie of Richard Knutton, ye last mentioned havyng wickedly and maliciously conspyred wyth ye wyfe of ye saide Robert Dafte to steale and take possession of ye treasure during our absence on ye seas.
AND THEREFORE be it known unto ye person who gains ye secret of thys cipher that I wyth mine owne hand have written thys my record for two purposes. In ye firste playce to make it plaine unto all men that it is my ardent desire to assist ye worke of ye release of Christians in slavery in Barberie, and secondlie to reveale unto ye one who deciphers my record ye place where ye golde wyll be found. Let hym rede and marke well.
FOURE MILES from Stamforde towne on ye great roade into Scotlande and to ye left hande, is Tyckencote Laund. Within thys woode have we buried ye treasure three arms-lengths deepe, and to recover it ye directions whych herewyth I give must be followed closely. Enter ye woode by ye path leading through ye fieldes at ye fourth mylestone from Stamford towne and passe ye lyne of six oakes always facing Empinghame church until ye Three Systers are found. Midway between ye three, at twenty-and-nyne foot-paces from ye south, have we planted an oak sapling and beneath it will be found hydden ye golde of ye Spanyards and ye jewels of ye Corsairs.
(Here followed the roughly-executed plan which consisted of three triangles at unequal distance from each other, and a crude sketch of the tree beneath which the gold was hidden. Across the sketch was an arrow, presumably showing the direction of the sunrise, and a second one with the word “Empinghame” written at its barb.)
LET HE WHO fyndeth thys my wealthe carrie out my written will, taking unto hymselfe one of the chests of monie as hys recompense. But should he not give up ye remainder in full unto ye last descendant of ye Wollertons of Stybbington my curse shall for ever reste upon hym. That what is herein written is true, we who alone knowe ye secret of ye saide treasure and have taken oure oathes to keepe it untyl the golde should be wanted by ye Knightes of Saint Stephen have hereunto sett oure hands and seale on ye daye and yere first above written.CLEMENT WOLLERTON.JOHN FFREEMAN.BARTHOLOMEW DA SCHORNO.
LET HE WHO fyndeth thys my wealthe carrie out my written will, taking unto hymselfe one of the chests of monie as hys recompense. But should he not give up ye remainder in full unto ye last descendant of ye Wollertons of Stybbington my curse shall for ever reste upon hym. That what is herein written is true, we who alone knowe ye secret of ye saide treasure and have taken oure oathes to keepe it untyl the golde should be wanted by ye Knightes of Saint Stephen have hereunto sett oure hands and seale on ye daye and yere first above written.
CLEMENT WOLLERTON.
JOHN FFREEMAN.
BARTHOLOMEW DA SCHORNO.
The spot to which the treasure had been secretly removed from that upstairs chamber in Caldecott Manor was now actually revealed to us! But we entertained a horrible suspicion that Bennett and his friends were equally in the possession of the secret. The suggestion that the document sold by the dead man Knutton contained a key to the cipher was, of course, now dismissed; but we were nevertheless filled with fear that the quartette might, by some means or other, have solved the problem, just as we had done.
Philip Reilly, although he had returned to his desk at the bank, had spent his spare time down at Hammersmith, and had watched the movements of the four men. He had once or twice told me that he believed some fresh move was being made, and he had also discovered that the fourth man, he who had charge of Dorothy on that fatal night at Kilburn—a short, dark-bearded, thick-set fellow known as Martin—was in reality a low-class solicitor named Martin Franklin, who rented a small back office in the Minories and appeared to have very few clients.
Staffurth agreed with me that we should lose no time in obeying the directions given in the document before us, therefore I drove into the city before the banks closed, and showed Philip the secret revealed. On reading it he became highly excited, as may be imagined, and, having obtained two days’ leave of absence from his manager, we went out and bought several useful implements, including a saw, three shovels, pickaxes, etc. Then, having sent them to King’s Cross cloak-room to await us, we drove home to Chelsea, where we informed Usher of the good news, and found him ready and anxious to render us assistance. Afterwards I went on to Dorothy and showed her the solution of the cipher. She seemed, however, apprehensive of some evil befalling me.
That night, having purchased an Ordnance map in Fleet Street, the three of us left London, travelling to the quiet, old-world town of Stamford, and putting up at that old-fashioned hostelry the Stamford Hotel. Perhaps you, my reader, know the quaint, sleepy old Lincolnshire town, with its Gothic architecture, its Elizabethan houses, its many church spires, and its noisy cobbles. Thirty years ago, before the railways came, it was a commercial centre and a busy, prosperous place; but nowadays its streets are deserted, its fine old churches seem to be tumbling to decay, and only on market days does the typically English town awaken from its lethargy. Very picturesque is its situation, lying behind the broad, fertile meadows of the Welland, with Burghley House—that magnificent palace immortalized by Tennyson—in its immediate vicinity.
It was not, however, to enjoy the pleasant peace of Stamford town that we had come there. We did not arrive until nearly ten o’clock at night, and were, of course, compelled to leave our implements at the railway station. To take them to the hotel might arouse suspicion. Therefore we ate our supper in the coffee-room—cold roast beef and ale—retired soon after, and arose early next day, after a night of sleepless impatience. In the privacy of Reilly’s room we decided upon a plan of action. With Usher I was to hire a trap and drive to Tickencote village, which, we learnt, was three miles away, past Casterton, on the Great North Road, and then dismiss the conveyance, while Reilly was to go to the station, obtain the tools, and follow us in a separate trap hired from the George. At Tickencote village we were to meet and go on together to the place indicated in the old Italian’s record.
Immediately after breakfast we parted company and Reilly went out, after which we ordered a dog-cart and drove along the straight, broad highway, with its quantity of telegraph lines at the side, the great road which runs from London to York. The autumn morning was fresh, even a trifle chilly, but the season was a late one, and the leaves had not yet fallen, although the frosts had already turned them to their bright red and golden tints. Beyond Great Casterton Church we crossed a bridge at the end of the village, and a square tower among the trees in the distance was pointed out by our driver as Tickencote Church. Arrived at the village, which was just off the high road, we entered the inn.
Over a glass of ale we learnt several things we wished to know, namely, that there was Tickencote Park and Tickencote Laund. The park commenced at the junction of the high road with the short road leading up to the village, while the Laund lay back from the road behind some fields nearly a mile farther on. I learnt this by chatting with the landlady about fox-hunting. There were always foxes in Tickencote Laund, she informed me, and hounds were sure to have sport whenever they drew it.
While there it suddenly occurred to me that if Philip arrived with a collection of tools our visit would at once arouse the curiosity of the villagers. Therefore I whispered to Usher and we left the place, eventually meeting our friend on the high road a quarter of a mile away. He handed out the tools from the trap, then, jumping down, told the man to return for him at four to Tickencote village.
In order not to attract any attention we walked on, leaving Reilly to carry the picks and shovels at a short distance behind. Even there we were not safe, for we knew not whether our enemies had secretly watched our departure from London. Dorothy was always impressing upon me her suspicion that the men kept continual observation on me, while Usher knew Bennett well enough to be certain that he would not give up the chance of a fortune without some desperate effort.
Nevertheless, keeping a watchful eye everywhere, we walked along the wide muddy high road, impatient to arrive at our goal, and eager to dig at the spot indicated by the roughly-drawn plan upon that faded parchment.
CHAPTER XXXIVOUR SEARCH AT TICKENCOTE AND ITS RESULTS
Presentlywe stood at an iron milestone which had, I suppose, replaced the old stone road-mark of Elizabethan days, and saw thereon the words—“Stamford, 4 miles.” Then, looking across to the left, we noticed a path leading across the stubble to a long, dark wood.
At the gate leading into the field we awaited Philip, and, there being nobody in the vicinity, he quickly joined us, and we all three sped along the path beside the high thorn-hedge until we came to the border of the wood. While on the road we saw, lying in a distant hollow, a church spire which, from our map, we supposed to be that of Empingham.
The path ran along the outskirts of the wood, but we soon found a moss-grown stile, and crossing it continued along a by-path which was evidently very seldom used, for it led into the heart of the dark trees, thick undergrowth, and bracken.
“Remember the six oaks in line,” Usher remarked, halting and looking round, for he was used to exploration in savage lands, and his keen eyes were everywhere.
We, however, failed to discover the trees indicated, and so ill-defined and overgrown was the path we traversed that we were very soon off it, wandering about without any landmark.
I pointed out that a line of oaks existing in Elizabeth’s time would most probably have decayed or been cut down long ago. Oak is a valuable wood in these days, and during recent years the woodman has played havoc with the fine old trees that once existed in our English parks and forests. Even great forests themselves have been cut down and the roots grubbed up within our own short recollections. In more than one spot there, indeed, we discovered marks of the woodman’s work—old stumps where the ivy was trying to hide their nakedness, and in two places we found a newly-felled beech awaiting the woodman’s drag.
The six oaks we at last discovered—or rather two of them, both too decayed to be worthy of the timber merchant’s attention. In line were four stumps, all utterly rotten and half overgrown with bindweed, moss, and ivy. Then, standing beside the last stump of the line, we saw something white in the gloom, and went forward to examine it, finding it to be a large piece of grey rock cropping up from the ground, almost covered with yellow lichen, tiny ferns growing in luxuriance in every crevice. Before us, at some distance away, gleamed two other rocks, one quite high, and the other only two feet out of the earth. There were three in all—the Three Sisters, we supposed.
“Twenty-nine paces from the south,” Reilly remarked.
“That’s the south, where you are standing, doctor!” Usher cried, for he had taken his bearing by the sun.
I began at once to walk forward in the direction of the two rocks before me and midway, counting the paces. There were big trees everywhere, for we were in the thickest part of the wood, therefore I could not walk in a straight line, and was compelled to judge the extra paces I took.
At last I reached the twenty-ninth, and it brought me to a stump of a giant tree that had been recently felled and carted away. Usher bent quickly to examine the wood, and declared it to be oak.
Was this the sapling planted by Bartholomew da Schorno to mark the spot where he and his two companions had buried the treasure?
Could the Spanish gold be concealed beneath those enormous roots? Was a fortune lying there hidden beneath our feet?
Excited as we all were, we did not act with any precipitation. My other two companions made measurements, each walking twenty-nine paces, and after some consultation both declared that I was correct. The stump was actually that of the oak planted by the Italian, and our next task was to remove it.
Even though the sun shone brightly, it was damp and gloomy within that lonely wood. The undergrowth and bracken were full of moisture, and already our clothes were wet through. We lost no time, however, in setting to work to dig out the enormous root beneath which we hoped to discover that of which we had so long been in search.
All three of us took off coats and waistcoats, and with our spades first dug a deep trench round the stump, and sawed through the main roots that ran deep into the ground in all directions, hoping by this to be able to remove the main portion of the wood bodily. To the uninitiated the “grubbing-up” of a tree root is a very difficult operation, and through the whole morning we worked without being able to move the big mass an inch. Having sawed off all the roots we could find we attached a rope to it and harnessed ourselves, all of us pulling our hardest. Yet it would not budge.
Of a sudden, while we sat upon the obstinate oak-root, perspiring and disappointed, a way out of the difficulty suggested itself to me. Why not dig down beside it and then drive a tunnel at right angles beneath?
I made the suggestion, and at once we commenced to suit the action to the word, first digging a big hole some eight feet deep and six across, and then driving at right angles beneath the root.
We had been at work over an hour, slowly excavating beneath the base of the root, when of a sudden my pick struck wood. My companions with their shovels quickly cleared away the earth, when there became disclosed to us a sodden, half rotten plank set up on end. The discovery showed that we had come upon something unusual, especially as the spade worked by Usher revealed a few moments later two other boards placed so closely in a line with the first that they seemed joined together.
Twenty minutes afterwards we found five thick planks, each half a foot wide, placed together in a straight line, as though it were the side of a square subterranean chamber that had been excavated and boarded up so as to prevent the earth from falling in.
All three of us were almost beside ourselves with impatience to break down that wooden barrier. I took the crowbar and inserted its curved end between two of the stout elm planks in an endeavour to break out one of them. The attempt was, however, futile.
Indeed, it took us another half-hour before we had sufficiently excavated the earth, top and bottom, to allow us to make a satisfactory attempt. At last, however, I again placed the crowbar beneath the blackened, sodden wood, and we all three jumped against it with all our might. It did not yield at first, but, working by slow degrees, we gradually loosened it, and then of a sudden the heavy bolts or fastenings within gave way with a loud crack and the plank was wrenched out, disclosing a dark cavity beyond.
Usher struck a match and held it within, but its feeble light revealed nothing. We wondered if, after all, someone had been before us, ages ago perhaps, for the chamber seemed hollow and empty.
Without loss of time we broke out three other planks from the side of the wooden wall, and then, lighting a candle, I stooped and entered the place, eager to ascertain the truth.
The moment I stepped within a loud cry involuntarily escaped my lips, for my gladdened eyes fell upon some dark objects which lay piled one upon the other in the centre of the small, close-smelling place.
I took the candle nearer, and saw that they were great, iron-bound chests—the chests which, according to the cipher record, were filled with gold!
In an instant my companions were at my side, eager and wild with excitement as myself. Each of them lit candles, and we examined the place together. It was not square but oblong, and we had entered at the end. All around were rough-hewn planks upon which were growing great fungi; the roof also being of stout oak planks and beams, one root of the great oak had grown through, twisted grotesquely, and entered the ground beneath, while the planks on the right side had been forced in by the tree’s growth. The place was not quite high enough to allow us to stand upright, yet it seemed far drier than the forest earth we had excavated outside. On examining the walls I found that the planks had been soaked in tar to protect them from the ravages of insects, and that after the place had been constructed the interior had been coated with pitch to render it as water-tight as possible.
In the centre, piled together, were the huge locked chests and sacks of leather secured with big leaden seals, almost like that seal on the Italian document I found on board theSeahorse.
To say that we danced for joy would perhaps describe our feelings in those moments. Fortune was mine at last! Even if the heir to the treasure were found one chestful of gold was mine by right. I bent, and by aid of my candle examined the device on the leaden seals, finding it to be the familiar leopard rampant, the arms of the noble house of Da Schorno.
Eager to examine the true nature of our find, we all three of us, by dint of much exertion, managed to move one of the iron-clamped chests from the others and place it on the ground. Then we set about breaking off the lid, a difficult matter, for although the iron was rusty those locked bolts were formidable.
At length, however, we successfully accomplished it, and, raising the lid, there was disclosed to our dazzled vision a marvellous and miscellaneous collection of gold and jewels. Indeed, it was filled to the brim with almost every conceivable article of jewellery, containing nearly every gem known to the lapidary. Sight of it drew a chorus of admiration from our lips.
I took out a wonderful collar of magnificent pearls, bearing a splendid pendant set with a great blood-red ruby, the finest stone I had ever seen. Even there, in the faint light of the candles, the gem flashed crimson before our eyes, while the diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds lying heaped within the chest glittered and gleamed in the light as we held our candles over them.
Certainly, if every chest—and there were eleven of them in all, beside eight hide bags—were filled with such things, the value of the treasure was immense. In our excitement we all three of us plunged our hands in among the jewels, but Reilly withdrew his quickly, for he received a sharp cut from some old bejewelled poignard or sword. Although half-stifled in that narrow place, we opened one of the old bags of tough, untanned leather, similar to that on board theSeahorse, and found it also full of splendid jewels. A second contained a number of wonderful jewelled sword-hilts, some of them marvels of old Spanish workmanship, while in a third were stored jewels roughly cut and set, evidently loot from the Moors of Barbary.
A second chest we also opened, and so full was it of golden coin that as we broke open the lid the doubloons fell and scattered about the floor. I took up a handful and looked at them by the uncertain light. They were Spanish all of them, mostly of the reigns of Ferdinand and Philip II.
The sight of so much wealth must, I think, have had a curious effect on us. We scarcely spoke to each other, but with eager fingers quickly examined the marvellous jewels and cast them aside, only reflecting upon their value.
When at last I found tongue and endeavoured to calm my wildly-beating heart, I spoke to my companions regarding the best manner in which to remove the chests and bags to some place of safety.
“It must be done in absolute secrecy,” I pointed out. “And we must lose no time in trying to discover the descendant of the Wollertons, otherwise the Government may seize the whole as treasure-trove.”
Reilly and Usher, who were agreed that to open those remaining chests and hide bags in that place was impossible, were engaged in replacing the treasure and closing up the lids securely.
“That’s so,” Reilly answered. “But we shall have a difficulty, I fear, in removing all this without any one knowing. We shall require a heavy waggon, in any case,” he added, recollecting the weight of those oak and iron chests even without their precious contents.
“Well,” I said, much gratified at our success; “we’ve found the treasure, at any rate.”
“And now, it seems, the difficulty will be to keep it,” laughed Reilly, holding up a glittering diamond collar and admiring it.
At that instant I chanced to turn towards the hole by which we had entered and saw, silhouetted against the grey light, the dark figure of a man.
Next instant the shadow had disappeared. Someone was spying upon us! If the secret leaked out, then we should, I knew too well, lose everything!
CHAPTER XXXVTHE SPY, AND WHAT HE TOLD US
Withouta second’s hesitation I drew the revolver I now habitually carried, and, dashing out through the hole, scrambled up to the surface after the intruder.
Scarcely had I gained my footing above when a shot was fired close to me, and a bullet whizzed past my head. I looked angrily around, but could see no one. The man had taken refuge behind one of the trees, while I stood before him right in the open.
My companions, alarmed by my sudden rush and the report of the pistol, were next instant beside me, and Usher’s quick eyes in a few seconds distinguished a slight movement behind a bush a few yards away. He rushed forward, regardless of consequences, and then I recognized in the intruder the man Martin Franklin. Seeing that we were all armed he held up his hands, and from that action we supposed that he was alone, and that he had fired at me in order to effect his escape.
We quickly closed round him, indignantly demanding his object in spying upon us, but he only laughed and responded insolently. He was a man of about forty, dressed in rough grey tweeds and gaiters, in order, I suppose, to pass as a countryman.
Philip Reilly was furious. He had sprung upon the fellow and with a quick turn of the wrist had wrenched the weapon from his hand.
“I know you!” he shouted. “You are Martin Franklin, the man who was present on the night of the murder at Kilburn! You’ll perhaps recollect that incident—eh?”
The man’s face, in an instant, went pale as death.
“I—I don’t know what you mean, sir!” he answered, with a vain effort to add indignation to his words.
“Well, perhaps you will when I’m called as witness against you and your three companions Bennett, Purvis, and Harding,” he answered meaningly. “Where are they now?”
“In London,” was the fellow’s unwilling response.
Suddenly a brilliant idea occurred to me, and in a loud, threatening voice I said —
“Now, look here, Mr. Franklin. We may as well speak plainly to you, as this is no time for beating about the bush. We know sufficient about you and your scoundrelly companions to give you into the custody of the first policeman we meet. Understand that.”
The fellow was a coward, we could see. Mention of the tragedy at Kilburn had sapped his courage utterly, and he now stood before us white, terror-stricken, glancing wildly around for means of escape. We were, however, three to one, and he saw how he had fallen as into a trap.
“I fired the shot in order to alarm you,” he faltered, addressing me. “I had no intention of harming you.”
“But you will recollect who took Miss Dorothy Drummond to that house at Kilburn, and who forced her to touch the dead man’s face,” Reilly interposed.
He made no response, for he saw that the secret of the murder was out.
A few minutes later, however, when he had had time for reflection, I spoke my mind further, saying —
“Now, Mr. Franklin, tell us the truth. You and your friends meant to possess yourselves of the chests we have just discovered, did you not?”
“We certainly did,” was his prompt response. Then, after a short pause, he added: “I think, doctor, if you will reflect, you’ll see that even you and I have certain interests in common.”
“How?” I inquired.
“It is to your interest to preserve the secret of your find, eh? I heard you say so down there ten minutes ago.”
“Well, I suppose it is!”
“It is also of the highest importance to you to discover the heir of Clement Wollerton?”
“Certainly.”
“Well, then, I think I can assist you in both,” he answered. “I am not a murderer, as you believe, although I confess to having assisted the others in their ingenious conspiracy. I know quite well that sooner or later they must fall into the hands of the police; nevertheless, if you will allow me freedom to escape and promise to take no steps against me, I will, on my part, give you a pledge of secrecy regarding your discovery of the treasure, and will also warn you of the plot against your life.”
“Against my life!” I echoed. “What plot?”
“If you agree to my suggestion I will tell you,” answered the black-bearded coward, who, brought to bay, was now ready to betray his friends.
I turned to Usher and Reilly, both of whom were of opinion that, secrecy being necessary, we should make the compact Franklin suggested.
Therefore the fellow took a solemn oath, and there in the dim light beneath those big forest trees, a few yards from where the treasure lay in its cunningly-constructed subterranean chamber, he related to us a very strange story, which we afterwards discovered was the actual truth.
“I am a solicitor, as you perhaps know,” he began. “One day there came to my office in the Minories a sailor named Henry Harding whom I had met some three years before, and who was, I knew, a man of considerable intelligence and education. He had just come home from a round voyage in the Mediterranean, and showed me the translations of certain curious documents which had been found on board a derelict. I recognized that the treasure referred to might still exist, but that to undertake the search we should require the assistance of at least two other adventurous spirits like ourselves. Harding said he knew two men of just the stamp we required, and a couple of days later brought to my office Bennett and Purvis, the first-named a retired sea-captain and the second a bookmaker. All three were eager to set to work at once, therefore after a long consultation we decided upon a plan of action. Purvis was sent down to Caldecott to make inquiries, and, finding a man named Knutton still living there, purchased from him a parchment that had been in his family for generations. Then, recognizing that if the treasure were actually found it would be useless to us unless we knew the rightful heir as stated in the old Italian noble’s will, I at once advertised for information regarding the Wollertons. Within a fortnight I received a reply from a small country solicitor, and we were very soon in communication with the heir to the property, although, of course, we preserved the secret among ourselves.”
“Do you know the identity of the heir at the present moment?” I cried excitedly, for such information was of greatest importance to us, to prevent the Government claiming our find as treasure-trove.
“Yes,” he answered, having grown calmer; “I will tell you everything in due course. Well, having secured the document of the Knuttons, we found it to be in cipher. Whereupon Harding recollected that in a vellum book which you took from theSeahorsewas a cipher and key which he had not had time to copy. We were closely watching you, one or other of us, and knew all your movements; hence we were aware that the book in question was in the hands of Mr. Staffurth, the palæographist. There seemed only one way to get possession of the book—namely, to steal it; therefore we employed a man known to Bennett, and the house at Clapham was burglariously entered, but the book was found to be locked in a safe which resisted all attempts upon it. One of the parchments—the one with the seven signatures—was, however, stolen.”
“And found to be useless,” I remarked laughing.
“Yes,” he admitted. “But before long, after we had contrived to examine your own rooms, we saw by your movements that you had become aware that we were trying to forestall you, and that the fight for a fortune would be a hard one. Knowing this, Bennett and Purvis conceived the idea of entrapping you in a house which they took at Blackheath and—well, to put it very plainly—doing away with you. For that purpose the girl Dorothy Drummond was sent one night to the surgery at Walworth with a message regarding the illness of a fictitious brother. She knew nothing of the evil intentions of the men, but, as she afterwards confessed to me, a sudden thought occurred to her while in the cab with you, and she refused to allow you to accompany her back to the house.”
“Ah!” I ejaculated. “She has told me that already.”
“What?” cried the man in surprise. “Has she told you anything else?—I mean the story of the affair at Kilburn?”
“She has told me nothing of that,” I answered. “I wish to hear it from you according to your promise.”
“Ah, doctor,” he went on, apparently much relieved by my reassuring words. “You had a narrow escape that night. She saved your life, although the thought that foul play was intended only came to her suddenly—one of those strange intuitions which sometimes come to us in moments of greatest danger. Beware of those men, for there is yet another plot against you. To-morrow, when you return to London, you will receive a telegram purporting to come from Miss Drummond. Recollect that if you keep the appointment it will mean death to you, just as it did to the unfortunate young fellow at Kilburn.”
“Tell me all about that. What connexion had Dorothy Drummond with that affair?”
“Let me relate the incidents to you in their proper sequence,” he urged. “Our suspicion was identical with yours, namely, that the treasure was secreted somewhere in the Manor House at Caldecott. You, however, forestalled us in buying out the tenant and obtaining possession of the house. We watched you living there day after day and working with Mr. Reilly and Captain Seal, fearing always lest you should make the discovery. If you had, then it was our intention to either raid the house during your absence and carry away all we could, or, failing that, to give information to the Treasury by which the Government would seize the whole. You see you had no idea of the whereabouts of the heir, and would, in that case, only be awarded a small sum for the discovery.”
“A nice revenge! It bears the mark of Black Bennett,” observed Usher.
“We had to make use of the secret passage from Bringhurst in order to enter the house, which we often did while you were absent at meals. Yet even then you got the better of us when you closed us down in the tunnel early one morning, and Purvis stumbling into the open well was nearly drowned. Then, having found nothing at the Manor, Harding turned his attention to searching at the Record Office to ascertain whether any other documents were preserved there. He found one, but it was in cipher, and utterly unintelligible. Therefore we kept a watchful eye on you, and when you came down here I was dispatched to follow you and note your movements.”
“But the murder at Kilburn—how was that accomplished, and for what reason?”
“Listen, and I will tell you,” the man responded. His tongue once loosened, he concealed nothing. His only object now seemed to save himself by the sacrifice of his friends. He quite realized that the game was up, and when, later, I gave him a few pearls from one of the chests that he might sell them and escape from the country in view of the coming revelations, he seemed to be perfectly satisfied. The fact that he was an arrant scoundrel could not be disguised, for he did not remain loyal to his friends in one single instance.
He paused for a few moments, as though hesitating to tell us the whole truth, but at last, with sudden resolution, he said: “When I advertised for information concerning the Wollertons I received several replies, all of which I investigated, but found the claims faulty—all save one. This latter came from a solicitor named Burrell, in Oundle, Northamptonshire, who, in confidence, wrote telling me that he could give information if paid for it.
“I therefore went to Oundle and had an interview with him. Twenty pounds was the sum agreed upon, and when I had paid it he produced some old papers which were in his dead father’s handwriting, and then told me a curious story—which, later, I found borne out by the records in question. What he related was briefly this: In the year 1870 Charles Wollerton—who held documentary proof that he was the lineal descendant of Clement Wollerton who commanded one of the ships of Sir Francis Drake’s fleet—was living at Weybourne, near Sheringham, in Norfolk, but, having been associated with two other men in a gigantic forgery of Turkish bonds, was convicted and sent to penal servitude. He left a wife and two children, a girl and a boy, the first aged two and the other only nine months old.
“Mrs. Wollerton, always a weakly woman, died of a broken heart three months after her husband’s conviction, but before her death she had consulted Burrell, her lawyer at Oundle, regarding the bringing up of her children, expressing a wish that they should never know their proper name, fearing, of course, that the stigma as children of a convict should rest upon them. Wollerton is not a common name, and the case had excited great attention throughout the country. Therefore, on Mrs. Wollerton’s decease the children, being left in the solicitor’s hands, were put out to nurse, the girl being sent to a woman named Stanion, at Deenethorpe, a village about twenty miles away, while the boy was sent to Sutton Bridge, in the fen country. There was a very small estate left from the wreck of Wollerton’s fortune, and out of this the people were paid for keeping the children.”
“Why!” I cried, the name of Stanion recalling to my memory what old Ben Knutton had told me. “Then Dorothy Drummond is actually Miss Wollerton!”
“That is so—and, furthermore, she is the youngest descendant of Clement Wollerton, and therefore heiress to the treasure!”
“Well, I’m hanged!” gasped Philip Reilly bluntly. “But is this really true, or are you only humbugging?”
“True, every word of it,” was the quick reply. “In the office of Mr. George Burrell, of Oundle, you will find the documents which prove everything I’ve said. Among them is Charles Wollerton’s genealogical tree, properly attested, besides other family papers which will be accepted as absolute proof.”
“But the boy?” I asked. “What of him?”
“Ah! About the boy there was an element of romance,” was Franklin’s response. “It’s a curious story—very curious.”