The Closed Book: Concerning the Secret of the Borgias

Chapter Twenty Four
Forestalled

Walter went out again, and returned after an absence of about three-quarters of an hour. They had telegraphed to Peterborough, he said, but of the nature of the message he knew nothing. After he had left me it appeared that he watched the pair ascend the curious old triangular bridge which now stands in the centre of the village at the juncture of crossroads, and once, no doubt, spanned two narrow rivers long since dried up. On the top of this old Saxon bridge, approached by three flights of much-worn steps, Lord Glenelg and the hunchback halted, and stood gazing around. Then again Graniani drew another plan from his pocket, took bearings of the northern angle of the one remaining tower of the abbey, and, his compass in hand, pointed away to a comfortable old-fashioned stone house in East Street, between the abbey and bridge, the brass plate on which showed it to be occupied by a Mr Wyche, a solicitor.

Openly, and watched by the idlers at the bridge, the lounging place of the villagers, they made a measurement to the corner of the house in question, going over the ground twice in order to make no miscalculation, Walter watching them from the bar window of a small beer-house. The villagers evidently supposed the pair to be surveyors, and took but little notice; nevertheless Wyman kept careful observation upon their every movement.

“What they intend doing at the corner of that house in East Street I can’t for the life of me imagine. They made a small mark in charcoal on the wall about two feet from the ground; then again returning to the top of the bridge and referring to the plan, took their bearings a second time and marked a spot right out of the village to the north-east of the abbey, in the centre of the field about ten yards behind the old windmill.”

“And then?” I asked, much interested.

“Then, having done this, they went to the telegraph office and wired to someone in Peterborough – afterwards returning to the ‘White Hart,’ and engaging beds for the night, saying that they had decided not to return until the morrow.”

“Why, surely they intend to make a search for the treasure?” I gasped.

“Without doubt,” was his reply. “My theory is that they’ve telegraphed to some of their friends who are awaiting them in Peterborough, and that they mean to make a secret search tonight when all the villagers have gone to sleep and everything is quiet.”

When dusk fell we again called upon the rector, explained how we had discovered the presence of our rivals and their intentions, and arranged to return to him at ten o’clock. The feature of the case that aroused the rector’s indignation – and most justly, too – was the intention of the others to search without permission. To me, their mode of facing matters boldly showed that they were in possession of positive information, and relied upon securing the treasure and getting away before anyone knew of their intentions.

When Walter once took up an inquiry, or set out upon a journey, he never rested until his object was accomplished. He was one of those men who seem continually active, and unable to rest in idleness for ten consecutive minutes, and, happy possessor of such a fine physique, was never tired. We watched the pair away from the “White Hart” again, for they were both smoking and wandering about, apparently enjoying the rural quiet, but in reality awaiting darkness. Then, when they had gone away – in the direction of the old South Eau, we learned – we both lounged into their inn, and called for ale, and chatted with the rosy-cheeked servant who brought it. A judicious sixpence released her tongue, and by careful questions we soon learned all we wished about the two guests. They were staying till morning, but did not expect any visitors. One, the tall gentleman, was a doctor, and might be recalled; therefore their coachman from Peterborough, who would remain there also, might be called up during the night, and they would be compelled to leave. His lordship had recourse to a clever fiction then. He was a doctor who might be called in the middle of the night! I suppose it never occurred to the rustic mind that, if a doctor, his practice was not in Crowland, and therefore he was scarcely likely to receive an urgent call.

The other man, she told us, was a foreigner. They had brought a bag full of papers and plans, but kept it locked. Both took a great interest in old ruins, and for that reason they had taken some measurements.

One fact she forgot she remarked before going out. The tall gentleman had said that a young lady might arrive during the evening and inquire for him. If she did, she was to be asked to wait.

A young lady! Was it possible that Judith was about to follow her father there?

As ten o’clock chimed from the abbey bells we took our candles, and, wishing the worthy landlord good-night, went to our rooms and there waited until all was still. Crowlanders retire early to bed, and presumably the policeman, like all others, has to meet another guardian of the peace, perhaps, at the end of that long, straight old road called Kennulph’s Drove, that runs towards Peterborough, for we saw nothing of him when we carefully crept down, drew the bolts, unlocked the door, and, closing it noiselessly after us, made our way to the rectory.

Mr Mason, ready attired in hat and overcoat, opened his door noiselessly ere we had approached it, and we slipped into his study to tell him all that we had witnessed. Then, feeling that we ought to go forth at once and take up our position to watch, we all went out, skirting the churchyard and passing down behind the high hawthorn hedge which formed the boundary of the field wherein were traces of the fish ponds.

The night was dark and starless, with that oppressive stillness that foretokened a storm. Behind us lay the black ruins of the abbey, rearing high and gloomy; and as we passed along, led by the rector, who knew every nook and corner, a silence fell upon us.

The rector’s object was to approach the spot marked with the paper and stone as near as possible, yet having good cover to conceal us. In this he was eminently successful; for, having traversed the field on two sides, he suddenly suggested that we should crouch down in a low hedge only thirty yards from the scene of operations.

We conversed together in low, expectant whispers for almost an hour, until, indeed, the rector began to fear that our vigilance was in vain, when of a sudden we heard on the hard road far distant the sound of wheels approaching, on the road skirting the village on the Welland side, Mr Mason declared.

They approached until they had gained the point where we ourselves had left the road, then stopped. The vehicle bore no lights, but from where we lay concealed we heard men’s voices in greeting, as though his lordship and the hunchback had met them there by appointment, and then we heard the jingle of spades and the clatter of iron as some implements were apparently taken from the cart.

Without loss of time the party approached us; and a lantern being turned on by one of them, search was made for the piece of paper held down by the stone. This was quickly found, whereupon more lights were turned upon the spot, and then we saw that the treasure seekers numbered four; two of them were newcomers, apparently well equipped for the undertaking.

So close were we that we could overhear nearly all their conversation, for in that still night all sound travelled a great distance. But their words were few. Lord Glenelg assumed direction of the work, and before long the whole four, his lordship included, were busy with pick and spade, making a large square excavation. Their lamps showed an excellent light upon the work, and were additionally useful to us, for we lay back in the dark shadow, impossible of discovery.

Suddenly, as one of the men bent down to examine the ground, the light fell upon his big, clean-shaven countenance, Walter gripped my arm, whispering “See! That’s the fellow Selby! Can you see his face? He’s the man who probably holds the missing page of The Closed Book.”

I looked, and obtained a fairly good sight of his dark, sinister-looking visage – a hard, clean-shaven, furrowed face that had the miscreant stamped upon it. He seemed to be wearing a rough suit of dark serge, with a soft felt hat, which he had pushed to the back of his head. Seen under such auspices by the uncertain light of the lamp, he was not the kind of man one would care to associate with: loosely built, gross in manner, and deep of voice.

I watched him narrowly for a few moments, but he soon continued digging with the others, and when he stood upright his face was not within the zone of light. All worked with a will, knowing, of course, that the undertaking must be finished before the dawn, and from all four the perspiration soon poured, and their quick, deep breaths reached us even where we crouched, content within ourselves that their labour must be in vain.

Through nearly two hours they toiled on, removing the earth around a line of huge stones which appeared to be the foundations of one or other of the monastic buildings long since swept away. Time after time the abbey chimes sent out their solemn music far over the wide, misty fenlands; but with pick and spade and crowbar they slaved away in their efforts to recover the gold and jewels, the great treasure of what was one of the wealthiest abbeys in England.

The hole they had made was so deep that two of the conspirators were down working out of our sight. The other two were Selby and the hunchback.

Suddenly, above the sharp ring of the picks, we heard a heavy thud, and then another.

“Look?” broke from Selby excitedly. “At last! Here’s the first of the chests – bound with iron. Hark!”

And again he struck it heavily with his pick, while his companions were around him instantly, dropping on their knees and examining the find.

“That’s one of them, without a doubt!” cried Lord Glenelg, as excited as any of the others. “Come! Let’s get it out. How very fortunate that we fixed the exact spot!”

The hearts of all three of us sank within us. How unfortunate for us, after all, that Walter had moved their paper-mark from its original position!

Chapter Twenty Five
What the Buried Chest Contained

From our hiding-place in the bushes we all three watched intently, wondering what was the nature of their find.

That they had discovered something of interest seemed certain, but from our position we could not see its nature. The whole four were in the deep hole, working eagerly and digging around what was apparently a strong chest buried in the earth.

The moments seemed hours, until at last, with loud gasps, they drew the object to the surface, and their lamps revealed it to be an old chest about five feet long, narrow, and looking in that uncertain light very much like a coffin. But it was, we saw, strongly protected by great bands of iron bolted upon it, and locked by three ancient locks along one side.

“By Jove!” we heard Selby cry excitedly, “it’s heavy, isn’t it? Let’s get these locks off,” and, taking aim, he struck at one with his crowbar, using all his might. But the stout iron resisted all his efforts, although he repeated them from time to time.

Then the four turned their immediate attention to the locks, carefully examining them by the aid of their lamps.

“They’re still very strong,” we heard his lordship say. “The only way will be to file the hasps, and then force them.”

Thereupon two files were produced from the tool-bag, and Graniani and Selby set to work upon the hasps, while the other two stood by impatiently.

The work was more difficult than they anticipated; but at last the whole of the three fastenings were wrenched off, and, with a cry of expectation, Lord Glenelg raised the lid, and, holding his lantern above his head, peered within.

His companions, in their haste to investigate the contents of the chest, bent and delved with their hands; but their exclamations were those of bitter disappointment, for instead of gold chalices and silver cups, they withdrew only a quantity of damp and bulky leather-bound volumes, evidently ancient religious manuscripts which had formed part of the treasure of the old abbey at the time of its dissolution. Perhaps, indeed, they had been hidden for some reason long before those fateful days of Southwell’s visit, for the monk Godfrey did not mention them in his detailed list of secreted treasure.

The disappointment of the investigators was very great. Above the low chatter we could hear the old hunchback grumbling to himself in Italian, while Selby expressed his dissatisfaction pretty strongly in English, declaring that they were not in search of old books, but something of more intrinsic value.

“These are evidently a rare find,” remarked his lordship, opening several of the big musty volumes and glancing at them. “But the damp, unfortunately, seems to have spoilt most of the miniatures.”

“The finding of that box makes one thing plain,” Walter whispered to me. “The abbot would never have buried a box of manuscripts in water, therefore this discovery shows that the treasure itself does not lie concealed in the same spot. Let them go on, for they must fail. In a couple of hours it will be five o’clock, and the village people will be astir. They dare not work very much longer, and they certainly will not attempt to come here again.”

“But those books,” I said, with the envy of a keen collector; “are they to secure them? They may, perhaps, contain something of interest to us.”

“I think not,” my friend responded. “Let them take the lot. We are playing for bigger stakes.”

“Quite right, Captain Wyman,” added the rector. “They must not discover us at this point.”

After a cursory glance at the big volumes, some of them fastened with heavy bronze clasps, like The Closed Book itself, they ascertained that there was nothing else in the chest, and then three of them returned to their work of excavation, while his lordship commenced to carry the books, in small piles, across the field to the high road where the horse was tied up.

I confess that I would have liked to jump up and secure one of those fine old tomes. I was only restrained by my friends, who were determined, as a matter of policy, to let him cart them away, Mr Mason declaring that in due course he should claim their return, as an outrageous theft had been committed.

Lord Glenelg had made several journeys, backwards and forwards across the fields, when, just as he returned, a stir among the treasure seekers showed us that they had made another discovery, which, a few minutes later, we saw was a fine image of the Virgin, about four feet in height, dark and covered with the clay in which it had been embedded.

As it lay there upon the grass they placed their lanterns beside it, and with their pocket-knives scraped away the clay until it shone bright beneath.

“There was a celebrated image of Our Lady, in silver, here,” remarked Selby, as he scraped diligently. “Perhaps this is it.”

A few seconds later the thick-set man who was assisting, and who was a stranger to me, cried:

“It certainly isn’t silver. Look! It’s only one of those gilded wood things.”

And again there arose a chorus of dissatisfaction and disappointment.

The statue was evidently a very antique one; but so well had it been preserved in the clay that the gilt still flashed upon it where they had scraped away the dirt, and in the early grey of dawn that was now spreading we could just distinguish the bright silver stars upon the blue robes.

Again they all returned to their work with pick, spade, and “grubbers,” toiling on in the hole they had made, their heads only being visible above the surface, until the abbey bells chimed out, and then solemnly struck five o’clock.

Day had broken, and the warning notes of the bell caused his lordship to order a cessation of the labour. All four regarded the surface and looked with regret upon their rather fruitless efforts, well knowing that the damage they had done would, in an hour, be discovered, and that to continue their secret search of the spot would be entirely impossible.

“We can’t return; that’s very evident,” remarked Selby. “The village constable will be put on to watch, I expect. Therefore, we shall have to wait a month or so before we come back.”

“Couldn’t we perhaps square the constable?” the fourth man suggested.

“I doubt it. These country policemen are so much more straight than the men in town. As like as not, they’d split upon you, so as to get their promotion. You see, the work we’ve done tonight is a bit ugly, for a magistrate would probably call it stealing.”

“Rubbish!” snapped his lordship. “Don’t stay gossiping here. Let’s pack up and get away. There are a lot of labourers already on the move. Don’t you see the smoke from the cottage chimneys over there? We shall have someone across this footpath to the fields in a minute if we don’t get clear away.”

Scarcely, indeed, had he finished speaking when the dark figure of a man, with a fork over his shoulder, whistling to himself on his way to work, appeared at the stile at the opposite corner of the field, and took the footpath in their direction.

They noticed him, and, hastily snatching up their picks and spades and other tools, all four made off in the direction where the cart stood, and, ascending into it, drove rapidly off down the long highway across the fen, in the mists of which they were quickly lost to sight.

As soon as they had gone we emerged from the spot where we had remained cramped for so long, and rushed to the big hole they had made.

My first investigation was the old chest, and in it I discovered several manuscripts which his lordship, not having finished transferring them to the cart, had been compelled, in his haste, to leave. Of these we took possession, and the labourer, on passing, discovered the hole with considerable surprise, especially on recognising Mr Mason.

In reply to the man’s inquiry we told him that thieves had been trying to discover something hidden and had found some old books, for we wished the whole village to know of the secret attempt that had been made, in order that the people should keep a watchful eye upon the abbey precincts for further depredators.

Presently, when the man went on to his work, and it had grown lighter, we were able to see the extent of their investigations, which was certainly far greater than we imagined; while Walter, after making some measurements, showed us the spot which they had at first marked out, and from which he had removed their landmark.

The chest and books were, of course, the property of the abbey, so we carried them to the small room in the restored portion of the fabric that the rector kept as a kind of museum, and there investigated them.

They were of little interest, all being works of theological writers, copied in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, save one (Cambridge University Library MSS., Dd. XI. 78, ff. 61, 92.), a small quarto manuscript, beautifully illustrated, written by William, a monk in Ramsey Abbey, in Huntingdonshire, in 1191, which commenced “Incipit Vita beati Guthlaci metrice composita,” a poem on the life of St. Guthlac, dedicated to Henry de Longo Campo, the contemporary Abbot of Crowland.

It was Mr Mason’s opinion, as well as my own, that the chest had been buried there fully a century before the dissolution, at some time when the abbey feared attack, and the worthy rector was already eager to demand of Lord Glenelg the return of the whole of the other volumes that had been surreptitiously carried away.

At present, however, it was agreed to make no sign. The manuscripts would, no doubt, be well preserved in his lordship’s collection, and there was no fear of their going astray.

Then, having completed our examination, we returned to the rectory, where we had hot coffee to warm us after our night vigil. Mr Mason promised to set a night watch upon the field until such time as we should deem it advisable to make our search; for I pointed out to him that a journey to Scotland was imperative, in order to forestall our friends if they attempted to make a search there, and that we should be unable to excavate the site of the monastery fish ponds until our return from Galloway.

As a matter of fact, we all felt, from the conversation we had overheard, that it was not their intention to return at present, as they had no wish to fall into the hands of the police.

“Well,” remarked Mr Mason, as we sat over our coffee in his study, “the whole affair is most mysterious and remarkable. Lord Glenelg evidently possesses certain information upon which he is working.”

“We hope that ours is equally precise,” I laughed. “That is why we intend to go north and take preliminary observations. We can only make our investigation at a certain hour on a certain day, the sixth of September.”

I was not more definite as I did not intend, at present, to give the secret away. In a hunt for treasure success depends to a very great extent upon strict secrecy. To arouse undue interest is always to be avoided. The Crowland treasure concerned the rector to a great degree, but the Borgia jewels would, if we discovered them, surely be our own.

At half-past seven we returned to “The George,” which had already been open an hour or so, and we went in as though we had returned from a morning walk. Neither servants nor landlord suspected anything until the villagers discovered the big hole near the abbey, and then, I believe, we were viewed with considerable suspicion. Indeed, I was much relieved when, at eleven o’clock, we drove out along Kennulph’s Way and through the village of Eye back to “The Angel,” at Peterborough.