The Closed Book: Concerning the Secret of the Borgias

“Well,” I said, “I wish to inquire one thing – namely, whether our friend the prior has any idea of what the Arnoldus contains?”

“No. He is entirely in ignorance of it. If he had, he certainly would never have been a party to this dastardly plot against you.”

“But what is the motive of this conspiracy?” I inquired, much puzzled.

“Your death,” she answered without hesitation. “Your enemies intend that you shall die.”

“Very charming of them,” I laughed, pretending not to take her words seriously. “But why, I wonder, are they so anxious for my decease?”

“Because you have gained their secret – you are believed to have read and understood what is contained in that newly discovered manuscript.”

“And if I have, I surely purchased the book at the price asked for it?”

“Ah! you see the prior had no right to sell it to you. A mistake was committed from the very first. How did you first know of its existence?”

“Through a dealer in antiques in Leghorn, named Francesco Graniani, an old hunchback.”

“I thought so!” she exclaimed. “I hear that he is in London. All this goes to show that you should be warned.”

“Of Graniani?”

“And of others also. I saw you with Lady Judith Gordon, and – if you will pardon me – you seemed attracted towards her.”

She spoke frankly and looked me steadily in the face with those great dark eyes of hers.

“And if I am?”

“I presume you have not been long acquainted with her?”

“Not very long.”

“Then, before you allow yourself to fall beneath her spell, as you seem to be doing, just make a few inquiries. It will not be difficult, and may be the means of saving you from dire misfortune – perhaps even saving your life.”

“How? I don’t understand.”

“Possibly not. I only ask you to heed my warning. I am not here to explain the motives of others.”

“But you can surely tell me why I should hold aloof from Lady Judith?” I demanded.

“No, I cannot,” she responded, speaking in broken English for the first time, and apparently forgetting herself in her excitement. “If you are not warned it is your own fault.”

“You say you know her,” I observed. “Where did you meet her?”

“In Italy – under strange circumstances.”

“With her father?”

“Yes,” she answered after a moment’s hesitation, and across her countenance there spread a strange look of mystery. “But we need not discuss that subject further,” she added, lapsing again into Italian, which she spoke with a Florentine accent. “I wish to ask your forgiveness for stealing your book. I can only urge leniency on the ground that I acted at the instigation and under compulsion of others.”

“I forgive you if you will tell me who instigated you to commit the theft,” I said.

“No, I cannot do that. I ask your forgiveness, and in order to atone for what I have done I came here to warn you of the great peril which threatens you. Beware of your association with Judith Gordon!”

“What?” I cried. “Do you mean to insinuate that she is my bitter enemy?”

“Beware of her is all I say.”

“And how do you suggest I should act?” I demanded, much surprised at this strange woman’s allegations against my love.

“You should again obtain possession of the Arnoldus. It may help you,” was her curious recommendation.

It was on the point of my tongue to say that it was already in my possession; but my natural caution again asserted itself. The woman was one whom I should deal with diplomatically in order to learn her motive.

“Perhaps you can tell me where it is?” I suggested.

“In the hands of an Englishman named Selby, who lives in that house in Harpur Street which you quitted this evening.”

Then she was evidently unaware that Selby had suffered its loss, and as far as I could judge she seemed dealing honestly with me. This fact puzzled me more than ever. Suddenly I recollected that mysterious sign in the window, and I asked her the meaning of the bear cub.

“Yes,” she answered with a sudden gravity that had not hitherto fallen upon her. “I saw it there today,” she added slowly. “It has a signification, as you suspect.”

“An evil one?”

“Yes, an evil one – stranger than you could ever guess.”

“Will you not tell me?”

But again she shook her head, and declared that a silence was imposed upon her regarding it, as upon other matters. She had merely sought me in order to warn me, an innocent and unsuspecting man, against falling into the cunningly prepared trap laid for me.

She was quite calm, determined, unemotional. Once or twice, as newcomers entered the dining-room, she betrayed fear of recognition, but beyond that seemed absolutely cool and unruffled.

From her I had gathered two facts – namely, that Graniani was somehow at the bottom of the whole of the strange affair, as I had all along suspected, and that the woman I had grown to love was carefully plotting my ruin. This I refused to believe, and frankly told her so.

She allowed me to go on without a word of contradiction. Her manner was that of a well-bred woman, about thirty I judged her to be, her gesture and speech betraying refinement, and her eyes large, expressive, and sparkling. Indeed, she was a woman who might attract any man, and I daresay I should have found myself lost in admiration had it not been for my passionate love for Judith.

“I have only told you the truth, Signor Kennedy,” she answered quietly in Italian. “I would, however, ask you to promise me to tell no one of our meeting. Remember that if you wish for advice in the future you have only to write to me poste restante at Charing Cross, and I shall duly receive your letter.”

The Charing Cross post office is the usual address of foreigners when travelling in England, therefore I knew not whether she suggested that place because of secrecy or convenience. She made no mention of Lord Glenelg or of his search after the treasure; and, thinking that discretion were best, I did not refer to it, for I intended to keep my own counsel even though her allegations and the fact that she had so boldly accosted me formed in themselves an additional mystery.

So we finished our meal, and after some further desultory conversation which showed that she, on her part, was somewhat disappointed at the manner in which I had treated her confidences, I gave her my club address, saw her into a cab, and then we parted.

Chapter Thirty

Humours of a House Party

In the calm, mystic sundown of the August evening, after nine hours in the express from Euston, I was driving with Wyman in Fred Fenwick’s Perth-cart up the side of Loch Ken, that long romantic stretch of water hemmed in by the high, heather-clad hills of Galloway. We were covering that seven miles of winding road that lies between New Galloway station and New Galloway burgh.

Southern Scotland surely possesses no wilder or more charming and picturesque district than the Glenkens, and here, in the heart of them, the drive was refreshing, for the air was keen after stifling London; and the many burns and cascades we passed fell with soft rippling music over the mossy, bracken-covered roadsides.