Sir George Gavin, Baronet, posed to the world as a literary man, though he had risen from the humble trade of a compositor to become owner of a number of popular newspapers. He knew nothing about literature and cared less. He left all such matters to the editors and writers whom he paid--clever men who earned for him the magnificent income which he now enjoyed. Upon the cover of one of his periodicals it was stated that he was editor. But as a matter of fact he hardly ever saw the magazine in question, except perhaps upon the railway bookstalls. His sole thought was the handsome return its publication produced. And, like so many other men in our England to-day, he had simply "paid up" and received his baronetcy among the Birthday honours, just as he had received his membership of the Carlton.
Diamond had not long to wait, for in a few moments the door opened, and there entered a smart-looking, dark-haired young man in a blue serge suit.
"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 been progressing during my absence--eh?" he laughed.
Frank Farquhar, Lady Gavin's younger brother, occupied an important position in the journalistic concern of which Sir George was the head.
He was recognised by journalistic London as one of its smartest young men. His career at Oxford had been exceptionally brilliant, and he had already distinguished himself as special correspondent in the Boer and Russo-Japanese campaigns before Sir George Gavin had invited him to join his staff.
Tall, lithe, well set-up, with a dark, rather acquiline face, a small dark 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, and Farquhar, having offered his visitor a cigar, settled himself to listen to 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 any financial assistance," he laughed. "Not at all. I want to put before you a matter which is unheard of, and which I am certain will astound even you--a journalist."
"Well, Doc," remarked the young man with a smile, "it takes a lot to surprise 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, and 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 in reality in order to conceal the strange expression which at that, moment overspread his countenance.
Then, a few seconds later, he returned to his chair apparently quite unmoved and unconcerned. Truth to tell, however, the statement made by the dwarfed and deformed man before him had caused him to tighten his lips and hold his breath.
Was it possible that he held certain secret knowledge of which the Doctor 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 fixed intention that the dead man's secret--the most remarkable secret of the age--should be his, and his alone!
CHAPTER FIVE.
SPREADS THE NET.
The deformed man existed in a whirl of excitement. He already felt himself rich beyond his wildest dreams. He built castles in the air like a child, and smiled contentedly when rich people--some of the hunting crowd--passed him by unrecognised.
During the three days that followed, Frank Farquhar held several consultations with him--long earnest talks sometimes at the Manor or else while walking across that heath-land around the district known to the 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 man of business and determined to put his knowledge to the best advantage, had already exchanged several telegrams with some person in London, and was 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 with satisfaction. He crushed it into his pocket and, seizing his hat, walked along to the Doctor's cottage. Then the pair took a slow stroll up the short, steep hill on to the Peterborough road, through the damp mists of the winter's morning. Away across the meadows on the left, hounds were in full cry, a pretty sight, but neither noticed the incident.
"Do you know, Doctor," exclaimed the young man as soon as they got beyond 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 great Hebrew scholar we shall never get down to the truth. The whole basis of the secret is the Hebrew language, without a doubt. What can we do alone--you and I?"
The little Doctor shook his head dubiously.
"I admit that neither of us is sufficiently well versed in Jewish history properly to understand the references which are given in the fragments 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 giving away what is evidently a most valuable secret?"
"No. I hardly think that," answered the shrewd young man. "Before putting it to any scholar we should first make terms with him, so that he 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 Frank Farquhar, with a glance of cunning. "If we proposed to deal with City sharks, it would be quite a different matter."
"Then to whom do you propose we should submit the documents for expert opinion?" 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 treat the whole matter in strictest confidence," was the other's reply. "We can 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 a desire to obtain his precious fragments and submit them to an expert.
Most deformed men are gifted with unusually shrewd intelligence, and Raymond Diamond was certainly no exception. He smiled within himself at Frank Farquhar's artless proposal.
"Who is the man?" he asked, as though half-inclined to adopt the suggestion.
"I know two men. One is named Segal--a professor who writes for our papers; an exceedingly clever chap, who'd be certain to make out something more from the puzzle than we ever can hope to do. I also know Professor 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 interested with myself, Mr Farquhar, in whatever profits may accrue from the affair."
"Then if our interests are to be mutual, Doctor, why not entrust the further investigation to me?" suggested the wily young man. "I hope you know 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, you possess facilities for investigating the affair which I do not. If what I suspect be true, we have, in our hands, the solution of a problem which will startle the world. I have sought your assistance, and I'm prepared to give you--well, shall we say fifteen per cent, interest on whatever the secret may realise?"
"It may, after all, be only historical knowledge," laughed young Farquhar. "How can you reduce that into `the best and brightest?'
Still, I accept. Fifteen per cent is to be my share of whatever profit may accrue. Good! I only wish Sir George were home from Egypt. He would, no doubt, give us assistance."
The Doctor purposely disregarded this last remark. He held more than a suspicion 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 sure that if I put the problem before him he'll be able, before long, to give us some tangible solution," was Frank's reply. "When I act, I act promptly, you know."
The Doctor was undecided. He knew quite well that young Farquhar was acquainted with all sorts of writers and scholars, and that possibly among them were men who were experts in Hebrew, and in the history of the House of Israel.
He reflected. If the young man were content with fifteen per cent, what had he further to fear?
Therefore, after some further persuasion on Frank's part, he promised to write out an agreement upon a fifteen per cent, basis, and submit the fragments to the young man's friend.
They returned to the village, and the Doctor promised to call upon him at noon with an agreement written out.
This he did, and in the library at the Manor Frank appended his signature, receiving in return the precious fragments carefully preserved between the two pieces of cardboard.
When the deformed man had left, Frank Farquhar lit a cigarette, and stretching his legs as he sat in the armchair, laughed aloud in triumph.