The Great God Gold

by William Le Queux

history of the language, sometimescalled the gold and silver ages, respectively, roughly separated by thereturn from the exile. To the former belong, without doubt, the olderstrata in the Hexateuch, and the greater prophets; to the latter, almostas indubitably, Chronicles, Ezra, Nehemiah, Ecclesiastes and Daniel, allof which use a considerable mixture of Aramaic of Persian words. Then,the great question for us is whether the ancient text of Ezekielpreserved in St Petersburg is an original, or a modernised version. Ifthe latter, much of the cipher, perhaps all, must have been destroyed!"

  "I quite follow your argument, my dear Diamond," Farquhar replied, "buthas not Holmboe established to his own satisfaction that the cipherstill exists in the manuscript in question? He has, therefore, provedit to be an exact copy of the original--if not the original itself."

  "Experts all agree that it cannot be the original," declared the Doctor."It is quite true that Holmboe alleges that the cipher exists, andgives quotations from it. Yet now that I have been reading deeply Ihave become a trifle sceptical. I'm anxious for Griffin to discover thekey number, and prove it for himself. Personally, I entertain somedoubt about the present text of Ezekiel being the actual text of theprophet."

  "That can only be proved by the test of the cipher," was Farquhar'sreply. "If you accept any part of the dead man's declaration, you mustsurely accept the whole."

  "I have all along accepted the whole--just as Griffin accepts it."

  "Then why entertain any doubt in this direction? The Professor hasnever mentioned it, which shows us that there is no need why we shouldquery it."

  "Yes, but may not the fact of the text having been modernised be thereason of Griffin's non-success in discovering the key number?"

  "Holmboe discovered it," remarked the other, "therefore, I see no reasonwhy Griffin--with Holmboe's statement before him and in addition thatscrap of manuscript which evidently relates to the key--should not beequally successful."

  "Ah!" sighed the ugly little man whose fidgety movements showed hisincreasing anxiety, "if we could but know what the old German wasdoing--or in what direction he is working."

  "He's not back at his own home. I received a telegram from our Leipzigcorrespondent only yesterday. His whereabouts is just as mysterious asthat of your friend Mullet. By the way--would he never tell you whowere the principals in this opposition to us?"

  "No, he has always steadily refused."

  "Some shady characters, perhaps--men whom he is compelled to shield,eh?"

  "I think so," answered the Doctor. "I wanted him to stand in with us,but he's a strange fellow, for though he promised to help me, he refusedto participate in any part of the profit."

  "Has some compunction in betraying his friends, evidently," laughedFrank. "I'm very anxious to meet him. He promised to call on Griffin,but has never done so."

  "He's been put on his guard, and cleared out, that's my candid opinion.`Red Mullet' is a splendid fellow, but a very slippery customer, as thepolice know too well. He's probably half-way across the world by thistime. He's a very rapid traveller. I've sometimes had letters from himfrom a dozen different cities in as many days."

  "To move rapidly is always incumbent upon the adventurer, if he is to besuccessful in eluding awkward inquiry. He never writes to the child, Isuppose?" Frank asked, as Aggie at that moment passed the window.

  "Oh, yes, very often. But he always encloses her letter to me. Henever gives his address to her, for fear, I suppose, that it should fallinto other hands. I wired to his rooms in Paris a week ago, but, asyet, have received no response. His rooms in London are closed. I wasup there on Thursday. Why he keeps them on when he's away for years ata time, I can never understand."

  "Probably sub-lets them, as so many fellows do," Farquhar suggested,"yet it's unfortunate we can't get into touch with him."

  "Miss Griffin is acquainted with him--I wonder if she knows hiswhereabouts?" remarked Diamond quite innocently.

  "She knows him!" Frank echoed in surprise. "Are you quite sure ofthat?"

  "Quite. She told me so."

  "How could she know a man who is admittedly an outsider?" asked Frank.

  "My dear Mr Farquhar," he laughed, "your modern girl makes manyundesirable acquaintances, especially a pretty go-ahead girl of MissGriffin's type."

  Frank bit his lip. This friendship of Gwen's with the man Mulletannoyed him. What could she possibly know of such a man? He resolvedto speak to her about it, and make inquiry into the circumstances oftheir acquaintance.

  He must warn her to have nothing to do with a man of such evilreputation, he thought. Little did he dream that this very man whom theworld denounced as an outsider had stood the girl's best and mostdevoted friend.

  He walked back along the village street to the Manor, and dressed fordinner, his mind full of dark forebodings.

  What would be the end? What could it be, except triumph for thoseenemies, the very names of whom were, with such tantalising persistency,withheld.

  Half an hour after he had left the Doctor's cottage the villagetelegraph-boy handed Aggie a message which she at once carried to herfoster-father.

  He tore it open, started, read it through several times, and then placedit carefully in the flames.

  Then he hurriedly put on his boots, overcoat and hat, and went forth,explaining to his wife that he was suddenly called on urgent business toLondon.

  That evening, just before ten o'clock, a short dark figure could havebeen seen slinking along by the railings of Berkeley Square, indistinctin the night mist, which, with the dusk, had settled over London.

  The man, though he moved constantly up and down to keep himself warm,kept an alert and watchful eye upon the big sombre-looking mansionopposite--the residence, as almost any passer-by would have told thestranger, of Sir Felix Challas, the anti-Semitic philanthropist.

  Over the semicircular fanlight a light burned brightly, but the innershutters of the ground floor rooms were closed, while the drawing-roomabove was lighted.

  Time after time the silent watcher passed and repassed the house, takingin every detail with apparent curiosity, yet ever anxious and everexpectant.

  The constable standing at the corner of Hill Street eyed the dwarfed manwith some suspicion, but on winter nights the London streets, even inthe West End, abound with homeless loafers.

  The Doctor, wearing a shabby overcoat several sizes too large for himand a felt hat much battered and the worse for wear, watched vigilantlyand with much patience.

  He saw a taxi-cab drive up before Sir Felix's and a rather tall,good-looking man in opera hat and fur-lined coat descend and enter thehouse. The cab waited and ten minutes later the visitor--Jim Jannawayit was--was bowed out by the grave-faced old butler, and giving the mandirections, was whirled away into Mount Street, out of sight.

  "I suppose that's the fellow!" murmured the ugly little man beneath hisbreath, as he stood back in the darkness against the railings opposite.Hardly had the words escaped his lips when a hansom came from thedirection of Berkeley Street, and pulling up, an old, rather feeblewhite-bearded man got out, paid the driver, and ascending the steps rangthe bell.

  He was admitted without question, and the door was closed behind him.

  "Erich Haupt, without a doubt," remarked the Doctor aloud. "Why has hereturned to London? Has he made a further discovery, I wonder. Thedescription of him is exact."

  For half an hour he waited, wondering what was happening within thatgreat mansion.

  Then Jim Jannaway suddenly returned, dismissed his "taxi," and wasadmitted. All that coming and going showed that something was in thewind.

  "Red Mullet" had given him due warning from his hiding-place. Histelegram had been despatched from Meopham, which he had discovered was apleasant Kentish village, not far from Gravesend. He was evidently inconcealment there.

  Just before eleven o'clock another hansom turning out of Hill Street inthe mist, pulled up before the house, and he watched a dark figurealight from it.

&
nbsp; Notwithstanding the dim light he recognised the visitor in an instant.The figure was that of a tall, dark-eyed girl.

  "Good Heavens!" he gasped, staring across the road, rigid. "Mullet wasright! He was not mistaken after all! By Jove--then I know the truth!We are betrayed into the hands of our enemy!"

  And as the Doctor stood there he was entirely unaware that he, in turn,was being watched from the opposite pavement--and by a woman!

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

  WHICH SOLVES A PROBLEM.

  That day had been an eventful one at Pembridge Gardens. Indeed, theevent of the great scholar, Arminger Griffin's life had occurred.

  It happened in this way. The January