Mr. Bellowes went to a safe in the corner, and took from an inner compartment a bunch of heavy keys, some of them comparatively modern, others clumsy and ancient. With these he opened lock after lock along front and sides of the old chest. Hugh and I carefully raised the lid. A musty odor floated up to us, such an odor as you find in old books. The chest, itself, was packed with smaller boxes, some of wood and some of iron and steel.
The aged solicitor indicated a massive steel box in one corner.
"That contains the Instructions and related documents your lordship," he said, and lifting it to the table top fitted a small key to the lock.
There was a click, and the cover flew back. Inside was a wooden lid, which Hugh pried up with his thumb-nail, and below that a layer of oiled silk, and below that again more layers of cloth, silk and linen. Finally, we came to several framed parchments, with glasses in front and back.
"Your uncle did that," explained Mr. Bellowes. "He was afraid they would be ruined by handling and exposure."
The first frame contained a sheet of parchment, I should say, twelve inches by ten, covered with minute Black Letter script in a rather corrupt form of mediæval Latin.
"That is Hugh's Instructions," said the solicitor. "I'd advise you not to strain your eyes trying to make out the original. We had a very careful translation prepared, and checked over by scholars at Oxford."
He drew out a typewritten sheet of foolscap, and Nikka and I read it over Hugh's shoulder:
