“There, here we can talk at our aise,” he remarked again, when finally the three men were in the subterranean chamber, with the door closed behind them. “Have you anything like this in Ameriky?”
Bernard was not so greatly impressed as they expected him to be. He stolled about the vault-like room, sounding the walls with his boot, pulling-aside the bed-curtains and investigating the drain.
“Curious old place,” he said, at last. “What’s the idea?”
“Sure, ’t is a sacret place intoirely,” explained Jerry. “Besides us three, there’s not a man aloive who knows of it, exceptin’ The O’Mahony, if be God’s grace he’s aloive. ’T was he discovered it. He’d the eyes of a him-harrier for anny mark or sign in a wall. Well do I remimber our coming here first. He lukked it all over, as you’re doing.
“‘Egor!’ says he, ‘It may come in handy for O’Daly some day.’ There was a dead man there on the bed, that dry ye c’u’d ’a’ loighted him wid a match.”
“’T is a part of the convint,” Linsky took up the explanation, “an’ the chest, there, was full of deeds an’ riccorcls of the convint for manny cinturies. ‘T was me work for years to decipher an’ thranslate thim, unbeknownst to every soul in Muirisc. They were all in Irish.”
“Yes, it’s a queer sort of hole,” said Bernard, musingly, walking over to the table and holding up one of the ancient manuscripts to the lamplight for investigation. “Why, this isn’t Irish, is it?” he asked, after a moment’s scrutiny. “This is Latin.”
“’T is wan of half a dozen ye see there on the table that I couldn’t make out,” said Linsky. “I’m no Latin scholar meself. ’T was me intintion to foind some one outside who c’u’d thranslate thim.” Bernard had kept his eyes on the faded parchment.
“Odd!” he said. “It’s from a bishop—Matthew O’Finn seems to be the name—”
“He was bishop of Ross in the early part of the fourteenth cintury,” put in Linsky.