As far as we had gone everything had turned out well. The local legend appeared to bear out what was written in The Closed Book, and the fact that we had made a friend of Mr Mason, the rector, was also highly gratifying.
We had been consuming cigarettes with our glasses of old port—served in the old-fashioned style on the bare polished table—and I had risen to glance out through the wire blind into the sunny street prior to going forth into the ruins again, when of a sudden I heard the voice of someone approaching, and next instant two persons passed the window, and were lost to view almost before I was aware of their presence.
But in that moment, as they passed, I recognised in one—tall, thin, and grey-haired—the Earl of Glenelg, and in his companion—short, ugly, and hobbling—none other than Francesco Graniani, the hunchback of Leghorn, the man whose strange connection with The Closed Book was such a profound mystery.
“Look?” I cried to my companion. “Lord Glenelg has passed with the old hunchback antique-dealer who first told me of the existence of the Book. Why are they here—why has Graniani travelled all the way from Italy if not to seek the abbey treasure?”
“If you’re not mistaken, Allan,” answered my friend, jumping up and joining me at the window, “then you may be certain that the missing page in the book contains directions for the recovery, not only of the casket up in Scotland, but of the hidden gold here. They have no idea we are here, that’s evident. But that they know more than we do is equally clear.”
“But why is Graniani over here?” I queried.
“He’s been brought over, no doubt, because he possesses some key to the hiding-place. The whole affair seems to grow more and more bewildering.”