“And take the utmost care of them please,” urged the Professor.
“We are used, as you know, sir, to handling the most valuable manuscripts in the world. The Museum give us all their work, and we often have, in our safes, manuscripts worth thousands of pounds each,” replied the manager.
A sudden thought occurred to Griffin, and taking from the table the scrap of writing upon the ruled paper, he held it up to the light to examine its watermark. The design was at once apparent—the head of a lady of the seventeenth century with hair dressed in the style of Charles the First, low-cut bodice, puffed sleeves, and a necklet of pearls, while above the words placed in a semi-circle was “Sevigne Paper.”
“H’m,” grunted the old man, “evidently one of those imitation English papers, made in France. Well, Macdonald, get as good results as you can from the scraps, won’t you?”
The photographer’s manager, who knew Griffin well, and who had often photographed Hebrew and Greek manuscripts for him, assured him that the very greatest care should be taken in the work.
Thereupon, the Professor rose and left, urging that the originals should be returned from Acton well before four o’clock.
In his thick and somewhat shabby overcoat and soft felt hat, he walked through the drizzling rain to the British Museum, where, as he entered, the attendants saluted him. In that national institution he was a well-known figure, for during the greater part of his lifetime he had studied there, especially in the Department of Manuscripts.
It was to that he at once made his way. The Keeper of the Department was absent, but a man of Professor Griffin’s reputation has the “run of the place;” therefore after wishing good-day to one of the assistant-keepers he began searching the catalogue of manuscripts for the Hebrew ones which he wished to consult, writing their numbers upon a slip. This he handed to the assistant-keeper who, having glanced at the numbers and recognised to which they referred, regarded him with a glance of quick curiosity.
“One of the earliest originals of the Book of Ezekiel—eh, Professor?” remarked the man. “And the other is the Muratori Manuscript.”
“Exactly,” was Griffin’s reply, and when the man had left the little room in which he was standing, he drew from his pocket a small book in which overnight he had made pencilled memoranda from the half-confused fragments which Frank had placed before him. Then he waited in undisguised anxiety.