“The Maltese cross,” he explained, “was the distinguishing badge of the Knights of St. Stephen who fought for Christianity against the Mohammedans, and succeeded in liberating so many of the white slaves. No movement was perhaps more humane, and none so completely forgotten, for even the Order itself is now discontinued, and all that remains is that grand old church in Pisa, nowadays visited by gaping tourists. From my investigations, however, it seems quite plain that the Seahorse was one of the ships of the Order, and although of English name, and probably of English build, its commander was the noble Bartholomew da Schorno, who had as lieutenant Pompæo Marie a Paule. The latter, as stated in the document with the leaden seal, was appointed commendatore by Cosimo the Second.”
“Then the fact is established that the reason cannon and armed men were aboard the Seahorse was because she was engaged in the suppression of piracy?” I said.
“Exactly. Your remark regarding the banner with the Maltese cross gave me the cue, and I have, I think, successfully cleared up the first point. And, furthermore, you have recognized in this picture vessels built on the same lines. This picture, as you will see, represents the taking of the fortress of Elimano from the Corsairs in the year 1613.”
“Then do you fix the date of the loss of the Seahorse about that period?”
“I cannot say,” he responded. “It might have been ten, or even twenty years later.”
“Not more?”
“No; not more. In these later pictures you will see that the vessels were of somewhat different build,” and the old expert turned over folio after folio of the rare and interesting volume.
“All this, however,” he remarked, “must be very dry to you. But you have sought my aid in this curious affair, and I am giving it to the best of my ability. We men who make a special study of history, or of palæography, are apt to believe that the general public are as absorbed in the gradual transition of the charter hands, or the vagaries of the Anglo-Norman scribes of the twelfth century, as we are ourselves. Therefore, I hope you will forgive me if I have bored you, Dr. Pickering. I will promise,” he added, with a laugh, “not to offend again.”
“No apology is needed, my dear sir,” I hastened to reassure him; “I am so terribly ignorant of all these things, and all that you discover is to me of most intense interest, having regard to my own adventures, and to the existence of a survivor from the Seahorse.”
“Very well then,” he answered, apparently much gratified; “let us proceed yet another step.” And he placed aside the two borrowed volumes. “Of course, I have not yet had sufficient time to decipher the whole of this volume written by Bartholomew da Schorno, but so far as I have gone I find that the writer, although of Italian birth, lived in England, and it is with certain things in England that occurred in 1589 and 1590 that he deals—matters which are mysterious and certainly require investigation.”