William Le Queux - The Closed Book - Concerning the Secret of the Borgias

“Your house is a truly fitting receptacle for your splendid collection,” I said, impressed by his words and yet wondering at his manner.

“Do you know,” he exclaimed a moment later, as though a thought had suddenly occurred to him, “I cannot help fearing that you may have acted imprudently in purchasing this manuscript. If you wish, I am quite ready to return you your money. Really, I think it would be better if you did so, signore.”

“But I assure you I have no wish to return it to you,” I declared, astonished at his words. If he believed he had made a bad bargain, I at least had his receipt for the amount and the book in my hand.

“But it would be better,” he urged. “Better for you – and for me, for the matter of that. Here are the notes you gave me;” and taking them from his pocket he held them towards me.

I failed utterly to comprehend his intention or his motive. I had made a good bargain, and why should I relinquish it? Place yourself in my position for a moment, and think what you would have done.

“Well, signor reverendo ,” I exclaimed, “I paid the price you asked, and I really cannot see why you should attempt to cry off the deal.” Truth to tell, I was a trifle annoyed.

“You have paid the price,” he repeated in a strange voice, looking at me seriously. “Yes; that is true. You have paid the price in the currency of my country; but there is yet a price to pay.”

“What do you mean?” I asked quickly, looking him squarely in the face.

“I mean that it would be best for us both if you gave me back my receipt and took back your money.”

“Why?”

“I cannot be more explicit,” he replied. “I am a man of honour,” he added, “and you may trust me.”

“But I am desirous of adding the codex to my collection,” I argued, mystified by his sudden desire to withdraw from his word. “I asked you your price, and have paid it.”

“I admit that. The affair has been but a matter of business between two gentlemen,” he replied, with just a touch of hauteur. “Nevertheless, I am anxious that you should not be possessor of that manuscript.”

“But why? I am a collector. When you come to Leghorn I hope you will call and look through my treasures.”

“Treasures?” he echoed. “That is no treasure – it is a curse, rather.”

“A curse! How can a splendid old book be a curse in the hands of a palaeographical enthusiast like myself?”

“I am a man of my word,” he said in a low, distinct tone. “I tell you, my dear signore, that your enthusiasm has led you away. You should not have purchased your so-called treasure. It was ill-advised; therefore I urge you to take back the sum you have paid.”

“And on my part I object to do so,” I said a little warmly.

He shrugged his broad shoulders, and a pained look crossed his big features.

“Will you not listen to me – for your own good?” he urged earnestly.

“I do not think that sentiment need enter into it,” I replied. “I have purchased the book, and intend to retain it in my possession.”

“Very well,” he sighed. “I have warned you. One day, perhaps, you will know that at least Bernardo Landini acted as your friend.”

“But I cannot understand why you wish me to give you back the book,” I argued. “You must have some motive?”

“Certainly I have,” was his frank response. “I do not wish you to be its possessor.”

“You admit that the volume is precious, therefore of value. Yet you wish to withdraw from a bad bargain!”

His lips pursed themselves for a moment, and a look of mingled regret and annoyance crossed his huge face.

“I admit the first, but deny the second. The bargain is a good one for me, but a bad one for you.”

“Very well,” I replied with self-satisfaction. “I will abide by it.”

“You refuse to hear reason?”

“I refuse, with all due deference to you, signor reverendo , to return you the book I have bought.”

“Then I can only regret,” he said in a voice of profound commiseration. “You misconstrue my motive, but how can I blame you? I probably should, if I were in ignorance, as you are.”

“Then you should enlighten me.”

“Ah?” he sighed again. “I only wish it were admissible. But I cannot. If you refuse to forego your bargain, I can do nothing. When you entered here I treated you as a stranger; and now, although you do not see it, I am treating you as a friend.”

I smiled. Used as I was to the subtleness of the trading Tuscan, I was suspicious that he regretted having sold the book to me at such a low price, and was trying to obtain more without asking for it point-blank.

“Well, signor priore ,” I said bluntly a moment later, “suppose I gave you an extra hundred francs for it, would that make any difference to your desire to retain possession of it?”

“None whatever,” he responded. “If you gave me ten thousand more I would not willingly allow you to have it in your possession.”

His reply was certainly a strange one, and caused me a few moments’ reflection.

“But why did you sell it if you wish to retain it?” I asked.

“Because at the time you were not my friend,” he replied evasively. “You are now – I know you, and for that reason I give you warning. If you take the book from this house, recollect it is at your risk, and you will assuredly regret having done so.”

I shook my head, smiling, unconvinced by his argument and suspicious of his manner. Somehow I had grown to dislike the man. If he were actually my friend, as he assured me, he would certainly not seek to do me out of a bargain. So I laughed at his misgivings, saying:

“Have no fear, signor reverendo . I shall treasure the old codex in a glass case, as I do the other rare manuscripts in my collection. I have a number of biblical manuscripts quite as valuable, and I take care of them, I assure you.”

My eye caught the ancient window where I had seen the white, unshaven face of the old hunchback, and recollecting that there must be some mysterious connection between the two men, I tucked my precious parcel under my arm and rose to depart.

The prior knit his dark brows and crossed himself in silence.

“Then the signore refuses to heed me?” he asked in a tone of deep disappointment.

“I do,” I answered quite decisively. “I have to catch my train back to Leghorn; therefore I will wish you addio .”

“As you wish, as you wish,” sighed the ponderous priest. Then placing his big hand upon my shoulder in a paternal manner, he added, “I know full well how strange my request must appear to you, my dear signore, but some day perhaps you will learn the reason. Recollect, however, that, whatever may occur, Bernardo Landini is a friend to whom you may come for counsel and advice. Addio , and may He protect you, guard you from misfortune, and prosper you. Addio .”

I thanked him, and took the big, fat hand he offered.

Then, in silence, I looked into his good-humoured face and saw there a strange, indescribable expression of mingled dread and sympathy. But we parted; and, with old Teresa shuffling before me, I passed through the house and out into the white sun glare of the open piazza, bearing with me the precious burden that was destined to have such a curious and remarkable influence upon my being and my life.

When a man secures a bargain, be it in his commerce or in his hobbies, he always endeavours to secure a second opinion. As I hurried across to hug the shadow of the Palazzo Pandolfini I glanced at my watch, and found that I had still an hour and a half before the treno lumaca , or snail-train, as the Florentines, with sarcastic humour, term it, would start down the Arno valley for Leghorn. Therefore I decided to carry my prize to Signor Leo Olschki, who, as you know, is one of the most renowned dealers in ancient manuscripts in the world, and whose shop is situated on the Lung Amo Acciajoli, close to the Ponte Vecchio. Many treasures of our British Museum have passed through his hands, and among bibliophiles his name is a household word.