Look to the Lady (15 page)

The silence which followed was broken by Mr Melchizadek's quiet voice. ‘I would rather you did not take my word for it, Mr Twelvetrees,' he said. ‘I should like a second opinion myself. I am an old man, and remarkable freaks of period do occur. I wonder, therefore, if you would allow me to introduce a friend of mine into this discussion? Quite by chance I have in the next room one of the most famous experts on this subject in the world. He was calling on me when you arrived, and did me the honour to wait until I should be disengaged. What do you say?' He turned from Campion to Val. The boy was scarlet and frankly bewildered. Mr Melchizadek coughed.

‘You can rely upon his discretion as you would upon mine,' he murmured.

‘Oh, certainly,' said Val hurriedly, and Campion nodded to the old expert, who went silently out of the room.

Val turned to Campion. ‘This is madness,' he said huskily. ‘It –'

Mr Campion laid a hand upon his shoulder. ‘Hold on,' he said, ‘let them do the talking. I believe I'm getting this thing straight at last.'

He had no time for further confidences as Mr Melchizadek reappeared, and behind him came a slight, agile little man, with a high forehead and a pointed vandyke beard. His appearance was familiar to both of them, and they had recognized him even before Mr Melchizadek's opening words.

‘This, gentlemen, is Professor Gardner Cairey, a great American authority. Professor Cairey, allow me to present to you Mr Gyrth and Mr Christopher Twelvetrees.'

—

T
HERE
was a considerable pause after the introductions. Professor Cairey stood looking at the two young men, a slightly dubious expression in his eyes, and Val, for the first time, took good stock of him.

He was a little dapper old man, with the same delightful air of suppressed enjoyment that was so noticeable in his daughter. His face was keen and clever without being disconcertingly shrewd, and there was a friendliness about him which impressed the two immediately.

He was the first to speak, revealing a quiet, pleasant voice, with a definite transatlantic intonation which somehow underlined his appreciation of the oddity of the situation. He smiled at Mr Melchizadek.

‘This is a whale of a problem,' he said. ‘Luck has caught me out. I'm not on speaking terms with Mr Gyrth's folk, and I owe him an apology, anyway.'

Then he laughed, and instantly the tension relaxed. Val would have spoken had not Campion rested a hand on his arm, and Professor Cairey continued.

‘I've been what my daughter would call a Kibitzer,' he said. ‘In fact, I even went so far as to trespass in your garden a day or two back, Mr Gyrth. I didn't think I was seen, but in case I was perhaps I'd better explain.'

Val could not be restrained. ‘I'm afraid we did see you, Professor,' he said. ‘You were looking into the chapel.'

The old man grimaced. ‘I was,' he said. ‘I was half-way through my new book,
The Effect of the Commonwealth on East Anglian Ecclesiastical Decoration
, and I don't mind telling you I was hoping – well, to get some assistance from you folk. But I got myself in wrong with your Pa somehow, and I was as far off from the inside of your chapel as I should have been if I'd stayed at home in Westport, N.J.' He hesitated and glanced at them with bright, laughing eyes. ‘I stuck it as long as I could,' he went on, ‘and then the other night, before I heard of your trouble, I felt I'd attempt to have a look and finish my chapter if it meant being chased by a gardener's boy.'

Val reddened. ‘I haven't been at home,' he said. ‘And, of course, I'm afraid my poor aunt made things rather difficult. I'd be delighted to take you over the place any time. As a matter of fact,' he added transparently, ‘I came up to Town part of the way with your daughter.'

Mr Campion, who had been silent so far during the interview, regarded the Professor with eyes that laughed behind his spectacles.

‘Professor Cairey,' he said, ‘you're the author of
Superstition before Cotton Mather
, aren't you?'

Professor Cairey positively blushed. ‘That's so, Mr Twelvetrees,' he said, laying particular stress on the name. ‘I didn't think anyone on this side took any stock of it.'

Val had the uncomfortable impression that these two were getting at one another with a certain playfulness which he did not understand.

Mr Campion's manner then became almost reverential. ‘I owe you an apology, sir,' he said. ‘I don't mind telling you we thought you were a bird of a very different feather. In fact,' he added with alarming frankness, ‘we thought you were out after the Chalice.'

Mr Melchizadek looked horrified and muttered a word of protest. The professor soothed him with a smile.

‘So I was,' he said, ‘in a way.' He turned to Val and explained himself. ‘Of course, I've long been familiar with the history of your great treasure, Mr Gyrth. It's one of the seven wonders of the world, in my estimation. I was naturally anxious to get a glimpse of it if I could. I had heard that there was one day in the week when it was displayed to the public, and I'd have availed myself of that, only, as I say, the Cup was hidden behind bars in a bad light and there was this mite of trouble between your aunt and Mrs Cairey, and while I was hoping that the little contretemps would blow over, your poor aunt met her death, and naturally I could hardly come visiting.'

Val, who seemed to have fallen completely under the spell of the old man's charming personality, would have launched out into a stream of incoherent apologies for what he knew instinctively was some appalling piece of bad manners from the late Lady Pethwick, when Mr Melchizadek's suave gentle voice forestalled him.

‘I think,' he ventured, ‘that if you would allow Professor Cairey to examine the Chalice on the table he could give an opinion of interest to all of us.'

‘By all means.' Mr Campion stepped aside from the desk and revealed the Cup. The Professor pounced upon it with enthusiasm. He took it up, turned it over, and tested the metal with his thumb.

‘I'll take the loan of your glass, Melchizadek,' he said. ‘This is a lovely thing.'

They stood watching him, fascinated. His short capable fingers moved caressingly over the ornate surface. He appraised it almost movement for movement as Mr Melchizadek had done. Finally he set it down.

‘What do you want to know about it?' he said.

‘What is it?' said Mr Campion quickly, before Val could get a word in.

The Professor considered. ‘It's a church Chalice,' he said. ‘The design is Renaissance. But the workmanship I should say is of much later date. It's about a hundred and fifty years old.'

Val looked at Campion dumbly, and Mr Melchizadek took the treasure.

‘I thought so,' he said. ‘If you will permit me, Mr Gyrth, I think I could prove this to you. I didn't like to suggest it before in case I was mistaken.'

He took a small slender-bladed knife from a drawer, and after studying the jewelled bosses round the pedestal of the cup through his lens for some minutes, finally began to prise gently round the base of one of them. Suddenly an exclamation of gratification escaped him, and putting down the instrument he unscrewed the jewel and its setting and laid it carefully on the desk. As the others crowded round him he pointed to the tiny smooth surface that was exposed.

There, only just decipherable, was the simple inscription, engraved upon the metal:

I. Melchizadek fecit

1772

‘My great-grandfather,' said Mr Melchizadek simply, ‘the founder of this firm. He invariably signed every piece that he made, although at times it was necessary for him to do so where it would not be seen by the casual observer.'

‘But,' said Val, refusing to be silenced any longer, ‘don't you see what this means? This is what has passed for the last – well, for my own and my father's lifetime – as the Gyrth Chalice.'

For a moment the Professor seemed as stupefied as Val. Then a light of understanding crept into his eyes. He crossed over to Mr Campion.

‘Mr Twelvetrees,' he murmured, ‘I'd like to have a word with you and Mr Gyrth in private. Maybe there's somewhere where we could go and talk.'

Mr Campion regarded him shrewdly from behind his heavy spectacles. ‘I was hoping that myself,' he said.

Meanwhile Val, still inarticulate and bewildered, was standing staring at the handiwork of the Melchizadek great-grandparent as if he had never seen it before. Professor Cairey took the situation in hand. He bade farewell to the old Jew, with whom he seemed to be on intimate terms, the Chalice was repacked in the suitcase, and ten minutes later all three of them were squeezed into the two-seater worming their way from the City to the West End.

It did just occur to Val that this acceptance of Professor Cairey was a little sudden, to say the least of it. But the Professor was so obviously bona fide, and his disposition so kindly, that he himself was prepared to trust him to any lengths within ten minutes of their first meeting. However, Mr Campion had never struck him as being the possessor of a particularly trusting spirit, and he was surprised.

Before they had reached Piccadilly Campion had reintroduced himself with charming naïveté, and by the time they mounted the stairs to the flat they were talking like comparatively old friends.

Val, who had been considerably astonished by the open way in which Campion had approached the place, now glanced across at him as he set a chair for their visitor.

‘Last time I came here,' he remarked, ‘I understood from you that I was liable to be plugged at any moment if I went outside the door. Why no excitement now?'

‘Now,' said Mr Campion, ‘the damage is done, as far as they're concerned. It must be obvious by this time to everyone interested that you and I are on the job together. To put a bullet through you would be only wanton destructiveness. The good news has been brought from Aix to Ghent, as it were. Your father knows there's danger, Scotland Yard knows, every 'tec in the country may be on the job. “George's” minions may be watching outside, but I doubt it.'

Professor Cairey, who had been listening to this conversation, his round brown eyes alert with interest and his hands folded across his waist, now spoke quietly.

‘I haven't been able to help gathering what the trouble is,' he remarked.

Val shrugged his shoulders. ‘After Mr Melchizadek's discoveries,' he said slowly, ‘the trouble becomes absurd. In fact, the whole thing is a tragic fiasco,' he added bitterly.

The Professor and Campion exchanged glances. It was the old man who spoke, however.

‘I shouldn't waste your time thinking that, son,' he said. ‘See here,' he added, turning to Campion, ‘I'll say you'd better confess to Mr Gyrth right now, and then perhaps we can get going.'

Val looked quickly at Campion who came forward modestly.

‘The situation is a delicate one,' he murmured. ‘However, perhaps you're right and now is the time to get things sorted out. The truth is, Val, I had my doubts about the Chalice the moment I saw the photograph of it. Before I looked you up, therefore, I paid a visit to my old friend Professor Cairey, the greatest living expert on the subject, who, I discovered, was staying next door to the ancestral home. This is not the coincidence it sounds, you see. The Professor has confessed why he rented the next place to yours. He couldn't tell me for certain from the photographs, although he had very grave doubts.' He paused, and the American nodded. Campion continued:

‘Since there was a little friction between your aunt and her neighbours, I couldn't very well introduce the Professor into the bosom of the family right away. I regret to say, therefore, that I called on him, and begged him to meet me up at Melchizadek's. You see, I knew it would take more than one expert opinion to convince you that the Chalice wasn't all it set itself up to be.' He paused and stood looking hesitantly at the younger man. ‘I'm awfully sorry,' he said apologetically. ‘You see, I was going to persuade you to bring it up to be copied, and then the girls pinched it so obligingly for us.'

Val sank down in a chair and covered his face with his hands. ‘It's beyond me,' he said. ‘It seems to be the end of everything.'

The Professor leant forward in his chair, and the expression upon his wise, humorous face was very kindly.

‘See here,' he said, ‘I don't want to upset any family arrangement whereby you're told certain things at a certain age. Also I appreciate the delicacy of the matter I'm presuming to discuss. But, if you'll permit me, I'd like to tell you certain facts that occur to me as they might to anyone who looked at this matter from the outside without being hampered by a lifelong association with one idea.'

He paused, and Val, looking up, listened to him intently.

‘If you ask me,' went on the Professor, ‘I'd say that that very lovely piece which you have in the case there, and which has been in your chapel for the last hundred and fifty odd years, is what might be called a “mock chalice”. You see,' he continued, warming up to his subject, ‘most ancient ideas were simple, obvious notions; uncomplicated methods of preserving the safety of a treasure. Now in my opinion that “mock chalice”, as we'll call it, is the last of many such – probably all different in design. The real Chalice has always been kept in the background – hidden out of sight – while the show-piece took its place to appease sightseers and thieves and so forth.'

Val took a deep breath. ‘I follow you,' he said, a glimmer of hope appearing in his eyes. ‘You mean that the real Chalice is too valuable to be on show?'

‘Absolutely – when there were marauders like your great patriot Cromwell about.' The Professor spoke with the hint of a chuckle in his voice. ‘There are two or three examples of this happening before. I've made a study of this sort of thing, you know. In fact,' he added, ‘I could probably tell you more about the history of your own Chalice than anyone in the world outside your own family. For instance, in the time of Richard the Second it was said to have been stolen, and again just after the Restoration. But the Gyrths' lands were never forfeited to the Crown as they would certainly have been had the real Chalice been stolen. Queen Anne granted another charter, ratifying, so to speak, your family's possession of the genuine thing.'