Chapter Thirty Three. Plot and Counter-Plot.

In London next day I met Mr Fryer by appointment at half-past eleven at the Holborn Restaurant, being near Chancery Lane, and together we went to the Safe Deposit Company’s vaults, where we obtained the ancient cylinder from the strong box in which I had placed it, and then entered a taxi and drove to the City.

Across Holborn, in Red Lion Street, we found a locksmith, and took him with us to Fryer’s office in London Wall. He brought with him some tools, but when he seated himself and examined the mysterious cylinder he shook his head, remarking—“This’ll be a pretty tough job. It’s been very well welded together. I’ll have to file it off!”

“Is it ancient welding?” I asked.

“Oh no, sir. It’s a very ancient bit o’ bronze, but the top’s been off of late, and when, welded on it’s been painted over green to imitate the patina of the old bronze. Whoever did it was one of those fakers of antiques, I should say.”

“Well,” said the solicitor, “make a start on it, and get it open.”

The mechanic seated himself at the table and, taking up a long sharp file, began to cut into the hard metal, while we stood aside watching him intently.

What could it be that was so securely concealed therein—the Thing that had been withheld even from Mr Fryer, the dead man’s confidant in everything?

For a quarter of an hour the man worked hard, but made little or no impression upon the ancient metal. So the solicitor took me into an adjoining room, where after a brief chat he said—

“Since our conversation last night I’ve been carefully weighing matters. The motive of the cruel and ingenious assassination of your friend Nicholson is perfectly plain. Harford knew that there was a will in existence, for now I recollect Mr Edgecumbe, after getting me to make it, told me that he had revealed its provisions to his friend. They are that his daughter should inherit the whole of his very substantial fortune, but in the event of her death while unmarried it was to go to Harford himself, in recognition of his friendship and of his kindness to Miss Asta. Now if Nicholson had married her, the money would have passed beyond his control. Therefore, aided, no doubt, by Earnshaw and his wife, they killed him by a method which fully bears out my estimate of the craft and cunning of my client’s late partner. Edgecumbe, not long before his death, had somehow become aware of the existence of the huge spider, kept as a pet, and having suspicions as to what use it might be put to, warned you of it with his last effort. Nicholson, against whom it is more than probable an unsuccessful attempt was made one night while sleeping at the Hall, also discovered Harford’s secret. He intended to reveal it to you, but was attacked, and succumbed before he could call upon you. Harford next feared lest you might propose marriage to his ward, hence the fact that he carried his pet to the Continent with him, and you saw the terrible ‘Hand’ and narrowly escaped its fatal grip on that night in the old French inn. Yes, Mr Kemball,” Fryer added, “depend upon it that Harford played his last card when he allowed the terrible spider to pass into Miss Asta’s bedroom. He intended that she should die, and that Arnold Edgecumbe’s fortune should be his—a plot which would, alas! have been successfully accomplished, had your suspicions not been providentially aroused.”

A sudden call from the locksmith caused us to return hastily to Fryer’s room, and there we saw that the top of the ancient cylinder had been filed entirely off.

“There’s something inside, sir,” said the man, addressing the solicitor. “Perhaps you’d like to take it out yourself.”

And Mr Fryer drew forth a portion of an ancient leather thong, attached to which was a large old seal of clay with an ancient Egyptian cartouche impressed upon it.