TO THE astonishment of Roy Morton and May Thurston, this day also passed without the appearance of the engineer at the cottage. The girl, at first experiencing some alarm over this protracted absence, was afterward filled with relief, when it occurred to her that Masters was keeping away because he had finally abandoned his evil intentions. She felt convinced that the failure of his attempt to murder Temple had brought him to realization of the heinousness of his conduct. The thought afforded her great satisfaction, since it relieved her of any necessity for action against him. The change in the situation so cheered her that she accepted with animation Roy’s invitation to walk, and the two passed a particularly agreeable hour in strolling through the woods, finding each topic of conversation charming, and almost forgetting that such an one as the engineer encumbered the earth. There came another development in the[178] evening, when the four friends were smoking and chatting, as was their custom after the ladies had retired for the night. They were in the music-room with Saxe at the piano, where he had been playing from time to time. Now, however, he had ceased, and rested motionless, with his eyes fixed on the sheet of manuscript left by Abernethey, in a wearisome wondering as to the message that might lie concealed within that bare presentment of the song of gold—as he had come to call the composition. Billy Walker had steadfastly maintained his belief that the clue to the treasure was hidden there, and Saxe was impressed by the idea, although his reason declared it folly.
Presently, Billy aroused himself from the luxury of the morris chair, where he had been communing with an especially black cigar, heaved himself erect with a groan, and crossed the room to the piano. He stood for a little while in silence, staring down at the written page on the rack.
“What’s that?” he demanded. He pointed to the three measures that stood alone at the head of the sheet.
[179]
 
[Listen]
The phrase to which Billy Walker pointed was scrawled in a fashion that was rather slovenly as compared with the remainder of the manuscript. Hitherto, in spite of the many times he had studied the manuscript, Saxe had given small heed to this fragment[180] of writing, which preceded the song of gold. Now, however, at his friend’s instigation, he examined it with scrupulous care before he spoke. Then, he shook his head in discouragement, as he struck the notes on the keyboard.
“It doesn’t mean anything, Billy,” he declared.
“But what’s it there for, if it doesn’t mean anything?” the other persisted.
“Why,” Saxe answered, “I suppose it’s simply that the old man had some sort of an idea, and jotted down a note concerning it. You see, it’s at the top of the page. He did nothing more with it. Afterward, he used the same sheet to write the gold song on. He was a miser, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Billy conceded. “All the same, I think, in this instance, he would have been comparatively extravagant. I still believe that the bit there has some significance.”
Saxe shook his head emphatically.
“It can’t mean anything,” he repeated, drearily. He was fast yielding to discouragement.
[181]For a long minute the two were silent, regarding the manuscript intently, with knit brows. Then, of a sudden, Billy’s rough voice boomed forth a question:
“Aren’t there letters on a staff of music? What are the letters there?”
Saxe smiled, in some disdain.
“Much good may they do you!” he said; and his tone was sarcastic. “The letters are, B, E, D, A, C. Might be a word in Magyar, for all I know. It isn’t from any language more common, I fancy.”
Billy snorted indignantly.
“It’s not altogether impossible that it should be a word from some language or other,” he answered, stoutly. “But we’ll investigate it more closely on an English basis first. Now, what—exactly—does that Italian word mean, there over the music. And what’s it doing there, anyhow?”
Saxe laughed outright at the utter simplicity of the question from the musician’s standpoint.
“It’s a word to guide the player in his interpretation,” he replied. “It means that this particular phrase should be played with[182] great slowness.”
Billy pondered this statement for a time, then vented a lusty sigh of disappointment. Presently, however, his expression took on animation again, for curiosity had hit on a new point of interest.
“What are those two vertical lines doing there in the middle?” he asked, eagerly.
Saxe shrugged his shoulders resignedly.
“They, too, mean nothing—absolutely nothing!” he exclaimed. “They’re in the same class as ‘Bedac’.”
“According to my theory concerning this affair,” Billy asserted with an air of dogmatism, “you are wrong in thus dismissing, one after another, the possibilities of the situation. Now, we have before us a manuscript, which is undoubtedly the work of the man who left this gold to you, if you could find it. He explicitly stated in his communication to you that the clue to the hiding-place was clear enough. You might infer, since the money was left you in this fashion, that the clue would be of a musical sort. He was a musician. Music was his one specialty. It is also your own specialty. It is, then, the[183] most natural thing in the world to suppose that, in one way or another, music would play a chief part in this matter. Following the sequence of facts, we come next to one that follows logically in the line of argument. For we come upon a piece of music, which is in manuscript. It is actually, we are convinced, a piece composed by the late Mr. Abernethey. We have ascertained from his secretary that it is written in his own handwriting. Finally, we are sure that it is the only thing coming directly from him that there is in the house, which offers by its individuality a possibility of having a cryptic meaning of the sort required by us in the prosecution of the search.
“I repeat my firm belief that in this page of music lies the clue to the late Mr. Abernethey’s secret. If I am right, then any single character on this sheet may be of vital importance. You sneer at ‘Bedac,’ which at first glance seems gibberish, and nothing more. There remains the possibility, nevertheless, that it may have a meaning of prime importance to you. A fortune may depend on your learning the meaning of that word.[184] Don’t dismiss it after just one glance. Don’t sneer at it—and those two vertical lines! You say, they are void of purport. The fact is that they don’t belong there—from your musical standpoint. Well, they’re there, notwithstanding. The late Mr. Abernethey put them there. Perhaps they stood for something to him, in spite of the fact that they don’t to you. Anyhow, don’t sneer at them—yet. Wait, at least, until you’ve really studied them. As far as our present knowledge goes, this paper must hold the clue. I tell you, it’s worth working on—hard!”
The harsh, sonorous voice in this long harangue had soon cut short the desultory chat between Roy and David, who had listened almost from the beginning with attention, while smiling a little at the earnestness of the speaker in pursuing his argument.
“Well, Billy,” David remarked, “you’re the one to work out the problem on logical lines. You’ve told the rest of us often enough that we can’t reason.” The other two nodded assent, smiling cheerfully on the[185] nonplussed oracle.
“I’m horribly handicapped by my ignorance of music,” he confessed, wryly. Then, his rough features settled into lines of resolve, and his voice fairly roared in the echoing room: “But, by the Lord! I’ll do it—I’ll work that thing out, if I have to learn music first!”
There came a shout of laughter from the three; the vision of Billy Walker thus engaged was too ludicrous! Notwithstanding their merriment, there came no relaxation of the set purpose in the speaker’s face. It was evident that he was wholly sincere in his announcement. Indeed, no sooner had the mirth exhausted itself than he craved a first lesson.
“Tell me about the letters that are on the staff,” he besought Saxe, who good-naturedly complied, with a smile still on his lips.
“Then, that’s all the letters there are in musical notation,” Billy exclaimed, when the instructor paused. There was distinct disappointment in his voice. “Only, A, B, C, D, E, F, G. That’s bad. Yet there are two[186] vowels, A and E, and E is the most important vowel.” He fell silent, standing moveless before the piano, with his gaze fixed on the manuscript in a brown study. &............