LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

      Chapter Four

      By the Tideless Sea

      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.

      Fortunately I found him in: a short, fair-bearded, and exceedingly courteous man, who himself is a lover of books although a dealer in them. Behind those glass cases in his shop were some magnificent illuminated manuscripts waiting to be bought by some millionaire collector or national museum, and all around from floor to ceiling were shelves full of the rarest books extant, some of the incunabula being the only known copies existing.

      I had made many purchases of him; therefore he took me into the room at the rear of the shop, and I displayed my bargain before his expert eyes.

      In a moment he pronounced it a genuine Arnoldus, a manuscript of exceeding rarity, and unique on account of several technical reasons with which it is useless to trouble those who read this curious record.

      “Well, now, Signor Olschki, what would you consider approximately its worth?”

      The great bibliophile stroked his beard slowly, at the same time turning over the evenly-written parchment folios.

      “I suppose,” he answered, after a little hesitation, “that you don’t wish to sell it?”

      “No. I tell you frankly that I’ve brought it here to show you and ask your opinion as to its genuineness.”

      “Genuine it is no doubt – a magnificent codex. If I had it here to sell I would not part with it under twenty-five thousand francs – a thousand pounds.”

      “A thousand pounds?” I echoed, for the price was far above what I had believed the manuscript to be worth.

      “Rosenthal had one in his catalogue two years ago priced at sixteen thousand francs. I saw it when I was in Munich, and it was not nearly so good or well preserved as yours. Besides – this writing at the end: have you any idea what it is about?”

      “Some family record,” I answered. “The usual rambling statements regarding personal possessions, I expect.”

      “Of course,” he answered. “In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries they habitually disfigured their books in this way, as you know. It was a great pity.”

      Having obtained the information I desired, I repacked my treasured tome while he brought out several precious volumes for my inspection, including a magnificent French Psalteriolum seu preces pia cum calendario, with miniatures of the thirteenth century, which he had catalogued at four hundred

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