“Wait a second!” Briggs said suspiciously. “We all have money in there, but Clarence is the only one with the combination!”
“Faith,” Sir Percival said reproachfully. “Patience and faith.”
“Yeah!” Clarence said. He grinned and twisted the dial.
“Yes,” Sir Percival said, and smiled at the others. “We are now, it appears, in business. And with the crass financial considerations taken care of, suppose we get down to the business of the meeting and reveal what the parchment scroll actually says...”
Chapter 14
The scroll was before them, unrolled with its message side up:
“Now, you will notice,” Sir Percival said in his best courtroom manner, tapping the parchment with his forefinger while his audience listened raptly, “the word ‘Curatores’ — referring, as one can readily imagine, to a place of cures. This is followed by the word ‘Universitatis.’ The reference is clearly to the University Hospital, and since the only University Hospital in this part of the country in those olden days was the same University Hospital that graces Bloomsbury in London, on Gower Street between Grafton Way and University Street, I believe we can be assured that is the place referred to.”
He looked about the room, taking in each attentive and intent face; then, satisfied, he continued.
“So John Avery begins by saying, ‘Praeses Et Curatores Universitatis,’ or, ‘All praise to the University Hospital.’ One might think he was simply thanking them for having worked some miraculous cure on him, but as we soon discover, his praise for the hospital has nothing to do with his health. It is based upon the fact that through the offices of the University Hospital, or, rather, one of its members, he was able to find a place to bury his treasure. Actually,” he added, looking down his patrician nose at Clarence with the faintest touch of disappointment, “I should have thought that much would have been evident to the poorest of scholars.”
“Just get on with it,” Clarence said shortly.
“Yes, of course. Well,” Sir Percival said, “it seems the hospital was not his first choice. He first thought of burying it near the ‘Cantabrigiae Omnibus’ — actually, in those days it was a stagecoach and not the type of omnibus we are accustomed to today — which left on its run to Canterbury, as we all know, from Euston Square, a short block from the hospital. But the site was unsatisfactory; you will note where he complains, ‘Litterae Pervenerint Salutem,’ indicating that the litter there prevented them from saluting — that is, selecting with pleasure — this first site. You must remember,” he added, “that they spoke rather formally in those days.”
They all nodded in agreement. Sir Percival’s finger moved on the scroll to another line.
“However... one of their members — ‘Eique Dedimus,’ or ‘dead Ike’ in the vernacular of the fraternity — then took them to a small concession in the neighborhood — ‘Concessimus Insignia,’ or a concession that sold shoulder patches, and trophies, probably laurel wreaths as well, in those days — but again John Avery was frustrated in his efforts to find a suitable location for the burial of his treasure. We see the words ‘Et Jura Omnia Ad Hunc Gradum Pertinentia,’ which means that be swears all day that the grade — the land, that is — pertained to, or was owned by someone named Ad Hunc, undoubtedly a formidable opponent to frighten John Avery!”
He paused to see how he was doing with his audience. They were watching him, open-mouthed. Patience and faith, Pugh told himself, and went on.
“But John Avery was not a man to give up easily. You will note he mentions this ‘doctoris in Cultore’ — a cultured doctor, and quite obviously on the hospital staff. Either through threats or with the promise of money, John Avery forced the good doctor to give him the use of his quarters, the admissions office of the hospital — note, if you will, the ‘Suis Admisimus’ — and there, of course, is where John Avery, at long last, buried his treasure.”
He shook his head sadly as Harold expelled a taut sigh of suspense-held breath.
“And what did the good doctor get for his help? He and thirteen others, undoubtedly the pirates who buried the gold and most certainly including Dead Ike, were made to die.” He pointed to the words ‘die XIV’ and sighed. “It was all too common a practice in those days among the pirate fraternity, where treasure was concerned.”
“I know. I read that someplace, too,” Clarence said quietly, almost afraid to break the spell. He had been enthralled by the masterful exposition. He pointed. “But what’s that Mensis Juni Anno Domini?”
“Mensis, Juni, Anno, and — last but not least — Domini?” Pugh sadly shook his head. “They were undoubtedly Italian sailors John Avery had brought with him to help bury the treasure and who, poor souls, he had to kill with the others in order to preserve the dark secret of his — literally — bloody gold.”
Clarence nodded, his eyes shining. It all made sense. Had he only studied Latin in high school — but it was too late to worry about things like that at this late date. He put the past aside and pointed again.
“What about those letters at the very end?”
Pugh looked. “Oh, you refer to the MDCCCVC? That,” he said with a glint of triumph in his eye, “together with the cross on the back — which really was not needed” — he glanced at Carruthers a bit reprovingly — “gives us the final clue as to the exact location of the treasure.”
Clarence frowned. “How?”
“We know,” Pugh explained patiently, “that some medical man, undoubtedly under compulsion, gave John Avery the use of the admissions office of the University Hospital for the burial of the gold. He could only have done so had he been in charge of that office at the time; otherwise he would have been treading upon the prerogatives of others, a quite un-English thing to do; and besides, there would not have been the privacy needed for the burial of the gold. But—”
He raised a finger; Clarence and the others watched that finger as if it were the magic wand of Merlin, or the bell of an oboe being played before a straw basket in India.
“But,” Pugh repeated for emphasis, “when did all this happen? The parchment, unfortunately, does not give any dates. But what it does do is give us a healthy clue as to the identity of the doctor. And with this, of course, and the knowledge that he was in charge of the admissions office, we can easily determine who he was, and during which years he functioned. And with these facts we can easily determine where the admissions office was located during his tenure.” He spread his hands. “Simple.”
Clarence nodded in agreement, although he was not convinced. “Right. But — I mean, those letters? Just a few letters? How do they do all that?”
Pugh looked at him with a touch of disappointment.
“I should have thought that was self-evident. The letters are MDCCCVC. Obviously the MD refers to the cultured physician we have been discussing for what seems to be the last few days; his initials can only have been C.C.C.; and he was the proud recipient at some stage in his life, of the Victoria Cross.”