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Updated: May 5, 2025
Then he stood before one of the doors, and motioned to his cousin to guard the other. But Arnoldo Meschini had no hope of escape. His hour was at hand, and he knew it. "You forged the deeds which were presented as originals in the court. Confess it to those gentlemen." It was San Giacinto who spoke. "The prince made me do it," answered Meschini in low tones.
Montevarchi remained in his study after Gouache had gone. A sour smile distorted his thin lips, and the expression became more and more accented until the old man broke into a laugh that rang drily against the vaulted ceiling. Some one knocked at the door, and his merriment disappeared instantly. Arnoldo Meschini entered the room.
The nature of the man, however, was peculiar, and his occupation was undoubtedly congenial to him, and far more profitable than it appeared to be. Arnoldo Meschini was a forger.
And yet the issue of none of these events was absolutely sure. The first matter with which we are concerned is the forgery of the clauses in the documents, which Meschini had undertaken to accomplish and actually finished in less than three weeks.
When he made his appearance Tiberio Colaisso knew what he wanted, and although he had half repented of what he had done, the renewed possibility of selling the precious drug was a temptation he could not withstand. One day succeeded another, and each morning saw Arnoldo Meschini crossing the Ponte Quattro Capi on his way to the apothecary's.
Meschini had executed the forgery, and he would have to ruin himself in order to bring any pressure to bear upon his employer. This the latter felt sure that he would not do, even if driven to extremities.
He was too cautious a man to throw away his ammunition uselessly. With a light heart he descended the winding stair and crossed the landing. One of Ascanio Bellegra's servants passed at that moment. Meschini looked at the fellow quietly, and even gave him a friendly smile, to test his own coolness, a civility which was acknowledged by a familiar nod. The librarian's spirits rose.
He will be agreeably surprised." "And how long will it take you to do the the work?" asked Montevarchi in hesitating tones. "Let me see," Meschini began to make a calculation under his breath. "Ink, two days preparing parchment for experiments, a week writing, twice over, two days giving age, drying and rubbing, three days, at least. Two, nine, eleven, fourteen. A fortnight," he said aloud.
He worked in his own room during the evening and allowed no one to see what he was doing, for although it was rarely that the old prince honoured the library with a visit, yet Meschini was inclined to run no risks, and proceeded in his task with the utmost secrecy. Nothing could exceed the care he showed in the preparation and use of his materials.
A man who is perpetually producing an unnatural state of his mind by swallowing doses of brandy and opium may not be insane in theory; in actual fact, he may be a dangerous madman. As one day followed another Meschini found it more and more impossible to exist without his two comforters. The least approach to lucidity made him almost frantic.
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