Page 5 of The Gentleman’s Thief

“I understand that due to your profession you are knowledgeable about maker’s marks and symbols. Have you ever seen this symbol before?”

The slip of paper looked like it was torn from an envelope flap and contained a stamped symbol –a circle of intertwining rings with the monogrammed letters FS inside. I looked at the symbol and then enquiringly up at Cavell whose hazel eyes were studying me intensely.

“Yes. I have seen this before.” Cavell’s eyes grew large with excitement.

“Where?”

“A moment please, I can show you.” I stood and made my way to my desk.

When I’d returned home after my Christmas journey a large pile of correspondence awaited on my sturdy oak desk—I found letters, Christmas cards, and a curious gift wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. With Cavell watching me eagerly I sat at my desk and opened the left-hand drawer. I drew out the brown paper package. I removed the item from its protective covering. What I’d found inside was a beautifully bound book. There was no card accompanying the book and more curious, when I’d first opened the book I discovered that, peculiarly, the pages were all blank. I was confused but concluded that this thoughtful gift of a journal must have been sent by a client.

I returned to the tea-table clutching the small red book. The leather felt warm in my hand. I passed the book to Sebastian and sat, observing as his nimble fingers inspected it. It was truly a beautiful volume, small enough to fit in my palm, or pocket, bound in the finest goatskin leather dyed a deep crimson red. The interior paper was thin but strong and had a strange waxy feel to it. On opening the book the front endpaper bore a line of bible verse. Written in spidery black ink were the words:

Respice ad me et Salvi eritis, Omnes fines terræ, quia ego Deus et non est ultra absque eo – then beneath the quote was Fratres Seminis.

At the back of the book stamped on the endpaper was the very same circular symbol that Cavell was interested in. I had no idea what the symbol meant—if it was a monogram or binders mark, but with some study I could quickly decipher the Latin verse.

“Interesting,” Cavell murmured as he leafed through my book.

“This was a Christmas gift?”

“It appears so. It was waiting on my desk when I arrived home. It was rather a surprise.” I explained.

“Do you know who sent it?” There was a hint of accusation in his tone.

“N… no.” I stuttered and sat with my back straight. “I do not expect acquaintances to give me gifts. I want for nothing and I encourage all to give to the poor box in my parish church.” I blustered. I did not want him to think that my support or affections could be bought by the giving of fripperies.

However, come to think of it, it appeared that I was currently blessed with unexpected gifts, for Sebastian also left a gift for me after our liaison. His gift was an item I had longed to own for the past thirty years—The Staff of Asklepios. The black stone phallus had been excavated from a temple site on a Greek island and now took pride of place in a display case in my secret room. Although I was unhappy about how the Staff was obtained I was overjoyed to now possess it and wonder at its possible magical powers.

Sebastian ran his finger over the line of verse, and then recited,

“Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth, for I am God, and there is none else. That’s Isaiah 45:22.” He said.

“You read Latin?” I also read Latin in my youth but it was my worst class and the remembrance of it faded with the years.

“Of course I read Latin. One never forgets a lesson branded with pain—I endured more than one beating with a Latin textbook!” He replied morbidly. Cavell’s schooling must have been hellish.

Sebastian’s fingers checked the spine of the book, and then he turned every thin wordless page and trailed a finger over the symbol on the endpaper. He pursed his lips and grimaced in puzzlement. After a long moment, he closed the volume with a sharp snapping sound. Cavell placed the book on the table

“What is the significance of that symbol?” He met my concerned gaze.

“That’s why I’m here. I don’t know, but currently, it’s all I have to go on”, Cavell harrumphed, making little sense.

“What the devil is this all about, man?”

Cavell did not say a word; instead, he slid the second slip of paper across the table to me as if in explanation. Curious, I picked it up and unfolded it. I discovered it was a sienna photograph of a beatific young man. He sat in front of a mountain scene. He had an upright bearing; his golden curls falling to his shoulders. His garments appeared to be of embroidered silks. This boy was most certainly of noble stock, but from the backdrop used in the setting, he was not British.

“Have you ever seen him before?”

I stared at the angelic face.

“A striking young man, is he not?” Cavell observed.

“Indeed. He looks familiar, but for the life of me, I cannot recall where I have seen him. Who is he?”

“His name is Baron Leopold Freiherr Von Liebenstein. He is the twenty-two-year-old son of Baron Maximillian Von Liebenstein of Thüringia, in Germany.”

“What is your interest in him?” I wondered if the boy or his father was Cavell’s current mark.