The plan was simple enough in appearance, and provided that the handwriting could be successfully forged, there was no reason why it should not succeed.  The man who could do it, if he would, was in the house at that moment, and Montevarchi knew it.  Arnoldo Meschini, the shrivelled little secretary and librarian, who had a profound knowledge of the law and spent his days as well as most of his nights in poring over crabbed manuscripts, was the very person for such a piece of work.  He understood the smallest variations in handwriting which belonged to different periods, and the minutest details of old-fashioned penmanship were as familiar to him as the common alphabet.  But would he do it?  Would he undertake the responsibility of a forgery of which the success would produce such tremendous responsibilities, of which the failure would involve such awful disgrace?  Montevarchi had reasons of his own for believing that Arnoldo Meschini would do anything he was ordered to do, and would moreover keep the secret faithfully.  Indeed, as far as discretion was concerned, he would, in case of exposure, have to bear the penalty.  Montevarchi would arrange that.  If discovered it would be easy for him to pretend that being unable to read the manuscript he had employed his secretary to do so, and that the latter, in the hope of reward, had gratuitously imposed upon the prince and the courts of law before whom the case would be tried.

One thing was necessary.  San Giacinto must never see the documents until they were produced as evidence.  In the first place it was important that he, who was the person nearest concerned, should be in reality perfectly innocent, and should be himself as much deceived as any one.  Nothing impresses judges like real and unaffected innocence.  Secondly, if he were consulted, it was impossible to say what view he might take of the matter.  Montevarchi suspected him of possessing some of the hereditary boldness of the Saracinesca.  He might refuse to be a party in a deception, even though he himself was to benefit by it, a consideration which chilled the old man’s blood and determined him at once to confide the secret to no one but Arnoldo Meschini, who was completely in his power.

The early history of this remarkable individual was uncertain.  He had received an excellent education and it is no exaggeration to call him learned, for he possessed a surprising knowledge of ancient manuscripts and a great experience in everything connected with this branch of archaeology.  It was generally believed that he had been bred to enter the church, but he himself never admitted that he had been anything more than a scholar in a religious seminary.  He had subsequently studied law and had practised for some time, when he had suddenly abandoned his profession in order to accept the ill-paid post of librarian and secretary to the father of the present Prince Montevarchi.  Probably his love of mediaeval lore had got the better of his desire for money, and during