Arnoldo Meschini took his work home with him, and spent a day in considering what he should do.  Then he deliberately placed the facsimile in his employer’s library, and sold the original to a learned man who was collecting for a great public institution in a foreign country.  His train of reasoning was simple, for he said to himself that the forgery was less likely to be detected in the shelves of the Montevarchi’s palace than if put into the hands of a body of famous scientists who naturally distrusted what was brought to them.  Collectors do not ask questions as to whence a valuable thing has been taken; they only examine whether it be genuine and worth the money.

Emboldened by his success, the forger had continued to manufacture facsimiles and sell originals for nearly twenty years, during which he succeeded in producing nearly as many copies, and realised a sum which to him appeared enormous and which was certainly not to be despised by any one.  Some of the works he sold were published and annotated by great scholars, some were jealously guarded in the libraries of rich amateurs, who treasured them with all the selfish vigilance of the bibliomaniac.  In the meanwhile Meschini’s learning and skill constantly increased, till he possessed an almost diabolical skill in the art of imitating ancient writings, and a familiarity with the subject which amazed the men of learning who occasionally obtained permission to enter the library and study there.  Upon these, too, Meschini now and then experimented with his forgeries, not one of which was ever detected.

Prince Montevarchi saw in his librarian only a poor wretch whose passion for ancient literature seemed to dominate his life and whose untiring industry had made him master of the very secret necessary in the present instance.  He knew that such things as he contemplated had been done before and he supposed that they had been done by just such men as Arnoldo Meschini.  He knew the history of the man’s early disgrace and calculated wisely enough that the fear of losing his situation on the one hand, and the hope of a large reward on the other, would induce him to undertake the job.  To all appearances he was as poor as when he had entered the service of the prince’s father five and twenty years earlier.  The promise of a few hundred scudi, thought Montevarchi, would have immense weight with such a man.  In his eagerness to accomplish his purpose, the nobleman never suspected that the offer would be refused by a fellow who had narrowly escaped being convicted of forgery in his youth, and whose poverty was a matter concerning which no doubt could exist.