[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.There are thirteen more of them.”“But the Trevelyans, and the people who farmed here before that—”“Never bothered to look.These were stowed at the bottom of a chest, underneath bits of the Analytical Engine and old sacks.I guess nobody ever got past the top layer until I came along.” He smiled at me.“Tempted? If I were twenty years younger, I’d take the money and run.”“How much?”“What’s gold worth these days, U.S.currency?”“God knows.Maybe three hundred and fifty dollars an ounce?”“You’re the calculating boy wonder, not me.So you do the arithmetic.Fourteen bars, each one weighs twenty-five pounds—I’m using avoirdupois, not troy, even though it’s gold.”“One point nine-six million.Say two million dollars, in round numbers.How long has it been here?”“Who knows? But since it was under the parts of the Analytical Engine, I’d say it’s been there as long as the rest.”“And who owns it?”“If you asked the government, I bet they’d say that they do.If you ask me, it’s whoever found it.Me.And now maybe me and thee.” He grinned, diabolical in the lantern light.“Ready for the next exhibit?”I wasn’t.“For somebody to bring a fortune in gold here, and just leave it.”Underneath his raincoat, Bill was wearing an old sports jacket and jeans.He owned, to my knowledge, three suits, none less than ten years old.His vices were beer, travel to museums, and about four cigars a year.I could not see him as the Two Million Dollar Man, and I didn’t believe he could see himself that way.His next words confirmed it.“So far as I’m concerned,” he said, “this all belongs to the Trevelyans.But I’ll have to explain to them that gold may be the least valuable thing here.” He was back into the second tea-chest, the one that held the drawings, and his hands were trembling again.“These are what I really wanted you to see,” he went on, in a husky voice.“I’ve not had the chance to have them dated yet, but my bet is that they’re all genuine.You can touch them, but be gentle.”He was holding three slim volumes, as large as accounting ledgers.Each one was about twenty inches by ten, and bound in a shiny black material like thin, sandpapery leather.I took the top one when he held it out, and opened it.I saw neat tables of numbers, column after column of them.They were definitely not the product of any Analytical Engine, because they were handwritten and had occasional crossings-out and corrections.I flipped on through the pages.Numbers.Nothing else, no notes, no signature.Dates on each page.They were all in October 1855.The handwriting was that of the programming manual.The second book had no dates at all.It was a series of exquisitely detailed machine drawings, with elaborately interlocking cogs and gears.There was writing, in the form of terse explanatory notes and dimensions, but it was in an unfamiliar hand.“I’ll save you the effort,” said Bill as I reached for the lens.“These are definitely not by L.D.They are exact copies of some of Babbage’s own plans for his calculating engines.I’ll show you other reproductions if you like, back in Auckland, but you’ll notice that these aren’t photographs.I don’t know what copying process was used.My bet is that all these things were placed here at the same time—whenever that was.”I wouldn’t take Bill’s word for it.After all, I had come to New Zealand to provide an independent check on his ideas.But five minutes were enough to make me agree, for the moment, with what he was saying.“I’d like to take this and the other books up to the kitchen,” I said, as I handed the second ledger back to him.“I want to have a really good look at them.”“Of course.” Bill nodded.“That’s exactly what I expected.I told the Trevelyans that we might be here in Little House for up to a week.We can cook for ourselves, or Annie says she’d be more than happy to expect us at mealtimes.I think she likes the company.”I wasn’t so sure of that
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]