Home > Authors Index > Van Tassel Sutphen > Gates of Chance > This page
The Gates of Chance, a fiction by Van Tassel Sutphen |
||
Chapter 11. The Philadelphia Quizzing-Glass |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ Chapter XI. The Philadelphia Quizzing-Glass
Clearly there was nothing to be learned from the cabman, and he was undoubtedly sincere in his protestations. The little peculiarities of costume that had originally caught my eye were obviously unsuited for public wear. The fez and the black bag had probably been brought into use after the men of mystery had entered the cab, and it was only through the accident of the suddenly released window-shade that Esper Indiman and I had seen what we did. "No thoroughfare" stood out plainly on this particular road. Then the humor took me to try conclusions with Chance herself, the method a la Indiman. I chucked a silver dollar to the cabman. "Whatever it's worth to you in time and distance," I said. "Don't ask me any questions--go as you please." Hackman Mulvihill was a humorist in his way and he wanted to spare his horse. Six times in succession we made the circuit of Madison Square and never once off the walk. I was on the point of protesting, but I remembered the rules of the game and held my tongue. Finally, we started down-town by way of Fourth Avenue. Near Sixteenth Street and Union Square the cab pulled up to the curb, an intimation that my chartered voyage was over. "And now which way?" I inquired, smilingly. Mr. Mulvihill regarded me with compassionate and somewhat unflattering interest. "Be glory!" he said, frankly, "it's Bellevue that ye'll be wanting afore long, and badly, too. Come, now, jist jump in again and I'll rowl ye up there quiet and peaceable like. A touch of liver, sorr. I know how it takes them. Maning a drop too much of the 'red-eye,'" he added, under his breath. "Quiet, there, Noddy, ye black divil." It was with some difficulty that I convinced this good Samaritan of my mental and physical equilibrium. Finally he drove off, wagging his head doubtfully. "But which way?" I shouted after him. He would not answer in words, but pointed eastward with his whip-stock. Eastward then it was. Between Union Square and Second Avenue there are several blocks of dwelling-houses--a once fashionable and still highly respectable residential neighborhood. The particular street does not matter, but I was proceeding in the general direction of Stuyvesant Square and had crossed Third Avenue. Being on the lower or shady side it was something of a surprise to receive a flash of sunlight directly in the eye. I stepped back. On the pavement at my feet there floated a blot of quivering yellow light; it danced directly towards me, and again I was blinded by its dazzle. The reflection from a mirror, of course, but it took me several minutes to determine its location. Ah, there it was--a peculiar combination, in polished copper, of triple glasses fixed to the sill of a second-story window in the house directly opposite. The device is in common use in Philadelphia and Baltimore, but here in New York it must be classed as an exotic. Its very name is unfamiliar, and I dub it the "Philadelphia Quizzing-Glass" for want of a better term. You understand, of course, that the mirrors are hinged together and adjustable to any angle. It is consequently possible for an observer sitting in the room to remain entirely out of sight and yet command a view of all that passes in the street below. An ingenious contrivance, then, for keeping one's self informed upon the business of the neighborhood. But New-Yorkers, if not less inquisitive, are more energetic than their Quaker cousins, and prefer the direct method of leaning out of the window, or, if need be, going down into the street itself. Still, there is something to be said for the "quizzing-glass," for we may look upon it as the range-finder of the domestic fortress, forewarning us of the approach of the bore and the process-server. Obviously, the ability to look round a corner may save us from many of the minor complications that embitter modern life. I was under surveillance--that was certain. Now, should I submit to the impertinence? It was easy to put an end to it by walking away. But I had aspired to be a disciple of Esper Indiman, gentleman adventurer, and here was a chance to take out a letter of marque on my own account--one must look Fortune in the face to catch her smile. And so I stood there immovable, until the dazzle in my eyes cleared away signifying that the ordeal was at an end. Then I lifted my hat and walked on, taking note of the house number--23l. The next day, Wednesday, it rained, but Thursday was clear, and it was inevitable that I should pay a second visit to the house of the quizzing-glass, as I had mentally christened it. Again I submitted to a long scrutiny. Evidently the result was satisfactory, for the door of the house was opened and a man ran quickly down the steps and came towards me. He was a small man with an Oriental cast of features and he wore a red fez. It sounds incredible, I admit, but such was the fact. He addressed me civilly, but in somewhat imperfect English. "Morning, sar. It is a fine walk-day." "Delightful," I assented. "My mistress, sar--the Lady Allegra--she will be obligated of the honor to have your company dinner. You have no engagement anticipatory?" He stood with his head cocked a trifle to one side, smiling amiably. "To-night?" I asked. "That, sar, is my counselment. To-night, at clock nine." "Very good. I'll be here." Red-Fez shook his head deprecatingly. Finally, and after much circumlocution, I gathered that I was not expected at No. 231. My instructions were simply to be in waiting at the Worth Monument in Madison Square at half-after eight; for the rest Red-Fez would hold himself responsible. And upon this understanding we parted. "The Lady Allegra," I said, under my breath, as I walked home. "The Lady Allegra." Up to this point I had kept my own counsel, but now I felt it my duty to make a confidant of Indiman. He listened to my story with grave attention. "It promises well--decidedly so," admitted Indiman. "Confound it! If it were not for this unlucky accident of a sprained ankle--" and he glanced ruefully at his injured limb encased in its plaster-of-Paris form. "I like the name," I went on, somewhat irrelevantly. "The Lady Allegra." "There are possibilities in it," assented Indiman, grumpily. "Will you hand me my solitaire cards--and, for Heaven's sake! stop kicking the lacquer off the andirons." "Oh, I beg your pardon." "Of course you understand what I mean. It isn't the andirons, but the sight of your aggressively vigorous legs that moves me to childish wrath. To be tied down here like a trussed pigeon! Better leave me to my solitaire. I'll be more civilized after luncheon." Whereupon I smiled and went out. Half-past eight o'clock; the Worth Monument; Red-Fez in a four-wheeler; the carefully drawn window-curtains; the production of the black silk bag with which to envelop my head--it all happened in accordance with the playbill. At first I tried to keep some idea of distance and direction, but I soon got confused and had to give it up. I could only conjecture that the course was a long one, for I heard a clock striking nine just as the cab stopped, and our pace had been a rapid one. "Thisaway, sar," whispered my guide, and I yielded to the gentle pressure of his hand on my arm. The street door closed behind me, I felt myself guided up a pair of stairs, a sharp turn to the right, and we had arrived. But where? Then I realized that the black silk bag had been removed from my head and I was free to use my eyes. An ironical permission, truly, for I found myself in absolute darkness. Strain my vision as I might, not a ray of light met the sensitive surface of the retina. The blackness stood about me like a wall, immaterial, doubtless, but none the less impenetrable. Deprived of sight, every mental faculty was instantly concentrated upon the single sense of hearing. My conductor had left me. There was the sound of a closing door and of padded foot-falls that trailed off into nothingness; then silence. Out of the void came a sharp click as of a well-oiled gun-lock. It was followed by the first notes of a piano-forte accompaniment. A soprano voice began singing Schubert's "Fischermadchen." What a delicious timbre! The clear resonance of a crystal bell. The beautiful melody ceased, but still I seemed to hear the faint, sweet overtones born of its final breath, thin auditory flames that flickered for an instant against the blank wall of the subconscious sense, and then in their turn were gone. Entranced and motionless, I waited. A sudden burst of light flooded the room, the radiation being indirect and proceeding from electroliers sunken behind the ceiling cornice. The apartment was of medium size, evidently the middle one of the ordinary series of three rooms characteristic of New York City houses, and it was furnished most simply--merely a table of Flemish oak with two leather-backed chairs to match and some rugs. The walls and door spaces were hung with red velvet draperies, which contrasted brilliantly with the gorgeous, gold-leafed plastic-work of the cornices and ceiling. A convex mirror, framed in massive silver gilt, hung on the side wall. A second look showed that it was really a bull's-eye of crackled glass, opal-tinted and translucent. It glowed as though illumined by some inward fire (doubtless a concealed electric-light bulb), and the shifting play of iridescent color was exquisitely beautiful. One could compare it only with an imprisoned rainbow. I looked and wondered. "I have kept you waiting. A thousand apologies," said a voice at my back. I turned to face a gentleman who must have entered from the front room; so at least the draperies, still slightly swaying, attested. A tall man, gray-haired, and of an extraordinary thinness--a caricature of Don Quixote himself, if such a thing were possible. "The Lady Allegra," he went on, "is unfortunately indisposed. She begs me to tender her apologies and regrets. I am her ladyship's resident physician, and my name is Gonzales." His eyes, hidden behind smoked glasses, examined me attentively. I murmured some words of conventional regrets, and, truth to tell, I was bitterly disappointed. I turned as though to go. "It is the Lady Allegra's wish that you should dine here this evening," continued Dr. Gonzales. "Solus, it is true, but the disappointment is a mutual one; of that you may be assured." Again I bowed and intimated my willingness to obey. The dining-room was an apartment of unusual size, panelled in Santo Domingo mahogany, the rich color of the wood standing in admirable contrast to the dark-green, watered silk with which the walls were covered. A magnificent tapestry, representing Dido's hunting-party in honor of AEneas, filled nearly the whole of one side wall, and on the chimney-breast opposite hung a mirror similar in appearance to that in the drawing-room. The illumination of the room was peculiar but effective--four bronze female figures, each holding in her hands a globe of translucent glass through which a mellow radiance diffused itself. The table, large enough to accommodate King Arthur and his knights, was beautifully set with plate and crystal, but only two covers had been laid. Red-Fez, who had now assumed the functions of a butler, showed me to my place, and then took up his stand behind the empty chair of his mistress. The two serving-men began immediately upon their duties. It was an extraordinary repast, for to both my eye and my palate the viands were utterly unknown. In fact, every dish had as its basis a peculiar substance that in appearance faintly suggested isinglass. But it had no taste, that I could discover, other than the flavor communicated to it by the various sauces and dressings with which it was served. It appeared first in the soup, and then, omitting the fish course, I recognized it as the foundation of an excellent vol-au-vent. It served again as a substitute for meat, compressed and moulded in the form of French chops. There was even a passable imitation of a green goose. I had a slice from the breast, and it tasted very well. The philosophers tell us that there is an infinite power in suggestion. That may account, in part at least, for the complacency with which I accepted these remarkable perversions of the ordinary menu. If ideas are the only realities, my green goose might have come straight from Washington Market itself. The two vegetables, cauliflower an gratin and boiled potatoes, were good to look at and good to eat, although neither of them had ever seen a garden. There was a salad, too, with an incomparable dressing. Finally, an excellent pudding. The wines and mineral waters, the liqueurs and the coffee, were genuine. The fantastic cuisine of my hostess extended only to the solid portions of the repast, and for this I was secretly thankful. I don't like chemical burgundies, and the "health-food" mochas and javas are only surprisingly good imitations of exceedingly bad coffee. The chair opposite me remained unfilled, but each course was served at the cover as scrupulously as though the Lady Allegra were actually present. It made me feel a trifle uncomfortable at the first--the sight of that vacant chair set back a little from the table, the napkin half unfolded, the full wineglasses, the plate with its untouched food. And once, when the foot-man offered the cauliflower to my invisible vis-a-vis, it seemed as though she declined it. The man hesitated a second and then passed on without putting a portion on the plate. For the moment I was foolish enough to contemplate a similar refusal, but I reconsidered--I am very fond of cauliflower. At the conclusion of dinner I took my cigar into the red drawing-room. The lights had been lowered, and only the opalescent bull's-eye glowed with undiminished brilliancy. I sat staring at it, and the outrageous perplexity of the situation began to get on my nerves. I must get out of here, and I half rose. Then I sank back, forgetting everything but that marvellous voice. Again the Lady Allegra was singing, and could I doubt that it was for me! David's "Charmant Oiseau," and then the gay little gavotte from "Manon." What an astonishing repertoire--Chaminade, Schumann, Grieg, Richard Strauss. Finally Schubert, and Schubert only, the last and the best given, as it is meet, to him who is the master of all. The rainbow-tinted orb of the wall mirror continued to hold my eyes; they drooped and fell as the radiance grew fainter and yet fainter. When I awoke Red-Fez was standing at the bedside, hot-water can in hand. "Morning, sar," he said, with gentle affability. "Will you permit me to shaver you?" I jumped out of bed and went to the window. It was closed, although a ventilator at the top admitted plenty of the outside air, and the glass was of the opaque bull's-eye variety through which it is impossible to see. I tried to throw up the sash, but it would not budge. I submitted in silence to the ministrations of Red-Fez, not choosing to enter into any discussion with a servant. But I was sorely tempted to protest when he proceeded to array me in an extraordinary robe of cardinal silk in lieu of the ordinary masculine habiliments. Certainly I could not leave the house enveloped in this ridiculous garment. My dress clothes would have been bad enough, but there was no trace of them to be seen. Evidently I should have to call Dr. Gonzales to account, and having descended to the now familiar red drawing-room, I sent Red-Fez with a request for an immediate audience. A few minutes later he appeared. "Am I a prisoner here?" I asked, abruptly. "You await the Lady Allegra's pleasure," he answered, imperturbably. "She is still indisposed. Possibly by to-night, but I cannot say definitely." "I do not wish--" "Chut!" he interrupted, irritably. "It is a matter not of your wishes but of her will. That is inevitable. Can you not understand?" I looked at the immovable figures of two footmen at the door and then walked out to breakfast. An excellent meal it was, although I recognized that the food was only an ingenious variation upon the theme of the night before; that mysterious substance resembling isinglass was the basis of everything set before me. It was the same with luncheon and again at dinner. And, as on the previous night, it was an empty chair that confronted me. Well, what did it matter, after all. Can you even imagine what Schubert's "Linden-Tree" might be when perfectly sung? Is it an hallucination, then, that possesses me--some subtle disturbance of the nerve-centres sapping the sources of will-power, enfeebling even the physical energies? I do not know. Sometimes I am ashamedly conscious that I do not greatly care. It is now a week since I entered this house, and I have made but one attempt to reassert my personal rights. Yesterday a sudden passion of resolution seized me; at all hazards I must break the bonds imposed upon me by this invisible enchantress. As I passed the door leading to the red drawing-room I put my fingers in my ears--Ulysses and the sirens. But when I reached the lower hall I walked plump into Dr. Gonzales, who fixed me with a penetrating look. "Go back!" he said, authoritatively. "The Lady Allegra sings--and for you." I listened; it was, "Ah, fors e lui." I divide my time between the library on the third floor and the red drawing-room, where the strange beauty of the opal-tinted mirror holds me possessed for hours together. Remember that the Lady Allegra still maintains her tantalizing role of inviolable seclusion. It is through her voice alone that she impresses her personality upon my senses. That seems ridiculous, does it not? But then you have not heard her sing "Ah, fors e lui." Yet, after all, the end came quickly. I shall be equally succinct in my chronicle of the events leading up to it. As usual I had dined alone, and had afterwards submitted to the customary examination at the hands of Dr. Gonzales. Why he should deem it necessary to take my pulse and temperature and then ascertain my weight and power of grip with such scrupulous exactitude I never troubled to inquire. Indeed, it seemed such a puerile proceeding that I have hitherto refrained from even mentioning it. To-night he seemed ill-pleased with the results of his investigation. "You are losing weight," he said, severely, "and you don't begin to grip within ten pounds of what you registered a week ago." "What does it matter?" I answered, as indifferently as I felt. "You ought to eat more. No steam without fuel." "I am not hungry." "Bah!" he snorted, indignantly. "It is always the same story. Another failure! But no, I will not suffer it. Sooner than that I will have you penned and stuffed as though you were a Strasburg goose." But I only laughed at his petulance and walked on to the drawing-room. I laughed, I say, and yet I had begun vaguely to realize that something was wrong. My head felt strangely light. I stumbled over a corner of the rug, and would have fallen out of pure weakness if I had not caught at the table for support. My respiration seemed more rapid than usual and the sweat from the slight exertion beaded my forehead. Then I forgot everything but that the Lady Allegra had begun to sing. The desire, the impulse, they had crystallized into resolution. I would wait no longer. This very night the walls of the fortress should fall, unveiling the secret of this insolent loveliness, the desire of all the world. Ah, my lady Allegra, was it chance alone that led you to choose Isolde's "Liebestod" for this the supreme enchantment? The music fell away into nothingness and I stepped forward, my hand on the knob of the folding-doors that led to the front room. I knocked twice--firmly, insistently. "Open!" I cried, and immediately the door-knob yielded to my touch. "Stop!" Dr. Gonzales stood at the hall entrance to the drawing-room. I saw something that gleamed like polished metal in his uplifted hand. Then he fell back and disappeared. It seemed as though some invisible force behind the portiere had taken sudden and irresistible possession of him. What did I care. I went forward and into the room, absolutely empty save for an upright cabinet of mahogany placed on a central pedestal. It was tall enough to conceal a person standing behind it, but it was not the Lady Allegra who came forward to meet me. "Indiman!" I said, weakly. "Esper Indiman!" "The carriage is waiting," he said. "Come." "Never!" I retorted, passionately. "You don't understand--the Lady--Allegra--" Well, I suppose I must have fainted from sheer inanition, and so Indiman explained it himself that next morning. "You had been half starved for over a week, and no wonder you keeled over. No; you can't have another mouthful of that beef-steak. You'll have to wait for luncheon." I sank back among the cushions of the couch rather resentfully. "Well, at least you can go on and tell me," I said. "Certainly. There are cranks of all degrees, as you know. It was your luck to fall into the hands of one of the king-pins of the confraternity--Dr. Ferdinand Gonzales, alias Moses the Second. "He wanted a new subject for his experiments upon the physical regeneration of the human race, and he caught you in his drag-net. It was a close call for you, old chap." "I don't understand." "You have been starving to death for ten days, and yet eating three meals a day right along. Nothing peculiar about that, eh?" "It WAS rather curious stuff. It looked like isinglass." "Perhaps it is. All I care about is the fact that the food you have been eating doesn't contain a particle of nourishment for the human system. But Moses the Second imagined that he had invented, or rather rediscovered, the one perfect nutriment for the race--nothing less than manna." "Manna!" "Don't you remember the manna in the wilderness, the children of Israel, and the forty years they fed upon it. Dr. Gonzales, who was really a fine chemist before he went dotty, got the idee fixe that all human ills were due to improper food. He tackled the problem, at first scientifically, but later on he had a vision that he was really the reincarnation of the Prophet Moses. Moses and manna--the connection is obvious and the secret was soon in his possession. He manufactured the stuff in his own laboratory and lived on it himself--at least to the verge of physical extinction. Then he went gunning for subjects, and you know the rest. The rubbish fills you up without nourishing you, and what you lived on was really stimulants alone--the wine and coffee." "But will you tell me--how did you chance to find--" "For the first few days I didn't dream of interfering--it was your own adventure. But on Monday--that's yesterday, you know--I determined to look things up a bit. So I walked into No. 231 and scared Mr. Red-Fez into a few plain truths. His real name is Dawson, you know." "Yes." "It was simply an immensely improved sort of phonograph that Gonzales had invented. None of the harshness and squeakiness of tone that you associate with the ordinary instrument. Partly a new method of making the records and partly a system of qualifying chambers that refine and purify the tones. It is wonderful enough to deceive anybody, and, of course, he had all his records ready to hand." "Then the Lady Allegra, the Lady Allegra--" "'Vox et preterea nihil,'" quoted Indiman. He left the room quietly, and I lay there on the lounge staring up at the ceiling. "'Vox et preterea nihil.'" Two months have passed and I am slowly recuperating in body and mind. But there are some things not to be forgotten--for instance, "Ah, fors e lui," when sung by the most beautiful voice in all the world. Indiman proposes that we shall go to the Utinam Club, dine, and spend the night. Well, we don't often indulge in that rather questionable amusement, although we are accustomed to use the club freely throughout the daytime. All the more reason, then, that once in a while--I need a distraction and there are some interesting psychological deductions--But hang casuistry; it is enough to say that we did go. It is undeniably pleasant to be sitting here in the club dining-room sharing a ruddy duck and a bottle of burgundy. Yes, and to feel the cares, the disappointments, the burdens of life dropping off one by one; to be able to dismiss them with a nod as one gives an unfortunate beggar his conge. Ills that one need not bear; evils that it is no longer necessary to endure--they have all been eliminated by the simple process of excluding from the spectrum the ultra blue-and-violet rays. A palpable evasion, of course. Call it immoral, if you will, and I shall not lift the gauntlet. Why should we quarrel over phrases when it is only required to return thanks to the good Dr. Magnus for his beneficent discovery? That is enough for me at least. Carpe diem, or, more precisely, noctem. It was Dr. Magnus himself who later on introduced us to Chivers in the common room--Chivers, a little man of Semitic physiognomy, with a hard, knobbed face and a screw of black beard. He addressed himself effusively to Indiman, while the doctor and I remained spectators, silent but interested. "A dealer in adventures, a specialist in the grotesque--ah, I like that, Mr. Indiman. The rest of us"--this with a gesture inexpressibly mean and fawning--"prefer to haggle over the lion's skin after it has been cured and dressed. It's a mere question of temperament, dear sir." "What have you to say to me?" inquired Indiman, abruptly. I could see that he wanted to kick him. "I have an adventure--of the first class. I desire to dispose of it." "Yes." "A noble, a surpassing adventure. Moreover, a commercial opening that is not to be despised--fifty per cent on your capital every six months." "Yes." "I offer you, then, my well-established business of adjuster of averages, good-will and office fixtures included." "But I never even heard of such a profession. I know nothing about averages and their adjustment." "What difference! It is the adventure that particularly concerns you, is it not? The business--pouf! it runs itself." "And the terms?" "I make them ridiculously easy. You are to take over the business, including the lease of my offices in the Barowsky Brothers' bank building, William H. Seward Square. In return for this accommodation I am prepared to pay you the sum of ten thousand dollars." Mr. Chivers grinned cheerfully as he concluded this astounding proposition. He pulled ten new one-thousand-dollar bills from his waistcoat-pocket and laid them on the table. Indiman regarded the little man thoughtfully. "You have been in business for your health?" he inquired, with an affectation of polite interest. "You have hit it exactly," returned the imperturbable Chivers. "I was pretty rocky when I first went to William H. Seward Square. But the air in that Yiddish country--wonderful, dear sir. Regard me; punch, poke, pound where and how you like. Sound as a bell you'll find me. Now I pass on. I yield place to you. The honor, dear sir, is mine." "I confess that I am interested," said Indiman. "The conditions are simply--" "Your personal day and night tenancy of the chambers in the Barowsky Building for a period of not less than three months. I should have explained that the rooms really form a bachelor's suite, all furnished, of course." "There are papers to sign?" "Only the assumption of the office lease, and I'll give you a bill of sale for the furniture." Mr. Chivers laid the documents before Indiman; the latter glanced them over and drew out his fountain-pen. A quick look, one of satisfaction and understanding, passed between Chivers and Dr. Magnus. I caught it and tried to convey a warning to my friend. But he had already affixed his signature to the lease of the offices in the Barowsky bank building. Chivers did the same for the bill of sale. Indiman gathered up the ten one-thousand-dollar bills and stuffed them into his pocket. "Want a receipt?" he asked. "It is not necessary." "Well, at least, we must have a bumper to celebrate the conclusion of the transaction. Waiter." We took a cab in the gray of the dawning hour and drove home. As might have been predicted, my spirits had dropped to the zero-point again. "I don't like it--frankly, I don't, old man. What if it should be a trap?" Indiman laughed heartily. "Why, of course, it's a trap," he said. "That's plain as a pike-staff, whatever a pike-staff itself may be. It's the particular kind of a trap that interests me. The why and the wherefore." Arrived at the house, Indiman handed a bill to the driver and we ascended the steps. But the cabman seemed dissatisfied with his treatment. "Hey, there!" he called once, and then again. Indiman turned impatiently. "Well, what is it?" he asked "You can see for yourself, guv'nor. A mistake, ain't it?" It was one of the thousand-dollar bills that the honest cabby was holding up. What a phenomenon in the way of a hackman! And yet the New York night-hawks are no fools and thousand-dollar bills are easy to trace. Indiman gave the man fifty dollars as a reward of virtue and he was more than satisfied. But something still remained on his conscience thus agreeably stimulated. "'Scuse me, guv'nor," he went on, "but here's another little job in the same line of business. I drove a gentleman to your club early in the evening, and he must have left it accidental in the cab. Maybe you know him." It was a plain white envelope bearing the typewritten address: Mr. Orrin Chivers, Nos. 13-15 Barowsky Chambers, Seward Square, New York. The envelope had been opened, but the enclosure still remained in it. "Thank you," said Indiman. "I'll take charge of it." The cabman touched his hat and drove away. We went up to the library and proceeded to examine the treasure trove. It consisted of a long strip of thin bluish paper less than a quarter of an inch in width and containing a succession of apparently arbitrary and unmeaning characters written in ink. I reproduce a section of the strip, which should make my description more intelligible. Indiman looked at the hieroglyphics musingly. "Important--if true," he murmured. _ |
||