‘Now these words you must never report to any one, without my permission.’
‘Not likely,’ said Merton, ‘I only remember two of them, and these I knew before.’
‘All right,’ said Bude.
He then veiled his face in a piece of silk that lay on a sofa, and rapidly, in a low voice, chanted a kind of hymn in a tongue unknown to Merton. All this he did with a bored air, as if he thought the performance a superfluous mummery.
‘Now what shall I show you? Something simple.
Look at the bookcase, and think of any book you may want to consult.’
Merton thought of the volume in M. of the Encyclopædia Britannica. The volume slowly slid from the shelf, glided through the air to Merton, and gently subsided on the table near him, open at the word Moa.
Merton walked across to the bookcase, took all the volumes from the shelf, and carefully examined the backs and sides for springs and mechanical advantages. There were none.
‘Not half bad!’ he said, when he had completed his investigation.
‘You are satisfied that Te-iki-pa knew something? If you had seen what I have seen, if you had seen the three days dead—’ and Bude shivered slightly.