“It is your own saying, O Senestro!” warned Geos. “You must abide by my Lord's reply.”
“True; and I shall abide. I know nothing of black magic, or any other. But I care not. I know only that I cannot accept this stranger as a spirit. I have felt his muscles, and I know his strength; they are a man's, and a Thomahlian's.”
“Then you do not abide?”
“Yes, I do. That is, I do not claim him. He has won his freedom. But as for endorsing him—no, not until he has given further proof. Let him come to the Spot of Life. Let him take the ordeal. Let him qualify on the Day of the Prophet.”
“My lord, do you accept?”
Watson had no idea what the “ordeal” might be, nor what might be the significance of the day. But he could not very well refuse. He spoke as lightly as he could.
“Of course. I accept anything.” Then, addressing the prince: “One word, O Senestro.”
“Speak up, Sir Phantom!”
“Bar Senestro—what have you done with the Jarados?”
An instant's stunned silence greeted this stab. It was broken by the prince.