There came the sudden stopping of Richardson's voice in the middle of an instrument reading, the short silence, then Richardson's voice chanting the strange sounds. Franstein took his pipe from between his teeth and his mouth fell open as he listened. The sounds ceased and Richardson's voice resumed the instrument reading at the point at which it had left off.
"That's all," said Snow, and switched off the machine.
Franstein put his pipe back into his mouth. "Is this the recording of this afternoon's test?"
"Yes. What d'you make of it?"
"Let's hear it again."
Snow played back the recording a second and a third time, and then said: "Well?"
Franstein went to the table and helped himself to more coffee before replying. "It's a new one on me," he said presently. "I've got about a thousand recordings of languages and dialects from all over the world, and not one of them is anything like that."
"You think it is a language, not just sounds?"
"That we've got to find out, but I'd say, offhand, it's a primitive form of a language of some sort."
"Then how the devil does it come out of a man like Richardson who's never spoken anything but English—nor his forebears, for that matter?"