Georgie lifted the machine. There was no Arabic at all, nor was it Abfou’s writing, which in quaint little ways resembled Daisy’s when he wrote quickly.
“Vittoria,” he read. “I am Vittoria.”
“Georgie, how silly,” said Lucia, “or is it the Queen?”
“Let’s see what she says,” said Georgie. “I am Vittoria. I come to Riseholme. For proof, there is a dog and a Vecchia——”
“That’s Italian,” said Lucia excitedly. “You see, Vittoria is Italian. Vecchia means—let me see; yes, of course, it means ‘old woman.’ ‘A dog, and an old woman who is angry.’ O Georgie, you did that! You were thinking about Pug and Lady Ambermere.”
“I swear I wasn’t,” said Georgie. “It never entered my head. Let’s see what else. ‘And Vittoria comes to tell you of fire and water, of fire and water. The strong elements that burn and soak. Fire and water and moonlight.’”
“O Georgie, what gibberish,” said Lucia. “It’s as silly as Abfou. What does it mean? Moonlight! I suppose you would say I pushed and was thinking of the Moonlight Sonata.”
That base thought had occurred to Georgie’s mind, but where did fire and water come in? Suddenly a stupendous interpretation struck him.
“It’s most extraordinary!” he said. “We had a Museum Committee meeting just now, and Mrs. Boucher said the place was streaming wet. We settled to get some oil-stoves to keep it dry. There’s fire and water for you!” Georgie had mentioned this fact about the Museum Committee, but so casually that he had quite forgotten he had done so. Lucia did not remind him of it.
“Well, I do call that remarkable!” she said. “But I daresay it’s only a coincidence.”