At the same time, Jane discovered the books in the cupboard, and on opening the fly-leaf of one of them saw the name, John Clayton, London. In a second book which she hurriedly examined was the single name, Greystoke.
“Why, Mr. Clayton,” she cried, “what does this mean? Here are the names of some of your own people in these books.”
“And here,” he replied gravely, “is the great ring of the house of Greystoke which has been lost since my uncle, John Clayton, the former Lord Greystoke, disappeared, presumably lost at sea.”
“But how do you account for these things being here, in this savage African jungle?” exclaimed the girl.
“There is but one way to account for it, Miss Porter,” said Clayton. “The late Lord Greystoke was not drowned. He died here in this cabin and this poor thing upon the floor is all that is mortal of him.”
“Then this must have been Lady Greystoke,” said Jane reverently, indicating the poor mass of bones upon the bed.
“The beautiful Lady Alice,” replied Clayton, “of whose many virtues and remarkable personal charms I often have heard my mother and father speak. Poor woman,” he murmured sadly.
With deep reverence and solemnity the bodies of the late Lord and Lady Greystoke were buried beside their little African cabin, and between them was placed the tiny skeleton of the baby of Kala, the ape.
As Mr. Philander was placing the frail bones of the infant in a bit of sail cloth, he examined the skull minutely. Then he called Professor Porter to his side, and the two argued in low tones for several minutes.
“Most remarkable, most remarkable,” said Professor Porter.