Suddenly, with a terrible effort, he stopped crying.
“When I cry it burns a hole in the paper and spoils the sense—ha! ha! There it is again! Clean out! ha! ha!”
Again he jumped up and began chasing the light about the room, but it flickered about unsteadily till suddenly it rose above the altar; and he, finding it beyond him, knelt down and cried again.
We left him, and when we were outside, and the heavy, inhuman bolts drawn, Vestasian turned to me.
“Genius,” he said, “why did you speak so thoughtlessly?”
“I spoke from genuine conviction. He said there was part omitted on each page, and I saw nothing wanting.”
“Did you not?” he asked meditatively.
“No. Whatever was wanting lay with him. You yourself saw nothing amiss.”
“I am privileged to lie—or rather to speak the truth on another principle.”
“I see. But, if you know, what was this thing of which he spoke?”