There was another silence. At length the alchemist said, “I have found somewhat.”
“Read!”
“Nay, I may not. It is in symbols.”
“Then write.” Tring deftly slipped a piece of board across his knees and put into his fingers a kind of pen made of wood and a feather; this he had dipped into a pot of ink as thick as paint, and he guided it in the alchemist’s hand until it rested upon a piece of fresh white parchment that he laid upon the board.
The alchemist wrote as follows:
“What else?”
The alchemist wrote:
“Quod primum incredibile, non continuo falsum est; crebro siquidem faciem mendacii veritas retinet.”
“No. That’s nothing. Do you find other formulæ?”