The tricks this extraordinary man played with his voice were astonishing, and as he went on talking he quite dizzied Tab by the cryptic, baffling nature of his nervous speeches. He had, too, a curious and disconcerting habit of displaying great emotional intensity—opening his eyes to their greatest extent and distending his nostrils—in dealing with trifles of the slightest consequence; while whenever, as happened once or twice in the course of the luncheon, they touched even remotely on subjects of really vital importance, the extraordinary Mr. Wrenmarsh fairly oozed indifference. His conduct was so thoroughly strange that once or twice Jerry felt a puzzled doubt whether the man were entirely sane.
"I'll tell you," said Mr. Wrenmarsh, when their slight repast was over, "we'll do the temples together. I've been camping in this abominable hole of an osteria for over a week, so that I know them pretty well. One of them is in my period, moreover."
Jerry looked at him as if to ask if the stranger claimed to be a contemporary of the ruins.
"Your period?" he echoed confusedly.
"Yes; you see, I'm an archæologist—collector, in fact. Hello; here's the custode."
The custodian entered as Mr. Wrenmarsh spoke, and Taberman had somehow the idea that the look he gave the Englishman was not very friendly.
"Ah, Michu, have you found a friend?" he asked in his queer French.
"I don't know," Jerry returned, with a half laugh.
"Well," responded the Italian, "if Michu is ready to see the temples, I am waiting."
"Bien," responded Jerry; and then turning to the archæologist, he asked, "Are you coming?"