At once, as he settled back in his place his mind was filled with strange stories that had been told of Christophe and this telescope and its magic properties.
“But, of course,” he said to the little man, “the magic part was all myth?”
“Nevertheless,” said the other without answering his question, “it’s a strangely powerful instrument. I’ll demonstrate. Come with me.”
He led the way to a cleared spot above a rocky ledge that was like an observation post.
“If you will follow the direction the telescope points,” said the stranger, “you will be able to locate the Citadel. The rising moon brings it out in rather strong relief.”
“Ah,” Johnny was astonished at its apparent nearness.
“You followed an irregular trail in coming here,” the other offered. “For all that it’s some distance away. Now try this.” He placed the priceless relic of other days in Johnny’s hands.
For a time as he lifted the telescope to his eyes, his trembling hands defeated his purpose, but at last the parapets of the ancient fortress stood out in startling clearness.
“It—why, it’s marvelous!” he said in a low whisper as if afraid the ghosts of other days might overhear. “It is as if—”
“As if one were right there,” put in the short broad man. “Exactly so. And it might interest you to know,” he said as he dropped to a seat on a fallen tree trunk well back from the edge of the precipice, “that the Citadel has been watched from this point, through this very glass, every day for more than a hundred years—since the death of Christophe, in fact. You have heard the story of the telescope?” He asked quite suddenly.