“All right. Send him in; and take this fellow outside.”
“But, Señor,” the man’s eyes plead for him as loudly as his words; “the ‘anting-anting.’ You said I could have it and go.”
“Yes, I know. Go out and wait.”
“What do you report, Lieutenant? Can you read it?”
“Yes. This is very singular. There is no doubt but the book is now nothing but a charm.”
“Yes. I found that out.”
“But I feel sure it was originally something more than that. Something very strange.”
“What?”
“It purports to be the record of the doings of a man who seems to have died here many years ago, written by himself. It tells a strange story, which, if true, may be of great importance now. To make sure the record would be kept the writer made the natives believe it was a charm, while its being written in Latin kept the nature of its message from them.”
“Have you read it?”