"Have you that paper that was found in the chest, Matt?" asked Townsend.
"Yes."
"Read it to me."
Matt drew the parchment from his pocket and stepped closer to the candle which, a few moments before, he had handed to Dick.
Then, while he read the written words, Townsend kept his keen, inquiring eyes on the idol's head.
"It may be," observed Townsend, when the reading was finished, "that there is a hidden meaning in that communication. The question is, what is that hidden meaning? Does it deal with high finance, or thaumaturgy, or any of the other arts, black or white, with which princes of the black art are supposed to arm themselves? Ha! Answer me, some of you."
Matt gave a jump and stared at Dick. Dick, also startled, returned Matt's stare with interest.
Townsend was talking nonsense—and he was always a grave, earnest man with no use whatever for anything foolish or extravagant.
Was the deadly odor taking effect upon his brain?
Holding the head as Hamlet held the skull of Yorick, Townsend struck an attitude.