Silence followed Carl's talk.
"Rigolette's monkey got the idol's head, Carl," said Matt. "The animal must have crawled in through the window that gave way under your weight, picked up the head and scampered off with it."
"Hooray for der monkey!" said Carl. "If it hatn't peen for him you vouldn't have a Dutch bard some more, Matt und Jurgens und Pangs vould have peen some goners, too."
"It seemed," said Townsend, with his usual gravity, "as though I was somewhat affected by that head."
"Sink me if you weren't, Townsend," answered Dick. "You were spouting Shakespeare and using words a fathom long."
"I have no remembrance of that—only a hazy recollection that I didn't know what I was doing. I presume the idol was carved out of some kind of wood that has that deadly odor, and that the mahogany sawdust in the iron chest helped the head to retain the baneful influence. But why should the Man from Cape Town pack the deadly thing in the chest and then ask me to open the chest in the presence of his daughter? There are features of this case which it is difficult to reconcile with the facts."
Matt started up suddenly.
"Did you break that idol's head, Carl, when you smashed it against the wall?" he asked.
"Vell, I bed you!" answered Carl. "I made oop my mindt dot I vould preak him indo a t'ousant bieces. Dot von't shtop der shmell oof der vood, aber it vill shpoil der headt, all righdt."
"We'll have to go back there," said Matt.