“Your parents certainly dwelt in another country—one more southerly and more mountainous.”
But Markus removed the doctor’s hand, with the instrument, from his head, and looked at him piercingly.
“Why are you not sincere?” he then asked, with gentle stress. “How can truth be found through untruth?”
Dr. Cijfer hesitated, and then did exactly what Father Canisius had done—something which, later, he was of the opinion he ought not to have done: he argued with him.
“But if you will not give me a direct reply I am obliged to get the truth circuitously.”
Said Markus, “A curved sword will not go far into a straight scabbard.”
Professor Bommeldoos grew impatient, and snapped at the doctor aside, in a smothered voice: “Do not argue, Colleague, do not argue! Megalomaniacs are smarter, and sometimes have subtler dialectic faculties than you have. Just let me conduct the examination.”
And then, after a loud “h’m! h’m!” he said to Markus:
“ ... Now just tell me, frankly, my friend, are you a prophet? An apostle? Are you perhaps the King? Or are you God himself?”