Part 30 (2/2)
His quiet, pa.s.sionless voice sounded strange to me; his words seemed strange, too, each one heavily weighted with hidden meaning.
We set the cage on the ground; he unlocked and opened the steel-barred door, and, kneeling, carefully arranged the pies along the centre of the cage.
”I have a curious presentiment,” he said, ”that I shall not come out of this experiment unscathed.”
”Don't, for Heaven's sake, say that!” I broke out, my nerves on edge again.
”Why not?” he asked, surprised. ”I am not afraid.”
”Not afraid to die?” I demanded, exasperated.
”Who spoke of dying?” he inquired, mildly. ”What I said was that I do not expect to come out of this affair unscathed.”
I did not comprehend his meaning, but I understood the reproof conveyed.
He closed and locked the cage door again and came towards us, balancing the key across the palm of his hand.
Miss Barrison had seated herself on the leaves; I stood back as the professor sat down beside her; then, at a gesture from him, took the place he indicated on his left.
”Before we begin,” he said, calmly, ”there are several things you ought to know and which I have not yet told you. The first concerns the feminine wearing apparel which Mr. Gilland brought me.”
He turned to Miss Barrison and asked her whether she had brought a complete outfit, and she opened the bundle on her knees and handed it to him.
”I cannot,” he said, ”delicately explain in so many words what use I expect to make of this apparel. Nor do I yet know whether I shall have any use at all for it. That can only be a theoretical speculation until, within a few more hours, my theory is proven or disproven--and,”
he said, suddenly turning on me, ”my theory concerning these invisible creatures is the most extraordinary and audacious theory ever entertained by man since Columbus presumed that there must lie somewhere a hidden continent which n.o.body had ever seen.”
He pa.s.sed his hand over his protruding forehead, lost for a moment in deepest reflection. Then, ”Have you ever heard of the Sphyx?” he asked.
”It seems to me that Ponce de Leon wrote of something--” I began, hesitating.
”Yes, the famous lines in the third volume which have set so many wise men guessing. You recall them:
”'_And there, alas! within sound of the Fountain of Youth whose waters tint the skin till the whole body glows softly like the petal of a rose--there, alas! in the new world already blooming_, THE ETERNAL ENIGMA _I beheld, in the flesh living; yet it faded even as I looked, although I swear it lived and breathed. This is the Sphyx_.'”
A silence; then I said, ”Those lines are meaningless to me.”
”Not to me,” said Miss Barrison, softly.
The professor looked at her. ”Ah, child! Ever subtler, ever surer--the Eternal Enigma is no enigma to you.”
”What is the Sphyx?” I asked.
”Have you read De Soto? Or Goya?”
”Yes, both. I remember now that De Soto records the Syachas legend of the Sphyx--something about a G.o.ddess--”
”Not a G.o.ddess,” said Miss Barrison, her lips touched with a smile.
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