cipher that way. His eagerness to recover the letter proves that it was nothing of the sort.”
“And I,” persisted Philpot, “believe that Wylde is right, and has hit the true solution. A journey to Mars! Transmigration to another planet! By Jove! that beats all the Buddhistic claims which have come to my knowledge yet. When I was a lad I used to dream of such a possibility, but”
“But it is a startling conclusion to our acquaintance with Mr. Mirrikh,” interrupted Maurice. “If he can levitate from one tower of the Nagkon Wat to the other, why not from one planet to another?”
“Gad!” cried the Doctor suddenly slapping his knee. “I have it!”
“What is it?” I exclaimed,
“A thought—a remembrance—a curious coincidence all in one.”
“Out with it, Doctor,” said Maurice.
“Years ago I read a curious book written by an eighteenth century religious lunatic—you may have heard of him—Emmanuel Swedenborg, the Swedish seer.”
“I have heard of him, but never read any of his works. A sort of Spiritualist on a mild scale was he not?”
“Something that way. I have read but little of him myself, but I recollect this particular book because of the sublime impudence of its claim.”
“Which was?”
“That he had visited several of the planets in the spirit—among the rest the planet Mars.”
“Well?”
“Oh, I’m coming to it. Among other things he states that a portion of the inhabitants of Mars have faces which are black below and white above.”
“My stars! You don’t mean it!” cried Maurice.
“He does. He says just that. Now I see it all. Mirrikh is a fraud. He has been playing upon the credulity of the Benares Buddhists. His face is painted to help bear out his claim.”
“It must be so,” I cried. “Doctor you have hit it.”
“I’m sure of it!” said Philpot. “Would that he were here now. I could make the charge to his face. Oh, depend upon it, he is a shrewd rascalhark! What is that!”
We listened.
