This was almost entirely filled with fine script, but while
the little bugs were all familiar to him, their arrangement and
the combinations in which they occurred were strange, and
entirely incomprehensible.
Tarzan had long since learned the use of the dictionary,
but much to his sorrow and perplexity it proved of no avail
to him in this emergency. Not a word of all that was writ in
the book could he find, and so he put it back in the metal
box, but with a determination to work out the mysteries of it
later on.
Little did he know that this book held between its covers
the key to his origin--the answer to the strange riddle of
his strange life. It was the diary of John Clayton, Lord
Greystoke--kept in French, as had always been his custom.
Tarzan replaced the box in the cupboard, but always thereafter
he carried the features of the strong, smiling face of his
father in his heart, and in his head a fixed determination to
solve the mystery of the strange words in the little black book.
At present he had more important business in hand, for his
supply of arrows was exhausted, and he must needs journey
to the black men's village and renew it.
Early the following morning he set out, and, traveling
rapidly, he came before midday to the clearing. Once more he
took up his position in the great tree, and, as before, he saw
the women in the fields and the village street, and the cauldron
of bubbling poison directly beneath him.
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