There--as though to give my prophecy the weight of his
endorsement--he has grabbed my pen in his chubby fists and
with his inkbegrimed little fingers has placed the seal of his
tiny finger prints upon the page.
And there, on the margin of the page, were the partially blurred
imprints of four wee fingers and the outer half of the thumb.
When D'Arnot had finished the diary the two men sat in
silence for some minutes.
"Well! Tarzan of the Apes, what think you?" asked D'Arnot.
"Does not this little book clear up the mystery of
your parentage?
"Why man, you are Lord Greystoke."
"The book speaks of but one child," he replied. "Its little
skeleton lay in the crib, where it died crying for nourishment,
from the first time I entered the cabin until Professor Porter's
party buried it, with its father and mother, beside the cabin.
"No, that was the babe the book speaks of--and the mystery
of my origin is deeper than before, for I have thought
much of late of the possibility of that cabin having been my
birthplace. I am afraid that Kala spoke the truth," he
concluded sadly.
D'Arnot shook his head. He was unconvinced, and in his
mind had sprung the determination to prove the correctness
of his theory, for he had discovered the key which alone
could unlock the mystery, or consign it forever to the realms
of the unfathomable.
A week later the two men came suddenly upon a clearing
in the forest.
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