or Maxon authoritatively.
"There have been charges made here that cannot go unnoticed. Can you
prove these things Sing?" he asked turning to the Chinaman.

"I plove much by Bludleen's lascar. Bludleen tell him all 'bout
Hornee. I plove some more by Dyak chief at long-house. He knows lots.
Lajah Saffir tell him. It all tlue, Mlaxon."

"And it is true about this man--the thing that you have told us is
true? He is not one of those created in the laboratory?"

"No, Mlaxon. You no makee fine young man like Blulan--you know lat,
Mlaxon. You makee One, Two, Thlee--all up to Twelve. All fleaks. You
ought to know, Mlaxon, lat you no can makee a Blulan."

During these revelations Bulan had sat with his eyes fixed upon the
Chinaman. There was a puzzled expression upon his wan, blood-streaked
face. It was as though he were trying to wrest from the inner temple
of his consciousness a vague and tantalizing memory that eluded him
each time that he felt he had it within his grasp--the key to the
strange riddle that hid his origin.

The girl kneeled close beside him, one small hand in his. Hope and
happiness had supplanted the sorrow in her face. She tore the hem from
her skirt, to bandage the bloody furrow that creased the man's temple.
Professor Maxon stood silently by, watching the loving tenderness that
marked each deft, little movement of her strong, brown hands.

The revelations of the past few minutes had shocked the old man into
stupefied silence. It was difficult, almost impossible, for him to
believe that Sing had spoken the truth and that this man was not one of
the creatures of his own creation; yet from the bottom of his heart he
prayed that it might prove the truth, for he saw that his daughter
loved the man with a love that would be stayed by no obstacle or bound
by no man-made law, or social custom.

The Chinaman's indictment of von Horn had come as an added blow to
Professor Maxon, but it had brought its own supporting evidence in the
flood of recollections it had induced in the professor's mind. Now he
recalled a hundred chance incidents and conversations with his
assistant that pointed squarely toward the man's disloyalty and
villainy. He wondered that he had been so blind as not to have
suspected his lieutenant long before.

Virginia had at last succeeded in adjusting her rude bandage and
stopping the flow of blood. Bulan had risen weakly to his feet. The
girl supported him upon one side,