the
apostle who spilt the salt." He sat down and breathed heavily.

"Go on! Go on!"

"Shall I relate the history upon the fan?" And without waiting for an
answer he began at the left of the fan and slowly read to the right:--

I who write this am called Moa the Bonze. What I write of I
witnessed in a walled city of Judea. I travelled there attracted by
the report of miraculous happenings brought about by the magic art
of a youthful barbarian called Ieshua. The day I arrived in the
city they had sentenced the wise man to death by crucifixion. I was
disappointed. I had come many moons and many leagues from the
Yellow Kingdom to see something rare. I was too late. The magician,
whom his disciples called a god, had been executed. I tarried a few
days in the city. After many questions put to beggars and outcasts,
I heard that a certain woman of rank had a portrait of Ieshua. I
called and without hesitation asked her to show me this picture.
She was an exalted soul. She wept bitter tears as she drew from a
secret cabinet a scarf upon which was imprinted a bloody image. She
continued to weep as I made a copy of the head. I confess I was not
impressed. The face was bearded and ugly. The new god was said to
have been as fair as the sun. And I told the woman this. She only
wept the more.

"If he were a god," I asked, "where are outward evidences?" She
became frantic.

"The real man!" she cried; "_this_ one died for the man he
betrayed," and again fell to lamenting. Seeing I could gain nothing
more from her, I left, wondering at the strange heretics I had
encountered. I went back to my country and after weaving this tale
and painting the head, there awaited the fifth Buddha, the
successor to Siddartha, whose coming has been predicted.

Arn's voice ceased. There was silence in the chamber. Then Effinghame
started up and fiercely growled:--

"What do _you_ make of it, Arn?"

"Isn't it clear enough? There's been a frightful error somewhere, one of
incalculable consequences. A tremendous act of heroism has been
committed by a man whose name has been universally execrated through the
ages. Perhaps he repented at the eleventh hour and by some means
impersonated his betrayed friend; perhaps--"

"But that _other_ body found in the blasted field of Aceldama!"
demanded the agitated Effinghame. Dr. Arn did