ion, the whole thing seems
absurd, even paltry. But as I heard it then, declaimed with hot,
earnest fluency by an enthusiast who had spent long, clever years over
his case, it appeared to prove itself up to the hilt. Of course his
arguments must have been warped, and his premises utterly false; but so
cleverly were they compiled that I could not detect the flaws, and in
spite of the outcry of common sense, which shouted "Wrong, wrong, wrong
" at the close of each period, I felt myself agreeing implicitly to
every clause. And when at length he stopped, exhausted with his own
enthusiasm and vehemence, I nodded a tacit agreement, and questioned
nothing.

"You must wonder," he went on, after a little pause, "what brings me to
use this world-forgotten spot as a workplace; why I come to a town
where there are eight women to one man, to an island whose whole energy
is not equal to that of the smallest city on the Continent. Have you
heard of Raymond Lully? Yes? Then you may remember that he was born at
Miramar in Mallorca, and lived much of his life in these Balearic
Islands. It was an old journal of his which I found in Rome that first
gave me the embryo of my idea. I went round to Barcelona, and crossed
to Palma. In the Conde de M----'s library I found in other manuscripts
mention of the same thing. Beyond doubt that queer mixture of a
man--missionary, fanatic, quack, what you will--had made diamonds as
far back as the year 1280. He owned to having stumbled across the
Recipe accidentally. Like other alchemists of his time, the
transmutation of metals was his aim, and the crystallization of part of
his graphite crucible was quite a matter of chance; but it occurred
most surely; and he analyzed the why and wherefore, and wrote down the
method of working in a place where he says it would last for all time
unless he chose to divulge it."

"Great heavens!" said I, jumping up, "then you've got it?"

The anarchist smiled sadly. "I have searched and searched and searched,
and have had others on the quest for me. But so far our efforts have
been all unsuccessful. I can understand your excitement"--("Thank my
several stars you can't," thought I, settling back into my chair)--"You
think my great regeneration is already in commencement? You may even
have had trivial qualms about your own relatives' trinkets? No,
Monsieur Cospatric, the time has unfortunately not yet come."

"You cannot expect me to condole with you."

"You say you