Now, something very odd has happened which I wish to tell you about.

My father, as you know, was missionary in the Vilayet of Trebizond

many years ago. While there he came into possession of a curious sea

chest belonging to a German named Conrad Wilner, who was killed in a

riot near Gallipoli.

In this chest were, and still are, two very interesting things--an old

bronze Chinese figure which I used to play with when I was a child. It

was called the Yellow Devil; and a native Chinese missionary once read

for us the inscription on the figure which identified it as a Mongol

demon called Erlik, the Prince of Darkness.

The other object of interest in the box was the manuscript diary kept

by this Herr Wilner to within a few moments of his death. This I have

often heard read aloud by my father, but I forget much of it now, and

I never understood it all, because I was too young. Now, here is the

curious thing about it all. The first time you spoke to me of the

Princess Naïa Mistchenka, I had a hazy idea that her name seemed

familiar to me. And ever since I have known her, now and then I found

myself trying to recollect where I had heard that name, even before I

heard it from you.

Suddenly, one evening about a week ago, it came to me that I had heard

both the names, Naïa and Mistchenka, when I was a child. Also the name

Erlik. The two former names occur in Herr Wilner's diary; the latter

I heard from the Chinese missionary years ago; and that is why they

seemed so familiar to me.

It is so long since I have read the diary that I can't remember the

story in which the names Naïa and Mistchenka are concerned. As I

recollect, it was a tragic story that used to thrill me.

At any rate, I didn't speak of this to Princess Naïa; but about a week

ago there were a few people dining here with us--among others an old

Turkish Admiral, Murad Pasha, who took me out. And as soon as I heard

his name I thought of that diary; and I am sure it was mentioned in

it.

Anyway, he happened to speak of Trebizond; and, naturally, I said that

my father had been a missionary there many years ago.

As this seemed to interest him, and because he questioned me, I told

him my father's name and all that I knew in regard to his career as a

missionary in the Trebizond district. And, somehow--I don't exactly

recollect how it came about--I spoke of Herr Wilner, and his death at

Gallipoli, and how his effects came into my father's possession.




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