"It is finished. The nineteenth generation has triumphed. He who shall
eat of the brown fruit of this tree shall see the things of Life and
Death as they are. He who shall eat--" The translation concluded
abruptly. Mr. Alfred Burton removed his silk hat and reflectively
scratched his head.

"Queer sort of joker he must have been," he remarked to himself. "I
wonder what he was getting at?"

His eyes fell upon the little tree. He felt the earth in the pot it was
quite dry. Yet the tree itself was fresh and green.

"Here goes for a brown bean," he continued, and plucked one.

Even then, while he held it in his fingers, he hesitated.

"Don't suppose it will do me any harm," he muttered, doubtfully.

There was naturally no reply. Mr. Alfred Burton laughed uneasily to
himself. The shadows of the room and its curious perfume were a trifle
disconcerting.

"Risk it, anyway," he concluded. "Here goes!" He raised the little
brown fruit--which did indeed somewhat resemble a bean--to his mouth and
swallowed it. He found it quite tasteless, but the deed was no sooner
done than he was startled by a curious buzzing in his ears and a
momentary but peculiar lapse of memory. He sat and looked around him
like a man who has been asleep and suddenly awakened in unfamiliar
surroundings. Then the sound of his client's voice suddenly recalled