"Lady Ragnall and I, Allan Quatermain, are about to make an
experiment with an herb which we discovered some years ago in
Africa. If by any chance this should result in accident to either
or both of us, the Coroner is requested to understand that it is
not a case of murder or of suicide, but merely of unfortunate
scientific research."


This I dated, adding the hour, 9.47 P.M., and signed, requesting her
to do the same.

She obeyed with a smile, saying it was strange that one who had lived
a life of such constant danger as myself, should be so afraid to die.

"Look here, young lady," I replied with irritation, "doesn't it occur
to you that /I/ may be afraid lest /you/ should die--and /I/ be hanged
for it," I added by an afterthought.

"Oh! I see," she answered, "that is really very nice of you. But, of
course, you would think like that; it is your nature."

"Yes," I replied. "Nature, not merit."

She went to a cupboard which formed the bottom of one of the mahogany
museum cases, and extracted from it first of all a bowl of ancient
appearance made of some black stone with projecting knobs for handles
that were carved with the heads of women wearing ceremonial wigs; and
next a low tripod of ebony or some other black wood. I looked at these
articles and recognized them. They had stood in front of the sanctuary
in the temple in Kendah Land, and over them I had once seen this very