"Hyne,.C.J.Cutcliffe.-.Lost.Continent.-.Lostc10" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hyne C J Cutcliffe)

The sheets were all more or less stuck together, and so I did not
go in for separating them farther. They fitted exactly to the
cavity in which they were stored, but by smashing down its front I
was able to get at the foot of them, and then I hacked away through
the bottom layers with the knife till I got the bulk out in one
solid piece. It measured some twenty inches by fifteen, by
fifteen, but it was not so heavy as it looked, and when I had taken
the remaining photographs, I lowered it down to Coppinger on the
end of the rope.

There was nothing more to do in the caves then, so I went down
myself next. The lump of sheets was on the ground, and Coppinger
was on all fours beside it. He was pretty nearly mad with
excitement.


"What is it?" I asked him.

"I don't know yet. But it is the most valuable find ever made
in the Canary Islands, and it's yours, you unappreciative beggar;
at least what there is left of it. Oh, man, man, you've smashed up
the beginning, and you've smashed up the end of some history that
is probably priceless. It's my own fault. I ought to have known
better than set an untrained man to do important exploring work."

"I should say it's your fault if anything's gone wrong. You
said there was no such thing as writing known to these ancient
Canarios, and I took your word for it. For anything I knew the
stuff might have been something to eat."

"It isn't Guanche work at all," said he testily. "You ought to
have known that from the talc. Great heavens, man, have you no
eyes? Haven't you seen the general formation of the island? Don't
you know there's no talc here?"

"I'm no geologist. Is this imported literature then?"

"Of course. It's Egyptian: that's obvious at a glance. Though
how it's got here I can't tell yet. It isn't stuff you can read
off like a newspaper. The character's a variant on any of those
that have been discovered so far. And as for this waxy stuff
spread over the talc, it's unique. It's some sort of a mineral, I
think: perhaps asphalt. It doesn't scratch up like animal wax.
I'll analyse that later. Why they once invented it, and then let
such a splendid notion drop out of use, is just a marvel. I could
stay gloating over this all day."

"Well," I said, "if it's all the same for you, I'd rather gloat
over a meal. It's a good ten miles hard going to the fonda,
and I'm as hungry as a hawk already. Look here, do you know it is