"Why would you write this yourself, and then spend all that time and money trying to have it deciphered? You said experts worked on it and couldn't break it. But," I went on, "you must have known you wrote it; you knew your own handwriting. But on the other hand, you had amnesia before; you had the idea you might have told something about yourself in the book...." I sighed, leaned back and tossed the book over to Foster. "Here, you read awhile," I said. "I'm arguing with myself and I can't tell who's winning." Foster looked the book over carefully. "This is odd," he said. "What's odd?" "The book is made of khaff. It is a permanent material--and yet it shows damage." I sat perfectly still and waited. "Here on the back cover," Foster said. "A scuffed area. Since this is khaff, it cannot be an actual scar. It must have been placed there." I grabbed the book and looked. There was a faint mark across the back cover, as though the book had been scraped on something sharp. I remembered how much luck I had had with a knife. The mark had been put here, disguised as a casual nick in the finish. It had to mean something. "How do you know what the material is?" I asked. Foster looked surprised. "In the same way that I know the window is of glass," he said. "I simply know." "Speaking of glass," I said, "wait till I get my hands on a microscope. Then maybe we'll begin to get some answers." CHAPTER IV The two-hundred pound señorita put a pot of black Cuban coffee and a pitcher of salted milk down beside the two chipped cups, leered at me in a way that might have been appealing thirty years before, and waddled back to the kitchen. I poured a cup, gulped half of it, and shuddered. In the street outside the cafe a guitar cried _Estrellita_. "Okay, Foster," I said. "Here's what I've got: The first half of the book is in pot-hooks--I can't read that. But this middle section: the part coded in regular letters--it's actually encrypted English. It's a sort of resumé of what happened." I picked up the sheets of paper on which I had transcribed my deciphering of the coded section of the book, using the key that had been micro-engraved in the fake scratch on the back cover. I read: "For the first time, I am afraid. My attempt to construct the communicator called down the Hunters upon me. I made such a shield as I could contrive, and sought their nesting place. "I came there and it was in that place that I knew of old, and it was no hive, but a pit in the ground, built by men of the Two Worlds. And I would have come into it, but the Hunters swarmed in their multitudes. I fought them and killed many, but at the last I fled away. I came to the western shore, and there I hired bold sailors and a poor craft, and set forth.