Everybody was
leaning forward looking at him, and the cameras were clicking in
chorus, but he seemed scarcely aware of the circle of eager faces.
"Hold up your right hand, please," began Goldberger, after
contemplating him for a moment.
"For what purpose?" asked the yogi.
"I'm going to swear you."
"I do not understand."
"I'm going to put you on oath to tell nothing but the truth,"
explained the coroner.
"An oath is unnecessary," said the yogi with a smile. "To speak the
truth is required by my religion."
There was something impressive in the words, and Goldberger slowly
lowered his arm.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Francisco Silva."
"You are not a Hindu?"
"I am of their faith."
"But by birth?"
"I am a Portuguese."
"Born in India?"
"Born at Goa."
The coroner paused. He had never heard of Goa. Neither had I. Neither,
I judged, had any one else present. In this, however, I was wrong.
Godfrey had heard of it, and afterwards referred me to Marryat's
"Phantom Ship" as his source of information.
"Goa," Silva explained, seeing our perplexity, "is a colony owned by
Portugal on the Malabar coast, some distance below Bombay.
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