Princeton, Sept 25, 1909
To H. H. Alberts; in New York City:

MY DEAR ALBERTS, — Some events transpired on the day after I 
sent the last letter that require my pen once again, but first, I 
feel I should apologize for my previous candor. My distress should 
be no burden to you, old friend. It all came as such a shock, I 
wasn't myself, you see. Please do forgive me.

As to the events I mentioned: Yesterday evening, I was walking out 
of Dickinson Hall having just given a rather half-hearted lecture 
on the merits of William James' epistemology and pragmatism when I 
had a most unexpected encounter. A former student and assistant of 
mine, Mister Johnston Price, was waiting for me below a bough of 
ivy, sitting like a man waiting for a train atop his briefcase. 
Now I have not seen Price for many years—in fact, he went by 
J.J. when I knew him—but I had no trouble recognizing his rather 
impressive mustache. He appears rather like a young Justice Holmes.

As Kipling has taught us, the crest of the mongoose species could 
be read, "Go! and find out." This man, Price, could easily be one 
of their breed. What an inquisitive mind he had, and such vigor! 
It seems that Price had a message for me that he felt needed to be 
delivered in person. Can you imagine, a man I haven't seen in 
neigh on fifteen years catches a train to hand me a sheaf of 
papers, speak for but a moment, and depart.

The subject he spoke of is the impetus for my letter, friend. It 
seems that in the time since I had known him Price had found 
himself a member of La Universal Lodge, and a Master of the 4th 
Degree. It is, as I should have guessed myself, the same lodge 
attended by Webster, and no small coincidence brought the young 
man to me in the wake of tragedy. He had a message from Charles 
for me—or rather messages. They were sealed under the same Glyph 
he favored in our college days, that Egyptian note that looks like 
a Cross. I never was into the Egyptology to the same degree as you 
two, so you'll excuse my ignorance.

I was going to open the messages there on the spot, but Price 
forestalled me. He said something just as I broke the first seal 
that shook my soul.

"Eyes are upon us"

We spoke more about Charles and his last days. Apparently Price 
had become something of an assistant to him, or to them, as he put 
it. I infer that Charles was working with some others from the 
Lodge on something mysterious. These notes were not the only ones 
to be delivered, but I was the first on the list. Apparently your 
name is on it as well, though a few others were listed above you. 
If my former student does manage to find you, take what he gives 
you with care.

Once safely in my study, I did open the notes. There were six of 
them altogether, and each a greater mystery than the last. They 
were made up of sketches for the most part, with occasional 
inscriptions upon them. These, unlike the Hieroglyphs of Egypt, 
were more easily digested as they were a comfortable Greek. The 
text was a bit archaic in grammar, but easily understood. For all 
my unfamiliarity with the subject of quintessence, they seemed to 
be on the subject of ancient alchemy. I think I can understand 
enough to recreate the experiments they describe. Do you imagine 
that is his reason for sending this to me? You must write and 
inform me of what Price brings to your door as well. Perhaps the 
nature of the mystery will be revealed by more evidence at hand.

There is one other thing I must mention. I'll admit to being 
shaken these past few days by the news, and I was not my most 
aware when he came upon me. I failed to ask some questions of him 
that I now regret. His discussion of the Lodge was brief, which I 
now expect is the result of my own attitude toward its mention. 
The thought brought up those same worrisome dreams and I must have 
shown him my displeasure upon my face. I suspect the lad still 
feels some trouble over the Taxil hoax, and is wary of talking 
freely about his practices. Would you press him further when he 
comes to you? I am beginning to feel we must get to the bottom of 
this affair if we are ever going to put it behind.

Your Friend Always,

J. L. Harrison

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