"Von Erstein, you will know where I found the enclosed just as I know why you left what I found there. You think to ruin me. I am not the man you believe me to be and can prove my innocence by means of which you can have no conception. Enough that I tell you I have sufficiently recovered my memory to protect myself against your devilish malice. The enclosed proves I am ready to cry a truce.—Johann Lassen."
What I felt as I read this under the keen piercing gaze he rivetted on me the whole time, no words can describe. "Well, my boy?" he asked.
"I—I'll memorize it, sir," I stammered to get time to think.
"Just read it out. Let me hear how it sounds."
Fortunately, or intentionally, I couldn't determine which, he put his hand before his face as I read it in none too firm a tone. "It'll do. Oh, yes. The recovery of your memory seems to explain the word 'means,' and he'll think you are only bluffing him. He'll never dream you've told me all about it; and, of course, that's what I intended. You understand I much prefer your seeing him; but if you can't, you can send that letter."
I began to breathe freely again. "I'll see him to-night, if possible," I replied.
"I'm sure you will. It's now all but seven. He generally goes to dinner at eight, and between now and then you ought to be able to catch him at his rooms. Mind, I depend on you."
"You may, sir."
"They ought to be ready for us now," he said; and as he rang his bell von Welten came in, bringing the ring, the replica and the photographs; and we all scrutinized them carefully.
The facsimile of the ring was absolutely perfect. It was either in wax or some harder material and had been gilded, and as it and the original lay side by side on the table it was impossible to distinguish the one from the other.