He waved me to a chair and sat back lost in thought for so long that I began to wonder what the dickens was coming.
"You came from England, didn't you?"
"I believe so, sir."
"And you're the man without a memory, eh? Very extraordinary; very extraordinary indeed. Most remarkable case. And why have you come to Berlin?"
"Herr Hoffnung brought me. I understood he had instructions to do so."
"Tell me about your experiences there."
I looked as blank as a wall and shook my head.
"Surely you can remember something. Let me jog your memory. I know the country well, you understand. Were you in London?" After another blank look from me, he took out a paper, glanced over it, and questioned me about a number of places and matters contained in it; to all of which I replied with either a vacant look or shake of the head.
The examination lasted for some considerable time, and presently he pushed a sheet of paper and a pen to me, telling me to write my name. I had expected some such test and took hold of the pen clumsily and, with infinite apparent trouble, wrote the name "Johann Lassen" in big sprawling printed capitals.
He watched me like a lynx at the job, took the paper, scanned it closely, and asked: "That the best you can do?"