"I can read the big letters of type, sir," I replied, and I fancied that he had to restrain a smile.
Next he folded down the paper he had been reading from and showed me a sentence in it. A very non-committal sentence I noticed. "You recognize the writing?" More head wagging from me. "You should, you know; it's your own handwriting;" and he put the document away, and sat thinking again.
I'd have given something to be able to read his thoughts at that moment, especially when he roused himself sufficiently to favour me with some keen stares. I couldn't resist the unpleasant thought that he suspected something; but he gave no overt sign of suspicion, and his manner was less official than friendly. After a time something in his mind brought a heavy frown to his face.
"Let me get the matter quite clear. You were blown up in the Burgen, found yourself in a hospital in Rotterdam with no papers of identification on you except a card, you remembered nothing at all of what had occurred, and came to Berlin with Herr Hoffnung. You know that there was only one other male passenger on the steamer, a Mr. Lamb, about whom we have some reason to be curious. Now, are you sure you are not that man?"
"I don't know, sir. I am not sure about anything except what has occurred since I was at Rotterdam."
"Well, when you arrived here the Countess von Rebling recognized you as her nephew.—Were you at Göttingen?" he asked so suddenly that I only escaped the trap by the skin of my teeth.
"I believe so, sir."
"Then, of course, there will be plenty of people there to identify you."
"Naturally, sir," I managed to reply, although a chill of dismay made my spine tingle at the meaning smile accompanying the words.
"We know, of course, that no one of the name of Lamb was ever there," he said and paused again, as if to give me time to absorb all that this might be intended to suggest.