“Yes, I’m glad I told you. If I should go out before I solve it, and you should ever chance on the answer, I’d like my own name over me—and both dates, birth as well as death. My work is, of course, to learn it all—if I can; and I hope—” he forced a laugh—“when I meet the other man, he will be fit to shake hands with.”
“Listen,” Steele spoke eagerly. “How long has it been?”
“Over six years.”
“Then, why not go on and round out the seven? Seven years of absolute disappearance gives a man legal death. Let the old problem lie, and go forward as Robert Saxon. That is the simplest way.”
The other shook his head.
“That would be an evasion. It would prove nothing. If I discover responsibilities surviving from the past, I must take them up.”
“What did the physicians say?”
“They didn’t know.” Saxon shook his head. “Perhaps, some strong reminder may at some unwarned moment open the volume where it was closed; perhaps, it will never open. To-morrow morning, I may awaken Robert Saxon—or the other man.” He paused, then added quietly: “Such an unplaced personality had best touch other lives as lightly as it can.”
Steele went silently over, and cranked the machine. As he straightened up, he asked abruptly:
“Would you prefer calling off this dinner?”