“You’ve got to talk now,” she said. “If you don’t, I’ll go crazy — or do something I may be sorry for.”
“I’m ready now,” he said. “Turn that medal over.”
“Yes.”
“You see that little square impression in the back?”
“Yes.”
“I put it under a microscope this afternoon. There’s fine engraving in it. Here’s a copy that you can read.”
He gave her the scrap of paper on which he had written down the inscription and its translation. While she looked at it, he cleared a space on the bed, and sat down and lighted a cigarette. He felt very placid now.
She read:
I, Eli Rosepierre, bequeath to the bearer, of whom this shall be sufficient identification, one half of the $50,000 which I have on deposit at the Chase National Bank, New York. Eli Rosepierre.
“You see,” he said, “you’re moderately rich. Your father was lucky enough to have some assets that the krauts couldn’t reach.”