He consulted an almanac which he drew from his pocket, made a few short calculations, and jotted down certain signs and figures in various parts of the divided circle. When he had finished he looked attentively at what he had done. The whole operation had occupied about a quarter of an hour.
‘I do not wonder that you are anxious,’ he remarked, as he resumed his seat in the easy-chair, still holding the sheet of paper in his hand.
‘What have you discovered?’ inquired Greif, with an incredulous smile.
‘You are threatened by a great calamity, you and all who belong to you,’ replied Rex. ‘I suppose you know it, and that is the reason why you want to know the future.’
Greif’s cheek turned slowly pale, not at the announcement, but at the thought that this chance student perhaps knew of Rieseneck’s existence, and of all that his return might involve.
‘Herr Rex,’ he said sternly, ‘be good enough to tell me what you know of me and my family from other sources than that bit of paper.’
‘Not much,’ answered the other with a dry laugh. ‘I barely knew of your existence until I met you the other day, and I have not mentioned you nor heard your name spoken since.’
‘Why then, you can know nothing, and your figures cannot tell you,’ said Greif, not yet certain whether to feel relief at the protestation of ignorance, or to doubt its veracity.
‘Shall I tell you what I see here?’
‘Tell me the nature of the calamity.’