“Do you know who wrote this?” he asked slowly.
“Yes,” Rudolph answered, indisposed to be communicative.
“A lady?”
“You think the handwriting a lady’s?”
“I do. I fancy I have seen it before.”
“Let me see. Were you not staying for a short time on one of the Greek islands?”
“Yes; Tenos.”
“Then you perhaps met her. Oh, I am sure of it now,” cried Rudolph, springing up and glaring into Reineke’s face.
Reineke said nothing, but bent his eyes reverently upon the sheet of paper. Might he steal it? If he had been alone he would have kissed it.
“Why don’t you answer me, Herr Reineke?” Rudolph persisted.