Shortly after midnight he awoke as suddenly and thoroughly as he had fallen asleep. Then he wanted to talk. He was bursting with talk. I swallowed my yawns and set myself to listen. I let him talk in his own way, no questions. For a long time I listened to what I already knew, the tale of his jealous, hopeless passion for Irma. Sometimes he had suspected that she inclined towards him, but it seemed preposterous to ask her to give up her profession for him. On the other hand he knew he could not endure sharing his wife with the public. He had decided to go away without speaking—and then the miraculous legacy had dropped from the skies.
"Tell me all about that," I commanded.
"I promised not to tell," he said reluctantly.
"This is a matter of life and death. Why was a promise exacted?"
"To avoid publicity."
"There will be none," I said. "I pledge myself to guard the secret as well as you could."
"I destroyed the letter I got, with the others," he said. "But I read it so often I can give it to you almost word for word."
"Too bad it was destroyed!" I said.
"Oh, you can verify the contents by the Amsterdam Trust Company who paid me the money."
"But if you have a clear case what did you run for?" I asked amazed.