“Yes, he asked after you.”

“I should like to see him. Does he belong to the Witte?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“He’s a mad fellow. Always was mad. An interesting chap, though. And a good sort. Has he money?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where is he staying?”

“In rooms, in the Buitenhof.”

“We’re close by. Let’s go and see if he’s in.”

Brauws was not in. And Van der Welcke left a card for his old college-chum, with a pencilled word.

A fortnight passed; and Van der Welcke began to feel annoyed: