"What letter?" Frank asked, for the moment forgetting the conversation he had held with the child in the Tramp House.
"The one I promised to bring you—the one to Germany," was Jerry's answer.
And then Frank remembered what, in the excitement of the diamond theft, had passed from his mind.
"Yes, yes, I know; give it to me," he said, advancing rapidly toward her, and putting out his hand. "When did he write it? Let me see it, please."
Rather reluctantly Jerry handed him the bulky letter, the direction of which covered nearly the whole of one side of the envelope.
Very nervously Frank scanned the address, which might as well have been in the Hindoo language for any idea it conveyed to him.
"To whom is it directed? I cannot read German," he said.
"I don't know," Jerry replied. "I have not looked at it, and would rather not."
"Why, what a little prude you are;" and Frank laughed, uneasily. "What possible harm is there in reading an address? The postmaster has to do it, and any one who took it to the office would do it if he could."
This sounded reasonable enough, and standing beside him, Jerry read the address in German first, then, as he said to her: "I don't understand that lingo, put it into English," she read again: