“Ja. And I have many oder to gif sheap, too.”
“But where did you get it?”
“I make it.”
“When?”
“Long 'go. I forget. I have make so many. Dey go away from my mindt an' come again back long time after.”
“Professor, what would you give me to tell you where and when you composed that tune?”
He looked at me with a slightly bewildered expression. It was with an effort that I continued, as I looked straight into his eyes:
“I will hazard a guess. Could it have been in Paris—one day twelve years ago—”
“I neffer be in Paris,” he interrupted, with a start which shocked and convinced me, slight evidence though it may seem. So I spoke on:
“What, never? Not even just that night—that 17th of February? Try to recall it, Heinrich Spellerberg. You remember she came in late, and—who would think that those soft white fingers had been strong enough?”