“You’ve got me again, there. In most every letter there was something about things I didn’t understand. She seemed to think we used to know each other. Maybe we did. Hundreds of ’em come to me. I can’t remember ’em all. Sometimes she called me Hermann. My name ain’t Hermann. Right up to the time I saw her on the Heights I was afraid she was taking me for somebody else and that the whole game would be queered as soon as we came face to face.”
“It seems quite probable,” said Kent with a faint smile, “that you were taken for some one else. Your personal appearance would hardly betray the error, however.”
“Well, if I was taken for another man,” said the puzzled astrologist, “why didn’t she say so when she saw me?”
“What did she say when she saw you?”
“Why, she seemed just as tickled to set eyes on me as if I were her Hermann twice over.”
“Exactly,” replied Kent with satisfaction.
“Well, how do you account for that?”
Passing over the query, the other proceeded: “Now, as I understand it, you put yourself in my hands unreservedly.”
“What else can I do?” cried Preston Jax.
“Nothing that would be so wise. So do not try. I shall want you to come to Martindale Center on call. Pack up and be ready.”