I went over and took the object from his hand. It was a small book, with a cover of drab-colored plastic, unornamented except for an embossed design of two concentric rings. I opened the cover. The pages were as thin as tissue, but opaque, and covered with extremely fine writing in strange foreign characters. The last dozen pages were in English. I had to hold the book close to my eyes to read the minute script: "January 19, 1710. Having come nigh to calamity with the near lofs of the key, I will henceforth keep thif journal in the Englifh tongue...." "If this is an explanation of something, it's too subtle for me," I said. "Legion, how old would you say I am?" "That's a hard one," I said. "When I first saw you I would have said the late thirties, maybe. Now, frankly, you look closer to fifty." "I can show you proof," Foster said, "that I spent the better part of a year in a military hospital in France. I awakened in a ward, bandaged to the eyes, and with no memories whatever of my life before that day. According to the records made at the time, I appeared to be about thirty years of age." "Well," I said, "amnesia's not so unusual among war casualties. You've done well since." Foster shook his head impatiently. "There's nothing difficult about acquiring material wealth in this society, though the effort kept me well occupied for a number of years--and diverted my thoughts from the question of my past life. The time came, however, when I had the leisure to pursue the matter. The clues I had were meagre enough; the notebook I've shown you was found near me, and I had a ring on my finger." Foster held out his hand. On the middle finger was a massive signet, engraved with the same design of concentric circles I had seen on the cover of the notebook. * * * * * "I was badly burned; my clothing was charred. Oddly enough, the notebook was quite unharmed, though it was found among burned debris. It's made of very tough stuff." "What did you find out?" "In a word--nothing. No military unit claimed me. I spoke English, from which it was deduced that I was English or American--" "They couldn't tell which, from your accent?" "Apparently not; it appears I spoke a sort of hybrid dialect." "Maybe you're lucky. I'd be happy to forget my first thirty years." "I spent a considerable sum of money in my attempts to discover my past," Foster went on. "And several years of time. In the end I gave it up. And it wasn't until then that I found the first faint inkling." "So you did find something?" "Nothing I hadn't had all along. The notebook." "I'd have thought you would have read that before you did anything else," I said. "Don't tell me you put it in the bureau drawer and forgot it."