The late morning brought me a weary and exhausted waking. I had breakfast brought in from outside, sent word to the office that I would not be in for a few days, a by no means uncommon thing for me to do since I went on this assignment, and then I settled down to wait. I got enough waiting before eight o’clock that evening to last me the rest of my natural life, but at that hour came a warder with a short request to follow him to the office. There was Tom, good fellow, rushing towards me as I entered. “You’re a free man, Jim; I have the order for your release,” he cried. “The President came to your rescue, like the trump he is. Hurry up now, and come to our house for a late dinner.” The clang of the gates behind me was as much music to my ears as it had been discord on my entrance. I had endured all the prison life that I wanted. I was willing to leave any writing up of such experiences to the yellow newspaper reporter. Fifth Avenue never seemed so gay. New York never seemed so full of the wine of life as on that drive. It needed only Dorothy to make it complete, and I was speeding towards her as rapidly as the speed regulations would allow. As we went on, Tom told me the story of his search for the President. How he had found him off shooting in Virginia and how gladly he had given the word for my release. Once in the hall of the Haldanes’ house, Dorothy appeared at the head of the stairs. “Oh, Jim!” she cried. Thank Heaven she had forgotten all about Mr. Orrington now. “Oh, Jim, I’m so glad. It’s all right now, isn’t it?” “It is,” I said emphatically. She hurried down, waving a blue foreign-looking sheet. “Oh, boys, I’ve got the best thing yet. We can tell just where ‘the man’ is now. I’ve just found out the way.” CHAPTER VI “What’s the new find, Dorothy?” asked Tom, smiling at her eagerness. “A letter from Carl Denckel,” she replied. “Impossible!” cried Tom. “The dear old boy died nine months ago.” “But this was written nearly a year ago,” she rejoined. “Look at this envelope.” The big blue square inscribed in crabbed German script was filled with addresses. “See,” said Dorothy. “He thought you were still at Columbia, so he addressed it to Columbia, America, forgetting New York. His ‘u’ was so much like an ‘o’ that they sent it to Colombia, South America. It travelled half over South America, and then they sent it up here. It went to three or four Columbias and Columbus’s in different States. Finally some bright man sent it to the University, and they sent it over to you. It’s for you all right.” “Read it, Dorothy. What does he say?” “An Herrn Doktor Thomas Haldane. “Lieber Professor:--Es geht mir an den tod--” She had gone thus far in the German, when she glanced up and saw my uncomprehending face. “The German too much for you?” she asked. “I’ll translate.” She went on rapidly in English. “To Doctor Thomas Haldane. “Dear Professor: