Wiguniewski said: “At all events you’ve given me an indication. I never considered such a possibility. It throws a new light on many things. It’s true, by the way, that Wahnschaffe associates with questionable people. The queerest of them all is Amadeus Voss, a hypocrite and a gambler. One must not couple such persons with Ivan Becker. Becker may have set him upon a certain road. If we assume that, a number of incidents become clear. But anything really baneful comes from Voss. Save your friend from him!” “I haven’t seen the fellow yet,” Crammon murmured. “What you tell me, Prince, doesn’t take me quite unawares. Nevertheless, I’m grateful. But let that scoundrel beware! May I never drink another drop of honest wine, if he escape me! Let me never again glance at a tempting bosom, if I don’t grind this infamous cur to pulp. So help me!” Wiguniewski arose, and left Crammon to plan his revenge. II The morning sun of late September was gilding sea and land, when Crammon entered Christian’s room. Christian was sitting at his curved writing table. The bright blue tapestries on the walls gleamed; chairs and tables were covered by a hundred confused objects. Everything pointed to the occupant’s departure. “Don’t let me disturb you, dear boy; I have time enough,” said Crammon. He swept some things from a chair, sat down, and lit his pipe. But Christian put down his pen. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” he said angrily, without looking at Crammon, “I can’t get two coherent sentences down on paper. However carefully I think it out, by the time it’s written it sounds stiff and silly. Have you the same experience?” Crammon answered: “There are those who have the trick. It takes, primarily, a certain impudence. You must never stop to ask: Is that correct? Is it true? Is it well-founded? Scribble ahead, that’s all. Be effective, no matter at what cost. The cleverest writers are often the most stupid fellows. But to whom are you writing? Is the haste so great? Letters can usually be put off.” “Not this time. It is a question of haste,” Christian answered. “I have a letter from Stettner and I can’t make out his drift. He tells me that he’s quitting the service and leaving for America. Before he goes he wants to see me once more. He takes ship at Hamburg on October 15. Now it fortunately happens that I’ll be in Hamburg on that date, and I want to let him know.” “I don’t see any difficulty there,” Crammon said seriously. “All you need say is: I’ll be at such a place on such a day, and expect or hope, et cetera. Yours faithfully or sincerely or cordially, et cetera. So he’s going to quit? Why? And run off to America? Something rotten in the state of Denmark?” “He was challenged to a duel, it appears, and refused the challenge. That’s the only reason he gives. He adds that matters shaped themselves so that he is forced to seek a new life in the New World. It touches me closely; I was always fond of him. I must see him.”