“Bon Repos,

“Windermere.

“Carlo Mio,—­In the Amsterdam edition of 1698 of The Confessions of Parthenio the Mystic occur the passages given below.  To your serious consideration, O friend of my heart, I recommend these words.  To read them much patience is required.  But they are freighted with wisdom, as you will discover long before you reach the end of them, and have a deep significance for that great cause to which the souls of both of us are knit by bonds which in this life can never be severed.  When you read these lines, the hand that writes them will be cold in the grave.  But Nature allows nothing to be lost, and somewhere in the wide universe the better part of me (the mystic Ego) will still exist; and if there be any truth in the doctrine of the affinity of souls, then shall you and I meet again elsewhere.  Till that time shall come—­Adieu!

“Thine,

“PaulPlatzoff.”

Having carefully read these lines twice over, Captain Ducie refolded the paper, put it away in an inner pocket, and buttoned his coat over it.  Then he took his way, deep in thought, back to “The Golden Griffin.”

The Russian’s eager eyes asked him:  “What success?” before he could say a word.

“I am sorry to say that I have not been able to find the paper,” said Captain Ducie in slow, deliberate tones.  “I have found something else—­your diamond pin, which you appear to have lost out of your scarf.”

Platzoff gazed at him with a sort of blank despair on his saffron face, but a low moan was his only reply.  Then he turned his face to the wall and shut his eyes.

Captain Ducie was a patient man, and he waited without speaking for a full hour.  At the end of that time Platzoff turned, and held out a feeble hand.

“Forgive me, my friend—­if you will allow me to call you so,” he said.  “I must seem horribly ungrateful after all the trouble I have put you to, but I do not feel so.  The loss of my Ms. affected me so deeply for a little while that I could think of nothing else.  I shall get over it by degrees.”

“If I remember rightly,” remarked Ducie, “you said that the lost Ms. was merely a complicated array of figures.  Of what possible value can it be to anyone who may chance to find it?”

“Of no value whatever,” answered Platzoff, “unless they who find it should also be skilful enough to discover the key by which alone it can be read; for, as I may now tell you, there is a hidden meaning in the figures.  The finders may or may not make that discovery, but how am I to ascertain what is the fact either one way or the other?  For want of such knowledge my sense of security will be gone.  I would almost prefer to know for certain that the Ms. had been read than be left in utter doubt on the point.  In the one case I should know what I had to contend against, and could take proper precautionary measures; in the other, I am left to do battle with a shadow that may or may not be able to work me harm.”