Mother.
There was something very moving in this appeal. Karl was obviously a cherished son, and I found myself hoping that his mother would never learn the facts of his unhappy death.
The third letter was the inevitable billet-doux, from some lady of Karl's acquaintance in Berlin, imploring him not to lose a moment in coming to see his beloved Freda on his arrival in that city.
I spent some little time in assimilating these few facts. The part I had to play would obviously be much more difficult than hitherto. Up to the present I had only had to impersonate my double for a short period and with a well-defined object. Now, however, I had been suddenly called upon to work more or less in the dark. I was to deliver a letter to a Captain Z, whoever he might be, obviously a person of great i
