Somehow or other he got across the Kemper Platz without being run over. He had a curious feeling, as though he weren’t allowed to look either to the right or the left, was in blinkers.

He’d been walking for hours and his feet were tired. He’d been right up in Pankow and down through Wedding. He’d stopped at least twenty or thirty times for drinks. Well, he was nearly home now. In the Potsdamer Platz an omnibus bore suddenly down upon him, seeming to swim out of the darkness, waving its lighted fins. He had to jump for the pavement. Why, I might have been killed, he thought—and this was really extremely comic.

His hotel was in a side street behind the Anhalter Bahnhof. Edward steadied himself, said Guten Abend to the girl in the office, took his key from the hook. He met nobody on the way up to his room. At this time, early in the evening, the place was very quiet. He flung open the door. It banged against the foot of the bed.

How extraordinarily bright the electric light was. Its reflection flashed from the mirror of the wardrobe and from the mirror over the monumental washstand. The room was warm. Too warm. Edward sat down on the bed. The brightness of the light made him dizzy.

He rose and opened his suitcase, which stood on a chair. Yes, they were there all right. The two envelopes lay on top of his folded clothes. He took them out. Miss Margaret Lanwin. Eric Vernon, Esq. He opened Margaret’s first. Three pages of it. How beautifully it’s written, Edward thought. How bloody lucky I wrote it while I was still sober. Dear Margaret—By the time you get this I hope you’ll be thinking a little better of me than you do at present.

Damn these explanations. And they’ll read it all out in court. I could post it now, though. No, Edward decided, sitting down on the bed, I can’t be bothered. He tore the letter up slowly. But perhaps they’ll find the pieces and stick them together. The Germans are said to be a patient race. Better burn them. He went over to the washstand for the soap-dish, dropped the pieces into it and set fire to them. Then he carefully took the ashes, opened the window and scattered them out. Better clean the soap-dish too. It might be a clue. While he was cleaning the soap-dish, he dropped it. It broke in three pieces. Oh hell, thought Edward. But it’ll go on the bill. I suppose somebody’ll pay the bill.

He opened the other letter:

“DEAR ERIC,

At my Bank there is a small black metal box. Will you see that all the papers inside it are destroyed?

I am asking you to do this because you are the only person I can trust.