"A dying man."
"Who?"
Suddenly, from the look in Addie's face, Van der Welcke understood. He went very pale, rose from his chair and stared in consternation into his son's sad eyes:
"Addie!" he exclaimed, in a hoarse voice. "Addie, tell me what you mean! I had no idea . . . that you knew anyone near Haarlem! I didn't know . . . that you had a patient there!"
He seemed to be trying to deceive himself with his own words, for he already understood. And Addie knew by his father's eyes and his father's voice that he understood; and, speaking slowly, in a gentle voice, Addie explained, as though the name had already been mentioned between them:
"Six days ago . . . I received a letter . . . written in his own hand, a clear, firm hand. . . . The letter was quite short: here it is."
He felt for his pocket-book, took out the letter and handed it to his father. Van der Welcke read:
"Dear Sir,
"Though I have not the pleasure of your personal acquaintance, I should consider it a great privilege if I might see you and speak to you here at an early date. I hope that you will not refuse the request of a very old man, whose days are drawing to an end.
"Yours sincerely,
Addie rose, for his father was shaking all over; the letter was fluttering in his fingers.
"Daddy, pull yourself together."
"Addie, Addie, tell me, did you see him?"
"Yes, I saw him. I was with him twice."
