'Look for yourself,' he said. And added, 'Of course, it is only a joke.'
It was a letter from Alfred Mörch, asking Erik and me to dine with him. My first impulse was to be angry. I thought the joke was in very bad taste, but just as I was going to speak about it to Erik, my eyes fell on the first letters of the first lines and I read a word. This stopped what I was going to say; I blushed, grew embarrassed, and finally left the room. When I got into my own room I spread the letter out before me and read as follows: —
'Can and will you, dear lady,
offer one of your evenings to
me, an unknown friend of
Erik's? If so, I hope you will be
able, both of you, to come before
long, say at seven-thirty
on Thursday next. My address is
number 38 Corn-Market Square.
Erik will, I trust, assure you,
dear lady, of the respect and
of the sincere admiration of
Yours truly,—Alfred Mörch.'
At first glance there was nothing mysterious or curious about the letter. But if one read it, guided by subtle intuition, the first letters of each line, a tiny letter appeared within the letter, a secret little message, saying, 'Come alone, do.'
It was impossible that this could be mere chance. I felt sure it was a cunningly arranged game; and
