character. However, it's odds against the matter coming to your
wife's ears."

"But couldn't we have laid the others by the heels?"

"With the letter on Rupert? My dear fellow, you're very ill."

I laughed at myself, and forgave Rudolf his trick, though I think
that he might have made my fictitious inamorata something more
than a baker's wife. It would have cost no more to make her a
countess, and the doctor would have looked with more respect on
me. However, Rudolf had said that the baker broke my head with
his rolling-pin, and thus the story rests in the doctor's mind to
this day.

"Well, I'm off," said Rudolf.

"But where?"

"Why, to that same little station where two good friends parted
from me once before. Fritz, where's Rupert gone?"

"I wish we knew."

"I lay he won't be far off."

"Are you armed?"

"The six-shooter. Well, yes, since you press me, a knife, too;
but only if he uses one. You'll let Sapt know when you come?"