MY encounter with Tikulski was bound to have consequences, practical as
well as moral. All day Sunday a legion of blue devils were my comrades.
Late Monday afternoon I received by the post a letter and a package,
each addressed to “E. Lexow, in care of D. Merivale, Esq.” The
penmanship was the same on both—a stiff European hand which I could
not recognize. I began with the letter. It read thus:—
“Mr. E. Lexow,
“Dear Sir:
“I should have forwarded this to you before, but not apprised of
the alteration of your name, I was unable to discover your address. I
dispatch this to the address indicated by Dr. Rodolph, who informs me
that you are to be reached through D. Merivale, Esquire, as he is
not advised of your private residence. I found it in a pawnbroking
establishment (No.—————-street, kept by one M. Arkush) now
more than a year, and purchased it with the intention of restoring it to
you, because I suppose that it must be of some value to you as a family
memento, and that you would not have disposed of it except needing
money. Hoping that this letter may find you in the enjoyment of good
health, I am
“Respectfully yours,
“B. Tikulski.”
What could Tikulski’s letter mean? What could “it” be? I puzzled
over these questions for a long while before it occurred to me to unseal
the package.
There was an outer wrapper of stout brown paper. Beneath this, an inner
wrapper of tissue paper. Both removed, I beheld an oval case of red
leather, considerably the worse for wear. What did it contain? I pressed
the clasp and raised the lid. It contained a miniature painted on ivory,
the likeness of a man. The faded colors and the old-fashioned collar and
cravat showed that it dated from some years back. But of whom was it a
picture?
Why had Tikulski posted it to me? And what did he mean by supposing that
I should value it as a family memento and that I would not have parted
with it—I, who had never owned it,—“except needing money?” I was
thoroughly mystified.
“Merivale,” I said, “can you make any thing out of this?”