Leaving Zum Roten Bären behind them, Rothütle and Gord walk through the quiet evening streets of Freiburg. Gas lamps hum softly, and the Bächle along Salzstraße scatters the lantern light into restless silver ribbons.
Rothütle unlocks the door to his small apartment, steps inside—and stops.
An envelope lies on the floor. Perfectly placed. Waiting.
He opens it carefully, scans the contents, and then says hastily, "I need to leave, Carl might be in trouble."
Gord whispers, "The timing is funny." Then she adds, "What does it say?"
Rothütle shows her the letter:
Herr Osterman,
I must speak with you at once. Meet me by the Dreisam.
— Carl Benz
"What kind of handwriting is this?" Gord asks.
Rothütle frowns. "It's done by a mechanical writing apparatus. There is one called Schreibkugel created by Danes earlier this year. I didn't know Carl had access to such a device."
"Maybe he doesn't," Gord suggests. "If it's urgent, why not write it by hand?"
Rothütle exhales. “Then we do the opposite. We visit his host family on Salzstraße. If he actually wrote this, they’ll know.”
He gathers a few essentials, and then they step back into the foggy night.
Tip of the day. Be cautious of unexpected communications requesting urgent action. Verify the source before responding.