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Page 41
So I accepted Schmalz's suggestion.
"By the way," I said, "I have no luggage. My bag got mislaid somehow at
the station and I don't really feel up to going after it to-night."
"I will fix you up," the other replied promptly, "and with pyjamas in
the American fashion. By the by," he added, lowering his voice, "I
thought it better to speak German. English is not heard gladly in
Berlin just now."
"I quite understand," I said. Then, to change the subject, which I did
not like particularly, I added:
"Surely, you have been very quick in coming down from the frontier. Did
you come by train?"
"Oh, no!" he answered. "I found that the car in which you drove to the
station ... it belonged to the gentleman who came to meet you, you
know ... was being sent back to Berlin by road, so I got the driver to
give me a lift."
He said this quite airily, with his usual tone of candour. But for a
moment I regretted my decision to go to the Esplanade with him. What if
he knew more than he seemed to know?
I dismissed the suspicion from my mind.
"Bah!" I said to myself, "you are getting jumpy. Besides, it is too late
to turn back now!"
We had a friendly wrangle as to who should pay for the drinks, and it
ended in my paying. Then, after a long wait, we managed to get a cab, an
antique-looking "growler" driven by an octogenarian in a coat of many
capes, and drove to the Esplanade.
It was a regular palace of a place, with a splendid vestibule with walls
and pavement of different-hued marbles, with palm trees over-shadowing
a little fountain tinkling in a jade basin, with servants in gaudy
liveries. The reception clerk overwhelmed me with the cordiality of his
welcome to my companion and "the American gentleman," and after a
certain amount of coquettish protestations about the difficulty of
providing accommodation, allotted us a double suite on the entresol,
consisting of two bedrooms with a common sitting-room and bathroom.
In his immaculate evening dress, he was a Beau Brummell among hotel
clerks, that man. The luggage of the American gentleman should be
fetched in the morning. The gentleman's papers? There was no hurry: the
Herr Leutnant would explain to his friend the forms that had to be
filled in: they could be given to the waiter in the morning. Would the
gentlemen take anything before retiring? A whisky-soda--ah! whisky was
getting scarce. No? Nothing? He had the honour to wish the gentlemen
pleasant repose.
We went to the lift in procession, Beau Brummell in front, then a
waiter, then ourselves and the gold-braided hall porter bringing up the
rear. One or two people were sitting in the lounge, attended by a
platoon of waiters. The whole place gave an impression of wealth and
luxury altogether out of keeping with British ideas of the stringency of
life in Germany under the British blockade. I could not help reflecting
to myself mournfully that Germany did not seem to feel the pinch very
much.
At the lift the procession bowed itself away and we went up in charge of
the liftman, a gorgeous individual who looked like one of the Pope's
Swiss Guards. We reached the centresol in an instant. The Lieutenant led
the way along the dimly lighted corridor.
"Here is the sitting-room," he said, opening a door. "This is my room,
this the bathroom, and this," he flung open the fourth door, "is your
room!"
He stood aside to let me pass. The lights in the room were full on. In
an arm-chair a big man in an overcoat was sitting.
He had a heavy square face and a clubfoot.
CHAPTER X
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