“Shall we beard the Prussian in his den, Bob, or go out again and be shot at?” asked Alan, jerking his head toward the door.
For answer Bob knocked at the door, put his hand on the knob and turned it, Alan close behind. “You might wait here, Miller,” said Bob. The door opened and the two officers entered a large library, around the center table of which sat half a dozen grave, bearded, pompous-looking men, engaged in excited discussion.
At sight of Bob and Alan several of them sprang to their feet in startled haste. One or two showed signs of terror, the rest looked puzzled, which feeling changed to something like indignation as the young men’s uniforms identified them to the Germans’ eyes.
“What do you wish here, meinen Herrn?” demanded a beetle-browed, professorial-looking person, whose worn frock coat curved tightly over his rounded form. “Have you mistaken your way?”
“We came into this house to escape being shot in the square outside,” said Bob without apology. “We have no other desire than to reach our hotel in safety.”
“You haven’t noticed that there’s shooting going on, Herr Professor? Take a short walk about the city,” suggested Alan, eyeing the group.
His German was so bad that he was scarcely understood, but something of veiled contempt in his tone penetrated the Germans’ wits. Resentful glances were turned on the intruders. The man who had spoken before said sharply, his bushy brows drawn closer together:
“We regret extremely that you were exposed to danger. I and my colleagues, the Herrn Councillors, are gathered here to decide how to restore order.” Casting an unfriendly eye at the young officers’ immovable faces he added with gloomy bitterness, “This anarchy is the result of a long and cruel war.”
“Yes, too bad you started it,” remarked Alan, losing his temper.
Bob nudged him to be silent. “Could you give us a police escort, or a vehicle of some sort, mein Herr?” he asked. “We want to reach the hotel as soon as possible. Our train goes out this evening.”