"Who is this drunken beast?" cried von Felsen, as I was fumbling with the door fastening.
Then I turned and faced him and waited for the recognition.
I was not surprised that it did not follow at once. I had on the suit of workman's overalls; they were torn and dishevelled as the result of the scrimmage with Dragen; I was as dirty as a sweep; a soft, rather greasy cloth cap was drawn well down over my face; I was bootless, and had just been assuming drunkenness. I have no doubt I looked a very low grade sort of scoundrel.
"Why do you bring this fellow here?" he demanded of Lander angrily.
"Have another look at me, von Felsen," I said quietly, fixing my eyes on him, and crossing toward him.
He fell back from me as if I were the devil in the flesh and leant against the table behind him, staring at me wide-eyed, breathing hard, deathly white, speechless, and shaking like a jelly.
I was human enough to enjoy his discomfiture, and just stared at him while he tortured himself with the thoughts which my most unwelcome arrival had started. Lander glanced from one to the other of us in perplexity and for more than a minute the tense silence was unbroken.
Then von Felsen clasped his hands to his head with a faint groan of agony.
"Where is Fräulein von Ringheim?" I asked.
At the sound of my voice he glanced up at me and then cowered and shrank like a beaten cur.