THE HUE AND CRY!
On the walk to Massen we concocted our story. I was to be Hans Bulich and Nessa my sister; we were alone in the world except for an aunt in Holland; Nessa had recently lost her lover on the Russian front, and her supposed grief at this was to account for her gloomy silence; I was likely to be called up, and as this would leave her without friends or money, she was anxious to get to the aunt in Holland.
They were parts easy to play, thanks to our warm-hearted Irish friend; we looked the characters quite well enough to pass muster. The absence of any luggage, my overalls and tools and a big German china pipe, and Nessa's market basket and knitting were shrewd little touches of realism which carried us through the preliminary difficulties without any trouble.
There were several people in the carriage with us, one of whom, an old man who sat next me, was going as far as Lingen. The men were soon talking and the one subject was the food supply, which was evidently becoming a serious matter. I didn't pay much attention until a question was asked about the frontier smuggling. The matter interested them all keenly, and I threw in a remark now and then to draw the rest.
The old fellow next me seemed to know a good deal about it, and when we three were left alone in the carriage he let drop a remark which showed he had noticed my interest in the subject, and then asked if I'd been at the front yet.
"They think I'm more use at my trade," I replied, making play with the spanner in my hand.
"Engineer's mechanic, may be?"
I nodded. "Motors and aeroplanes and so on."
"Going to Lingen, aren't you?"
"Yes. How far's Ellendorf from there?"