"Never set eyes on him before, and there wasn't the least need to tell him a word about you. But that's the fool all over, trying to curry favour and not a thought of the mischief he could do," grumbled Fischer.
"Well, shall I chance it, and not go?"
"That won't do," cried Braun. "He'd report me and have the whole town hunting for you. You must go, right enough."
"Do the best you can to get out of it," chimed in Fischer. "Let him think you're no better than a clumsy fool."
"All right, I'll do my best," I replied, laughing, and set out for the hotel.
I was in two minds about the thing. It would never do to be called up as an ordinary ranker; but it might be another matter to go as an air mechanic. Enrolled in the name of Hans Bulich, I should be safe from the trouble which was waiting for Johann Lassen. There were other possibilities, moreover. If I could get hold of some valuable information about the German aero service and their types of new planes, it would go a long way with the people at home to condone any breakage of my leave. I had no wish to turn spy, but to be driven into it was a very different proposition.
More than that, it was not at all improbable that when they found I did really know something worth knowing about a bus, I might be told off to take one up; and in that case, well, they wouldn't see it again, if I was within flying distance of the frontier.
It was best to be careful, however, as Fischer had urged, and not say too much until I could learn what the flying man really wanted. So I turned into the shed before going to him, mucked myself up a bit with black grease, paying particular attention to my face, to avoid the remote but possible chance of recognition, shoved my hands in my pockets and slouched along to the interview.
The luck was with me at the start. The porter was just going out, told me hurriedly where to find the officer's private room, and then ran off, saying he had to catch a train. He was thus the only person to see me enter the hotel: the importance of which fact I realized later. The officer was alone and had been lunching, and the array of drinks testified to his having done himself remarkably well. Next I recognized him; but he had drunk too much to remember me. He was a coarse-tongued bully named Vibach, who had been at Göttingen in my day, and had a well-deserved reputation as a blustering coward.
"What the devil do you mean by keeping me like this?" he said angrily. "Do you suppose I've nothing to do but kick my heels waiting for scum like you?"