"You speak German well for—an American," he said suggestively. "You know Germany, perhaps?"
"I was at school there and afterwards at Göttingen."
He was cautious enough to test this, and I let him have some choice specimens of student slang which strengthened his opinion.
"I was also at Göttingen. Need we pretend any longer?" and he held out his hand. He was very much my own build and colouring, but I hoped the resemblance stopped short there, for I didn't like his looks a bit.
"Pretend what?" I asked as if on my guard.
"That we are Americans."
"You needn't, but I didn't say I wasn't one."
He made a peculiar flourish with his left hand which was one of the membership signs of a secret society among the students, and I answered it. It was enough, and he let himself go then. He was a good swaggerer; told me that he had come from America to England, where he had been ferretting out every possible scrap of information, having represented himself as the agent of an American firm of munition makers; that he had sent his report to Berlin and had been summoned to go there at once on the strength of it; and that he was to join the Secret Service.
He was so full of his self-importance and seemingly so glad to have some one to listen to him, that, with a very little prompting, he told me a whole lot about himself, and the great things he had done. He only stopped when he got sea-sick, and before he went below he told me his real name was Johann Lassen, and scribbled his address in Berlin on his card, so that we might meet again there.
I was a little worried by the business. It might be awkward if we did run against one another in Berlin; but there was no need to look for trouble before it arrived, so I dismissed the thing and went on thinking out my own plan of campaign. But the affair had very unexpected results.