“Well,” he began, when he was stopped by a sharp tap from his companion’s foot.
“Such impudence!” she cried. “I was astonished at your patience, Tommy! You, an American, letting a Prussian policeman intimidate you like that! I am ashamed of you!”
Glancing around, Stewart saw the hang-dog Hans hovering in the doorway.
“He was a big policeman, my dear,” he explained, laughing. “I shouldn’t have had much of a chance with him, to say nothing of his two men. If we want to get to Brussels, the safest plan is to answer calmly all the questions the German police can think of. But it is time for us to be going. There will be no reserved seats on this train!”
“You are right,” agreed his companion; “I am quite ready.”
So he asked for the bill, paid it, sent Hans up for the luggage, and presently they were walking toward the station, with Hans staggering along behind.
Stewart, looking down at his companion, felt more and more elated over the adventure. He had never passed a pleasanter evening—it had just the touch of excitement needed to give it relish. Unfortunately, its end was near; an hour or two in a crowded railway carriage, and—that was all!
She glanced up at him and caught his eyes.
“What is it, my friend?” she asked. “You appear sad.”
“I was just thinking,” answered Stewart, “that I do not even know your name!”