The certainty that they were trapped turned him a little giddy.
“Who the devil could have locked this door?” he demanded, shaking the handle savagely.
“Seat yourself, Tommy,” his companion advised. “Do not excite yourself—and have your passport ready. Perhaps they will not put us off.”
And then a face, crowned by the ubiquitous spiked helmet, appeared at the window.
“You will have to get out,” said the man in German, and tried to open the door.
Stewart shook his head to show that he didn’t understand, and produced his passport.
The man waved it impatiently away, and wrenched viciously at the door, purple with rage at finding it locked. Then he shouted savagely at someone farther up the platform.
“I have always been told that the Germans were a phlegmatic people,” observed Stewart; “but as a matter of fact, they blow up quicker and harder than anybody I ever saw. Look at that fellow, now——”
But at that moment a guard came running up, produced a key, and opened the door.
“Come, get out!” said the man, with a gesture there was no mistaking, and Stewart, picking up his bags, stepped out upon the platform and helped his companion to alight.