Zu Pfeiffer, in the act of rising, sank back into the chair, placing his left leg in a favourite position and selecting a cigar simultaneously.
“Yes,” said he, almost without accent. “What do you want?”
“I wish to see the—the Herr Kommandant.”
Zu Pfeiffer struck a match without looking up.
“I am he.”
One hand upon the open door, Birnier stroked his shaven chin perplexedly with the other. He glanced from the sergeant, standing rigidly by the table, to [pg 16] the lieutenant engaged in stoking his cigar to a nicety.
“Well, it’s usual to invite a white man to sit down, isn’t it?” suggested Birnier, with a note of irritation.
Zu Pfeiffer looked across the table.
“Nein. This is the Orderly Room; not a general office.”
“Oh, I see. I beg your pardon!” There was a note of laughter in the voice. “Will you kindly instruct me where I am to apply?”