"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "another guest. I hope there is no objection?"
At the sight of the new-comer several men rose from their seats and looked earnestly at him. The room in which Helmar found himself was part of the bar of one of the many cheap cafés of this neighbourhood. It was filled by a number of men and women of all nationalities, seated at various small tables scattered round the room. The room itself was innocent of all attempts at decoration; the walls showed its dirty plaster, the rough floor was sanded, and the worn and cheerless tables and benches were polished with the dirt of ages. The atmosphere reeked with the smell of tobacco and coffee, and, as he stepped in, bowing to the assembled company, Helmar could not help feeling a strong desire to open a window.
After their scrutiny, the occupants, one by one, resumed their seats, and George felt that they were mutely asking him for an explanation. As fugitives they were naturally suspicious of strangers, and he was about to speak, when he saw a slight figure step from an obscure corner.
In a moment his eyes glistened, and an exclamation rose to his lips as he almost jumped forward and grasped the hand of his old chum Osterberg.
