“Very well, I’ll wait.”
While he was left to himself, Gilbert pondered over what he should take along and what was to be left behind. He could not be too heavily burdened, for the journey to the ship might be a hard one, and Jiru Siko had told him that nobody was to carry much baggage. Scarcely an hour had gone by when the hotel keeper returned.
“Mine frau she vos sleepy,” said he with a good-natured grin. “I told her besser go py der ped an’ she go. Come now, an’ don’t make so mooch noise like a fly.”
He went on ahead, out of the stable, across a small courtyard, and into the hotel by a back door. Gilbert had hold of his arm, and made no noise whatever, since his shoes were protected by heavy winter rubbers. They passed up a dark stairway and through the upper hall.
“Here vos your room,” said the hotel proprietor. “Shall I vait for you or come pack?”
“You can wait if you wish—I’ll not be long,” answered the ex-lieutenant.
A light was lit, and Gilbert brought forth his trunk and his traveling bag. Having decided what to take and what to leave behind, it was an easy matter to pack the bag, and inside of fifteen minutes the task was done. Then Gilbert settled his bill.
“I’ll have to leave the trunk here,” said he. “Will you take care of it until you hear from me again?”
“Mit bleasure, Mr. Bennington. I vos sorry you haf to git owid like dis.”
“It is not my fault. The Russians are treating me very unjustly.” Gilbert shut his teeth hard. “I’ve got a score to settle with them for it.”