Dittman knelt again, obediently, and carefully and methodically went through von Forstner’s pockets. A few minutes before, when Ruth had been alone but for the Russian slaves, she had realized that she ought to obtain the papers in those pockets, but her revulsion at making the search had halted her. Now that proved altogether fortunate. Her fate here hung upon little things; and one of those trifles which supported her, undoubtedly, was that she had waited for this Dittman before allowing disturbance of any of von Forstner’s effects.
Dittman gathered together everything from the pockets—money, keys, penknife, cigarette case, revolver, and memorandum book, besides two thick packets of folded papers; and he offered all to Ruth, who accepted only the packets and the memorandum book. Dittman assisted her to climb the slope to the waiting car.
“My bags, Dittman,” Ruth said to her escort when she was seated. They had been held fairly well away from the water by the position of the wrecked car; and there was more than a chance that the leather had kept dry some of the clothing within. Ruth did not know what lay before her but she could meet it better in fresh garments. Dittman ordered one of the Russians to bring up her bags and place them in the car.
As it sped away to the south Ruth sat back alone in the rear seat. Evidently she had been expected at the manor house; from the border or, perhaps, from Basel or from Lucerne Captain von Forstner had warned his household that he was bringing her with him. Had he described to his inferiors the relationship of his companion to him? Almost surely he had not. If they had arrived together, in the manner planned by von Forstner, his servants swiftly enough could have arrived at their own conclusions; but now that von Forstner was dead—accidentally, as all believed—matters lay so that his servants might judge the nature of her association with their master by the manner in which Ruth bore herself.
Oberst-Lieutenant von Fallenbosch, who communicated by telephone at this time in the morning, suggested perilous complications, but perils were all about her now, in any case. The bold course upon which she was embarked was—if you thought about it—safer, in reality, than any other.
So Ruth steadied herself as the car, clearing the woods, ran beside open acres to a huge and old German manor house set baldly upon a slope above the stream. A man was walking upon the terrace before the door; he sighted the car and started quickly to meet it, but as the car sped up he returned to the terrace and stood upon the lower step at the edge of the drive. He was a short, broadly built but nervous little man, upwards of thirty, spectacled, and with thick hair cropped somewhat after the military fashion; but he was not in uniform and his bearing was that of student or professional man, rather than of the military.
When the car stopped he did not wait for the driver or one of the servants, who now had come out upon the terrace, but he himself opened the door and stood back quickly, staring at Ruth anxiously and rubbing together his fat red hands.
“Herr Adler?” Ruth asked as she stood up.
“Yes, gnädiges Fräulein. You have come from the captain?”
Her drenched condition was witness to the fact, and Ruth observed that, besides, his little eyes sought the packets of papers and the memorandum book which she held.