"You have struck a Prussian officer on duty!" he stammered as he got to his feet. "That is death, as you will find out as soon as I can bring some men."
He was going past Phil out of the door; but Phil barred the way.
"Wait!"
And von Eichborn had to wait. The position was strange. Here was the darling of Berlin salons and the aide of the General who commanded a division of troops which possessed the land balked by a mere civilian, a mere tourist; neither being armed. It was humiliating, disgusting, shameful. Von Eichborn could not try to force his way to the door for fear that he might be knocked down again.
"Yes, wait and consider," Phil added. "Let's not do anything rash, but think it over. Now——"
"Phil, don't!" Helen broke in wildly. "You, an American, don't realise. He can have you shot for striking him."
"After he struck me?"
"That has nothing to do with it!" put in von Eichborn hoarsely. "I'm an officer!"
"It's all true what he says!" said Helen. There was no banter of melodrama about her now. The scene had become tensely real and horrible.
"But it does not stand to reason! It's——"