Krohn was deep in the study of the advertisements he had found in the paper when his “colleague,” Sergeant-Major Schönemann, stepped up to him, dragging his clanking sabre at his heels, and with a cigarette between his lips.
“Morning, morning, Herr Commander!” he addressed Krohn in a jocular spirit. “What is the news?”
The minor dignitary thus addressed smiled pleasantly, and sent a small cloud of fragrant smoke into the air before answering.
“Great things are going on, noble brother-in-arms. I had almost forgotten about that.”
“You don’t say! Has H. M. at last sent me a decoration?”
“Not precisely, but something almost as unlikely,—König has been placed under arrest.”
“What? König? Thunder and lightning! What the dickens has he been doing?”
“Why, they say he has been putting his fingers into the squadron fund, and that some of the gold has stuck to them. Really, it’s a disgrace; a fellow like him, too, quite wealthy, and all that.”
“The devil! I should never have supposed that of him; no, not of him! And how did they find it out?”
“Haven’t the faintest idea. I presume the colonel must have heard something about it. Yesterday afternoon he had him up in his room and charged him with the thing to his face. I peeped through the key-hole, and saw the poor fellow becoming pale under the accusation. He wanted to fetch his books at once; but the colonel wouldn’t listen to him, and ordered him forthwith under arrest.”