That did not interest me until I came down from my room and approached the desk for the purpose of leaving word for a friend of mine where I could be found later.
The clerk was engaged in earnest conversation with a stockily built man of middle age. I had to wait until he would be through.
After a second or so I heard my room number mentioned—237. Then the sound of my name fell. I noticed that the clerk was fingering one of the forms on which a traveler in Central Europe inscribes his name, profession, residence, nationality, age, and what not for the information of the police.
"He is a newspaper correspondent?" asked the stocky one.
"So he says," replied the clerk.
"You are sure about that?"
"Well, that is what it says on the form."
"What sort of looking fellow is he?" inquired the stockily built man.
"Rather tall, smooth shaven, dark complexion, wears eye-glasses," replied the clerk.
I moved around the column that marks the end of one part of the desk and the beginning of another part that runs at right angles to the first.