They found the little apartment in which drinks were served at tables, and before they said good-by to Sitzky in front of the hotel, a half hour later, that worthy was in exceeding good humor and very much flushed in the face. He said he would be back in two days, and if they needed him for any purpose whatever, they could reach him by a note at the railway station.
“Funny how you run across an American in every nook and corner of the world,” mused Lorry, as they watched the stocky ex-man-o'warsman stroll off towards his hotel.
“If we can run across the Guggenslockers as easily, we'll be in luck. When shall we begin the hunt? Tonight?”
“We can make a few inquiries concerning them. They certainly are people of importance here.”
“I don't see the name on any of the brewery signs around town,” observed Anguish, consolingly. “There's evidently no Guggenslocker here.”
They strolled through the streets near the hotel until after six o'clock, wondering at the quaint architecture, the pretty gardens and the pastoral atmosphere that enveloped the city. Everybody was busy, contented, quiet and happy. There was no bustle or strife, no rush, no beggars. At six they saw hundreds of workingmen on the streets, going to their homes; shops were closed and there came to their ears the distant boom of cannon, evidently fired from different points of the compass and from the highland as well as the lowland.
“The toy army is shooting off the good-night guns,” speculated Anguish. “I suppose everybody goes to bed now.
“Or to dinner,” substituted Lorry, and they returned to the Regengetx. The dining hall was spacious and beautiful, a mixture of the oriental and the mediaeval. It rapidly filled.
“Who the dickens can all these people be? They look well,” Anguish whispered, as if he feared their nearest neighbors might understand his English.
“They are unquestionably of the class in which we must expect to find the Guggenslockers.”