Beany was not to learn for a long while that the old, stooped, ugly peasant, looking so typically French and so pitifully silent and stupid, had once been a famous German actress, as well as one of the most brilliantly educated women of her time. Once there had been a day when her parlors in Berlin had been filled with the most renowned and high-born men and women in the world. Not only members of the highest circles of Germany, but representatives from every other country. To be asked to the home of Madame Z—— was the dream of every young diplomat, writer, artist and court favorite.
Yet now, perfectly disguised, stooped, bent, and old, clad in rags, she stood clutching in one hand a coarse home-made broom, while with the other she kept a tight grip on the shoulder of the rebellious man beside her.
At last he nodded, and she turned and shoved him before her into the passage in the wall, following close behind and closing the panel.
Beany was alone.
He leaped to his feet and tiptoed down to the door, a cautious eye on the panel. He lifted a hand to knock on the door, then paused, and in his turn applied an eye to the keyhole. It was a huge old keyhole, made in the days when keys were large enough to almost take the places of trench billies. He could see most of the room. The General sat writing at the desk. Across in an armchair Porky leaned on the table, sound asleep. There had been nothing for the spies to see this time, at any rate. Then a wild thought came into Beany's head.
He did not wait to consider it. It was a crazy thought, but to Beany in his excited state it was a sane idea.
He approached the panel, felt carefully in the upper corner, pressed a dozen carvings and then, just as he despaired, felt the heavy wood give under his touch. He pushed the trap open and without a moment's hesitation entered and closed the door behind him.
The passage was pitch dark.
CHAPTER III
MARKING TIME