It was half-past five o'clock when he descended from the train, with an old bag of Senf's in his right hand, in the guise of a Munich workman off for a few days' holiday. In his left hand he carried a cheap red handkerchief, with which as he reached the platform he wiped his brow. He waited in a moment of apparent indecision when a man at the door of the station stepped forward. He had a handkerchief in his left hand. Rowland stopped before him and the man extended his hand.
"You come from Herr Senf?" he asked.
"From Senf, yes. You are Herr Benz?"
"Yes," replied the other. "Come."
CHAPTER XV
THE TURKISH CIGARETTE
He was a prosperous looking man, a small house-owner, perhaps, or tradesman, but he had a broad brow and a look of alertness which were an earnest of his intelligence. Rowland walked by his side conversing easily of casual things until they reached a street upon the edge of the town, built up with rows of smaller houses, all much alike, each in its well kept yard. Into one of these houses Benz led the way and in a moment they were safe from curious eyes. Rowland was quite certain that he had not been observed either upon the train or in the town and it was therefore with a feeling of confidence as to his own present security that he informed Herr Benz of the nature of his errand and the necessity for immediate aid from those friends who had the interests of the Order of Nemi at heart. Herr Benz made no pretense of concealing his antipathy for the Prussian government, and proclaimed his full allegiance to the Socialist cause. The deference which he paid Rowland and exacted of his son, a boy of sixteen, the supper served by the neat Frau, and the willingness Herr Benz expressed to aid in any possible way, showed Rowland how deep and strong was the undercurrent of antagonism and unrest in the hearts of the placid easy going Bavarians.
Benz knew Starnberg, he said, as he knew the palm of his hand. He had been born and bred here and for twenty years had conducted the small bakery which was now his own. He knew every villa as far as Possenhofen where Elizabeth, Empress of Austria, as Herr Rowland must be aware, the daughter of Duke Max, was born. Every villa.... He must think. All these people were good customers of his, and had been for years. His son every morning early delivered the bread, a distance of two miles or more to the furthest house. Did Herr Rowland believe the villa he sought could be as far away as that? Rowland shrugged helplessly.
"I know nothing more than I have told you," he said. "A villa upon Starnberg See--near Starnberg--that is all I know."
Benz nodded, but his brow was puzzled.