"My name is Markov. I was refused for service on account of permanent illness. My papers are here."
"Gut!"
A silence in which the officer examined them. Then the steps of the officer to and fro in the room.
"This trunk----"
"Contains merely some books--Herr Lieutnant."
"The closet----?"
The officer's steps sounded again nearer them.
"Merely some old clothes, Herr Lieutnant," said Markov's voice. "Will you enter?"
A terrible moment of suspense. But at last the footsteps turned and moved away.
"And this other room here?" asked the voice. And Frau Nisko replied coolly, "My daughter's. She works in the Kraus Locomotivfabrik."