He rubbed the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. “I gave the whole blessed show away. If I'd j'es' kep quiet about being Enonymous.... Gaw!... Too soon, Bert, my boy—too soon and too rushy. I'd like to kick my silly self.
“I couldn't 'ave kep' it up.
“After all, it ain't so very bad,” he said.
“After all, five 'undred pounds.... It isn't MY secret, anyhow. It's jes' a pickup on the road. Five 'undred.
“Wonder what the fare is from America back home?”
8
And later in the day an extremely shattered and disorganised Bert Smallways stood in the presence of the Prince Karl Albert.
The proceedings were in German. The Prince was in his own cabin, the end room of the airship, a charming apartment furnished in wicker-work with a long window across its entire breadth, looking forward. He was sitting at a folding-table of green baize, with Von Winterfeld and two officers sitting beside him, and littered before them was a number of American maps and Mr. Butteridge's letters and his portfolio and a number of loose papers. Bert was not asked to sit down, and remained standing throughout the interview. Von Winterfeld told his story, and every now and then the words Ballon and Pooterage struck on Bert's ears. The Prince's face remained stern and ominous and the two officers watched it cautiously or glanced at Bert. There was something a little strange in their scrutiny of the Prince—a curiosity, an apprehension. Then presently he was struck by an idea, and they fell discussing the plans. The Prince asked Bert abruptly in English. “Did you ever see this thing go op?”
Bert jumped. “Saw it from Bun 'Ill, your Royal Highness.”
Von Winterfeld made some explanation.