"It is perfectly true," said I, "that I am your only guest."
"Ah, the Englishman!" said the lieutenant, suspiciously. "We are looking for a person by the name of Hillars whom we are charged to arrest. Do you know anything about him?"
"It is not probable," said I, nonchalantly.
I glanced at Gretchen. I could fathom nothing there.
"Well," snarled the lieutenant, "I suppose you will not object to my seeing your passports?"
"Not in the least," said I. But I felt a shock. The word "American" was written after the nationality clause in my passports. I was in for some excitement on my own account. If I returned from my rooms saying that I could not find my passports they would undoubtedly hold me till the same were produced. "I'll go and bring them for you," said I. I wanted some time in which to mature a plan of action, if action became necessary.
There was rather a sad expression in Gretchen's eyes. She understood to a fuller extent than I what was likely to follow when it was found that I had misrepresented myself. I cursed the folly which had led me to say that I was English. And I swore at the innkeeper for meddling. As I left the room I smiled at Gretchen, but she did not answer it. Perhaps I was gone five minutes. In that time I made up my mind to show the passports, and trust to luck for the rest. When I came back Gretchen had engrossed their attention. They took no notice of me. I have never understood how it came about, but all at once the lieutenant bent forward and kissed Gretchen on the cheek. She started back with a cry, then looked at me. That swift glance told me what to do. I took the lieutenant by the collar and flung him into the corner. The surprise on his face was not to be equaled. Then, as he rose to his feet, the veins in his neck swelled with rage.
"I'll pay you for that, you meddling beef-eater!" he roared.
"Don't mention it," said I, with an assumption of blandness which I did not feel. "That was simply gratuitous. It is a sample of what I shall do to you if you do not immediately ask this lady's pardon for the gross insult you have just offered her."
"Insult! To kiss a common barmaid an insult!" he yelled, now purpling.
"Why—why—what is this woman to you—this tavern wench, this—"