Then he shut and locked the door; Kenneth was left to himself.
[CHAPTER II--THE FIRST TRICK]
With the door shut, the room was almost wholly dark. It contained no furniture but a plain deal table and a wooden chair. Kenneth sat down and ruminated. His position was annoying, but also mildly exciting. It would be something to tell his people when he got home, that he had been arrested as a spy.
It was now five o'clock. Dinner was at seven: his train left at half-past nine, and the stationmaster had advised him to be at the station at least an hour in advance. He had addressed his note to Finkelstein at the office, and expected that his friend would arrive within half an hour or so and procure his release. In the absence of any evidence against him a prolonged detention would surely be impossible.
Perhaps half an hour had passed when he heard footsteps on the passage; the key turned in the lock, and he started up, expecting to see Finkelstein. But there entered a constable, bringing a mug of beer and a piece of rye bread.
"My friend Herr Finkelstein has not come?" Kenneth asked.
"Nobody has come for you," replied the man.
"My note was taken to him?"
"If you wrote a note, I daresay it was."
"Aren't you sure?"