“Well, suppose I leave that entirely to you. I can’t by any chance get a large stein of Münchener beer?”
“No, sir, I am sorry. I can get you some French beer though, which we think is much better. You know that Admiral Fisher has got those Dutchmen bottled up so tight that they tell me the beer won’t froth any more in Germany.” And he burst into a roar of laughter in which he was joined by a chorus of adoring customers sitting about at the different tables.
Edestone sat down while the proprietor in person took his order to the kitchen. In a very short time, the man returned and put down before him a gemüse suppe, following this with schweine fleisch, sauerkraut, and gherkins—a luncheon which might have been cooked in a German’s own kitchen—and set before him a glass of beer which Edestone would have sworn had not been brewed outside of the city of Munich.
The proprietor bustled about, laughing and cracking clumsy jokes with everyone who would listen to him, and his jokes seemed to Edestone to be almost as German as his beer. In this way he finally worked over to where Smith was sitting, and as he pretended to arrange something on the table whispered sharply: “Go to the lavatory.”
Smith, unable to eat, sat toying with his food. He gulped his beer as if it choked him. He turned around several times to look at Edestone, but the latter after his perfunctory greeting took no further notice of him. At last, paying his check, the man walked to the rear of the restaurant and into a small, dark, badly ventilated room under the stairs. The place was so dimly lighted that he could scarcely see in front of him a wash basin, but as he was wondering what he was expected to do next he heard a voice that seemed to come from a little partially opened window that looked out into a dark ventilating shaft to the left of the basin. “Pretend to wash your hands,” the voice whispered cautiously. Smith did as he was directed and found that he thus brought his left ear close to the window opening.
“Now listen,” said the voice, speaking rapidly in German. “God is with the Fatherland today! 4782 has been engaged to wait. Hottenroth has telephoned that our man undoubtedly has his instrument with him. The order is for you and 4782 to get it from him this afternoon at any cost. 4782 knows what he is to do.” And the window closed softly.
Smith broke out into a cold perspiration. He knew that he was looking death straight in the face, and in a twinkling his mind carried him back over his entire life. He clutched at his throat as he realized his horrible situation. His present position in the grip of this relentless but invisible master had come about so gradually that he had not realized how firmly he was caught until now it was too late. Not being borne up by the hysterical exaltation of the true-born Prussian, he resented that he should be the one selected to do this ghastly thing.
He staggered back into the restaurant where the proprietor, laying a hand upon his arm, and laughing loudly and winking as if he were telling a risqué story, muttered some further directions into his ear.
“He is preparing to go now. Join him and don’t leave him until—” he broke off and rushed over to Edestone who had risen from the table and was taking his hat and cane from the waiter.
“I hope, sir, you found everything perfectly satisfactory?” he bowed.