I pulled the bed-cover round me, for I was shivering with cold, and the German idea of a towel is a pocket-handkerchief. I own I was in a pretty blue funk.
“A liar!” he repeated. “You and that swine Pienaar.”
With my best effort at surliness I asked what we had done.
“You lied, because you said you know no German. Apparently your friend knows enough to talk treason and blasphemy.”
This gave me back some heart.
“I told you I knew a dozen words. But I told you Peter could talk it a bit. I told you that yesterday at the station.” Fervently I blessed my luck for that casual remark.
He evidently remembered, for his tone became a trifle more civil.
“You are a precious pair. If one of you is a scoundrel, why not the other?”
“I take no responsibility for Peter,” I said. I felt I was a cad in saying it, but that was the bargain we had made at the start. “I have known him for years as a great hunter and a brave man. I knew he fought well against the English. But more I cannot tell you. You have to judge him for yourself. What has he done?”
I was told, for Stumm had got it that morning on the telephone. While telling it he was kind enough to allow me to put on my trousers.