“Excellent!” he guffawed. “Beautifully contrived, my friend.—Hi, there, sheep’s-head!”—this to the ticket-inspector—“let that porter with the portmanteau pass!”
Thus did Captain Arthur Dalroy find himself inside the Friedrich Strasse Station on the night when Germany was already at war with Russia and France. With him was the stout leather bag into which he had thrown hurriedly such few articles as were indispensable—an ironic distinction when viewed in the light of subsequent events; with him, too, was a charming and trustful and utterly unknown travelling companion.
Von Halwig was not only vastly amused but intensely curious; his endeavours to scrutinise the face of a girl whom the Englishman had apparently conjured up out of the maelström of Berlin were almost rude. They failed, however, at the outset. Every woman knows exactly how to attract or repel a man’s admiration; this young lady was evidently determined that only the vaguest hint of her features should be vouchsafed to the Guardsman. A fairly large hat and a veil, assisted by the angle at which she held her head, defeated his intent. She still clung to Dalroy’s arm, and relinquished it only when a perspiring platform-inspector, armed with a list, brought the party to a first-class carriage. There were no sleeping-cars on the train. Every wagon-lit in Berlin had been commandeered by the staff.
“I have had a not-to-be-described-in-words difficulty in retaining these corner places,” he said, whereupon Dalroy gave him a five-mark piece, and the girl was installed in the seat facing the engine.
The platform-inspector had not exaggerated his services. The train was literally besieged. Scores of important officials were storming at railway employés because accommodation could not be found. Dalroy, wishful at first that Von Halwig would take himself off instead of standing near the open door and peering at the girl, soon changed his mind. There could not be the slightest doubt that were it not for the presence of an officer of the Imperial Guard he and his “cousin” would have been unceremoniously bundled out on to the platform to make room for some many-syllabled functionary who “simply must get to the front.” As for the lady, she was the sole representative of her sex travelling west that night.
Meanwhile the two young men chatted amicably, using German and English with equal ease.
“I think you are making a mistake in going by this route,” said Von Halwig. “The frontier lines will be horribly congested during the next few days. You see, we have to be in Paris in three weeks, so we must hurry.”
“You are very confident,” said the Englishman pleasantly.
He purposely avoided any discussion of his reasons for choosing the Cologne-Brussels-Ostend line. As an officer of the British army, he was particularly anxious to watch the vaunted German mobilisation in its early phases.