"Here is the log," Kircheiss, with an impassive face, handed him a log we had taken from one of our captured ships. He perfunctorily turned the pages and came upon a chronometric diary we kept in the book. Above was stamped in fat type: KAISERLICHE MARINE.
"What is that?" he stammered.
"Something in Norwegian," Kircheiss grinned sardonically. "I don't understand it."
The resident saw: GAND UND STAND.
"What language is that?" This time he was a trifle ironical.
"Oh, Norwegian, of course," said Kircheiss.
The resident raised a tarpaulin, but dropped it quickly. He had seen rifles. He raised another. There were neat rows of hand grenades, as easy to pick up as apples.
"Keep those covered," he exclaimed, as pale as ashes.
"Well," I asked, "how do you find everything?"
"Quite all right—quite all right." He smiled a very acid smile.