"Good, Karl," said the major, in German, addressing the so-called Belgian. "Good. You have been punctual. Well, what news is there?"
"First of all, Excellenz," replied Karl, who seemed to treat the major with that deference mingled with familiarity which men show to a superior who is also their accomplice, "by your leave."
He took off his blue tunic and put on that of one of the dead Germans. Then, giving the military salute:
"That's better. You see, I'm a good German, Excellenz. I don't stick at any job. But this uniform chokes me.
"Well, Excellenz, it's too dangerous a trade, plied in this way. A peasant's smock is all very well; but a soldier's tunic won't do. Those beggars know no fear; I am obliged to follow them; and I run the risk of being killed by a German bullet."
"What about the two brothers-in-law?"
"I fired at them three times from behind and three times I missed them. Couldn't be helped: they've got the devil's luck; and I should only end by getting caught. So, as you say, I'm deserting; and I sent the youngster who runs between me and Rosenthal to make an appointment with you."
"Rosenthal sent your note on to me at headquarters."
"But there was also a photograph, the one you know of, and a bundle of letters from your agents in France. I didn't want to have those proofs found on me if I was discovered."
"Rosenthal was to have brought them to me himself. Unfortunately, he made a blunder."