At the appointed place and hour, I strolled casually into the entrance hall of a certain hotel and stood apparently puzzling over the railway and steamboat time-tables which were hanging on the wall. Several people were in evidence, but no one seemed to be particularly interested in anyone else. I had been there quite a time, and was wondering how I could explain my presence in order to excuse and justify a prolonged lingering, when I observed a small-built, quiet inoffensive-looking young man cross the hall and stop near the hotel register. Absent-mindedly he tapped his teeth with his pince-nez, and muttered to himself and half aloud, "I wonder if Mr. Jim has called for that letter."
Now "Mr. Jim" was the password I had been instructed to listen for. The unknown was to give me certain orders. Without them I would have been like a ship in a gale minus the rudder.
The little man never looked at me nor even my way. He had stepped near enough so that I could overhear his sotto voce, also within range of two or three others who were congregated in the hall. His utterance was low, but it was as clear as a bell, and he spoke in Norwegian.
No one took any notice of him or his remark. This, however, appeared to trouble him not a bit. Adjusting his glasses he pulled a newspaper out of his coat pocket and proceeded to make himself comfortable on a settee in a remote corner, where he could observe all that passed and all who came or went; provided he wished so to interest himself should the contents of his paper fail to hold his attention.
Having marked down the man there was no need to hasten matters. Caution at one's initiation is generally advantageous. Ten minutes later I seated myself on the same settee as the stranger and also became absorbed in a newspaper. Assuring myself that no one was within earshot except the little gentleman before referred to, I murmured soft and low, whilst I still appeared to be reading the paper: "I know Mr. Jim. Can I give him the letter for you?"
"Who sent you to ask for it?" the stranger queried. I named a name which was a countersign. "For whom does Mr. Jim require it?" I gave the third and final word which proved beyond doubt my title to the precious document in question.
During this short conversation both of us had been studying our news-sheets, and unless an observer had been stationed within a few feet of us, nothing transpired that could have given the smallest clue to the fact that any communication had passed.
With no sign of recognition the little man got up to go. He left his paper on the seat, and in passing me he whispered: "You will find the letter in my Evening News. Good luck to you."
In the privacy of a bedroom the letter was opened. It was type-written, with no address and no signature. It contained instructions to proceed to another hotel two full days' journey away, where I was to look out for, and make the acquaintance of, a certain English Staff Officer to whom I had to deliver my dispatches.
It was fortunate I had provided myself with plenty of money. The ten pounds for preliminary expenses, which was all I had been given, was already over-exhausted, and travelling in those days of war scares, high freights, and shortage of accommodation, was far more expensive than the gentlemen who sit in easy-chairs at home would believe.